Love, Zed

24. Don't Like Roses

Aria

"Always a pain in the ass." I vent out, sliding inside the car. The leathery fragrance and the overall vibe inside makes me forget everything about Scott.

I see Roses, fresh, neatly cut roses tied together at the stem with a dark red satin ribbon. Zed and his roses! I shake my head smiling and look around curiously, feeling my grin widening.

Zed slides beside me in the driving seat the next moment. He grabs my bag and his and tosses them in the back seat. Then he looks at me. My grin quickly fades. He notices that and looks ashamed. I can't help feel sorry for him.

"So." I chortle. He quirks his brows.

"Just a Ferrari, huh?" I roll my eyes over dramatically. "Hoped Zed Evans would atleast use a yatch to impress girls.." I shrug.

"I-" Zed looks nonplussed.

"Or Flying Carpets, maybe?" I provide.

He stared at me for a moment before breaking into a laugh. It's a hearty, male laugh. He rarely lets himself laugh like this.

"Well, I'll ask Aladdin if he could lend me one sometime, meanwhile..." He smirks and reaches to pick up the roses from the dashboard and offers them to me, leaning in closer.

"They remind me of you, Arianna." He grins. He makes my full name sound like a glittering jewel.

"And how's that?" I question not accepting the roses.

He ponders over it. Like seriously. Like it's in his question paper. I grin maliciously, I must trouble him further.

"You see, I don't even like roses." I shrug. He looks taken aback. "You don't like roses?"

"Why? All your girlfriends like roses, do they?" I joke but he turns grim, a far-away look in his eyes.

Zed clenches his jaws and looks like he's going to lash out on me. But he just dumps the roses in the back seat carelessly. Then turns on the ignition, one of his muscled, tattoed arms on the wheel and he pulls out smoothly, every pair of eyes on us as he drives away.

I first thing that catches my attention is how Zed manages to sprawl even while driving. Just give him any place to sit, fella's gonna sprawl. He is quick to cozying everything around himself.

I revel in his musky scent. His cologne is pure sex. I steal a look at his muscled arms, veins on the back of his hand where he's clutching the wheel firmly. My eyes hovers at his jawline. He sucks his bottom lip then releases it. "You should click a picture."

"What?" I ask.

He turns to me with a knowing grin.

"Whatever..." I wave my hand thinking a way out of this embarrassment. Smug ass. "You never told why the hell did roses reminded you of me. Do I 'smell like roses' or some crap like that?"

"Not exactly..." He seems to contemplate. "It just- did. I'm reconsidering it now. My apartment is too full of roses these days, I feel they don't let me think beyond." He says in a serious, deep voice and takes a right turn.

Amused at his almost religious affinity to flowers, I giggle. "Is it necessary to associate a particular flower with a particular person?"

"Yes." He mutters slowly. "Atleast for me. Flowers resemble Humans in the ways other livings don't. They're all varied, their beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Can you think of a flower that looks ugly? Each one of them has some admirer.

"And most people like Rose the best, just like the prettiest face gets all the attention?"

"If one thinks rose is the prettiest, they must have seen limited species of flora." He smiles in himself. I love the way he gets so passionate about flowers.