stars and terrain (zayn malik)

Chapter 3

Charlotte

My shift could not have possibly been over soon enough. I should have just stayed in bed this morning. For some reason almost every customer was a nightmare, and I had a record setting four creepy men hitting on me. It isn't even dark outside yet.

It's one of those days I wish I had gone to college. But my mother reminded me my beauty wouldn't last forever, so I fell into the laughable stereotype of actress/model/waitress in Los Angeles while she continuously asked if I'd found a rich man yet.

I couldn't have known my face would work against me. Too commercial for the modeling world, too wholesomely pretty for the types of acting roles I wanted. You can only play the "cute girl next door" so many times. I was jaded after six months in Hollywood and I'm going into my fifth year of repeated rejection and severe self-esteem issues.

If only Los Angeles wasn't so damn addicting. I can't see myself ever living anywhere else.

On cue, like a sign from the universe, Zayn Malik's new single blasted from the radio as I turned the key in my car. I laughed. The heartiest laugh I'd had since I'd been with the voice on the radio in the flesh.

He wasn't funny. He was much too stoic to be funny. But the way he took everything so seriously never failed to make me laugh.

To be fair, he didn't need to be funny. He was the most beautiful person, male or female, I'd ever seen in person. And I had worked some Hollywood parties as a cater waiter, frequented plenty celebrity-filled clubs, and sneaked into many a star studded party.

Hands down the prettiest.

The fact that he had that voice coming out of that face was purely genetics bragging.

My phone buzzed, bringing me out of my Zayn induced trance and I quieted a call from my best friend Alli. I didn't want to rehash my day from hell, I wanted to keep thinking about and listening to Zayn.

Wait.

Zayn.

My eyes caught on his name flashing on my screen, underneath the new notification that I'd purposely missed Alli's call.

"But he's in Kansas City tonight," I said aloud to myself, a side effect of living in a studio apartment and spending most of your time completely alone.

Embarrassed to know his schedule by heart, I slid my thumb to the right to see what he wanted.

"How do you feel about Nashville?" the text read.

"Never been." I answer simply.

"Would you like to visit? Tomorrow?"

Tomorrow he plays in Nashville.

"Is this a cross country booty call?" I type. This has never happened before.

"Nooo..."

I can picture the way his mouth draws out the "o" and form a perfect circle, now my judgment is completely clouded and I'm ready to start driving east.

"What happened to Nashville girl?"

I see the dots and know he's typing but nothing comes. They disappear and reappear and I wonder if I should stop talking about the other girls. He doesn't seem to ever like it.

"Busy." He finally responds and I sour. All typing and not typing for that?

"I've got two shifts tomorrow," I respond, truthfully.

Nope. I will happily be a Los Angeles hook up but I'm not looking to pinch hit in other states.

"Can I call you right now?"