stars and terrain (zayn malik)

Chapter 19

Charlotte

"That's not true!" I exclaim, launching my napkin across the table and hitting Zayn in the shoulder. "I never said that!"

"You did. The day we met you told me." He seems proud of himself, remembering the most random tidbits of information from that first day. "It was at my party, right before that guy beat the shit out of me at pool."

"I was probably just trying to sound cool," I grumble.

"You fooled me." He laughs and leans back in his chair.

I feel warm and full and a lot better about all the life changes of the day. We're in the corner of my favorite hole-in-the-wall Caribbean restaurant, where you sit on plastic chairs and it's BYOB. We've stopped at the liquor store on the corner and have almost polished off a six-pack of Heineken.

"Last one," Zayn pops open the bottle and slides it across the table.

"Thanks," I say, tipping the bottle to my lips.

This feels so perfect. I feel like we're an actual, real life couple, and even though he proposed moving in together on day one, I'm starting to accept our relationship won't be traditional. And that doesn't have to mean it's wrong. I need to loosen up and stop being so negative.

Or maybe that's the beer talking.

"You're so pretty," he says it from across the table casually and my cheeks flame.

It's probably his beer talking, but I mutter thanks and sink into my chair. I feel just like I did last night in the booth at the bar, so content. I don't want to get up.

"Remember when you told me you'd go on tour with me last night?" he smiles mischievously and my mouth drops open.

"No!" but the foggy memory rolls in and I groan. "Oh. Yes. But I was four drinks in, you can't hold me to that."

"Oh I can. And I will," he looks so beautifully devilish, rubbing the scruff of his chin. "Your first plane ride will be to Florida tomorrow."

The beers and the happiness make it hard to protest, so I'll let myself handle this one tomorrow. For now I just wordlessly shake my head and sip at the rest of my beer.

"Excuse me!" A female voice sounds over my shoulder and I freeze. Fuck. We'd been so lucky all night.

"Could I maybe get a picture with you?" she asks, and I watch Zayn's face slowly nod.

"Um, sure," he says, as the girl rounds our table and stands behind him with a huge smile.

I've seen him interact with fans a couple times. It always makes me feel strange, mainly because I might as well be invisible. If they aren't just pushing their phone in my hand without even asking me to take the picture, they're shoving me out of the way.

I watch the girl behind the camera swap places with her friend for her own picture, they say thank you and are on their way. All in all, it's an easy interaction but it only means we have a limited amount of time before word gets out.

"We should go," I suggest, but he shakes his head.

"No, finish your beer," he gestures to the half full bottle. "It's fine."

But it's not, and I'm right. In the next five minutes restaurant goers get braver, some coming to ask for pictures and some just snapping them without permission, and I feel increasingly uncomfortable.

I'm going to be in these. And I was in them last night. And I don't really know how to feel about that yet. He senses my discomfort and sighs.

"I'm sorry, Charlie."