Unbreak Me

★ CHAPTER FOURTEEN ★

LEIA

I opened the car's door and just looked helplessly at Zayn. His face was shadowed by the flicker of light coming from the streetlamps and he looked every bit the kind of guy fathers warned their daughters about.

"What's going on?" He said with a flippant smile.

Smile? On Zayn?

I was either dead or dreaming.

"Nothing," I shook my head as if to prove my point. "Nothing I can't fix."

Yeah. As if I knew what the hell was wrong with my car—again—and what I needed to do to fix it. In the middle of the night, no less.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I used my best 'duh' tone.

He shrugged. "Okay, then. See you on Monday."

He turned to leave.

Wait . . . what? He wasn't going to offer me help? Couldn't my Zayn step out of this jerk somehow? Because I was stranded in the middle of a creepy-as-hell parking lot with all sorts of weird people and in desperate need of a strong man who could fix my rusty old car.

And, as sad and pathetic as it was, Zayn was the only guy I trusted.

No matter who he'd become I could always rely on him. I wish I wasn't so easily trusting but that's who I was and I couldn't help it.

"Hey, wait!" I stepped out of my car just in case I'd have to yell louder.

Torturously slow, Zayn twisted at the waist and said, "Me?"

It was too dark for me to properly see his face especially with the distance between us but I was pretty sure he was amused.

I drew in a deep breath, wondering what I was supposed to do now that I had his attention.

I cleared my throat in a sophisticated lady-like manner. "My car isn't working."

"And?" He probed, taking a few steps toward me.

God, did he want me to spell it out for him? Couldn't he be a gentleman and offer help?

"I need someone to fix it."

"Need who?" Gosh, he was definitely teasing me. "Should I call someone?"

"Zayn," I gritted out.

"Yes?" His face was pure innocence.

For some stupid reason, it melted my heart. Hold your horses, woman.

"Can you help me fix my car?"

"I most certainly can. But will I?"

Oh. My. God.

He was so infuriating. If I wasn't a respectable young Muslimah I would've trudged forward and had a nice conversation with him and probably smacked him a time or two.

"Never mind," I quipped, turning back and fishing around the seats for my purse. Then I remembered I had put my phone in the dashboard.

Too busy looking for my phone, I hadn't realised Zayn had come closer until I felt him right by my side. I debated telling him to get lost and instead focused on my brand-new iPhone.

3 WhatsApp missed calls.

All from Ammar.

I don't know why I peeked at Zayn just then. And why did I feel that weird twinge of guilt? Zayn was just some boy who had long ago been my friend while Ammar was my husband of five years. I wished I could just switch off my feelings because they sure were confusing me.