Life With Mr. Malik (ON HOLD)

Chapter 3: What A Fangirl

I picked up the keys to his car and whirled around, shrieking when a topless Zayn and I collided, our bodies slamming against each other's. Panicking, I covered my eyes with one hand and swatted him with the other. Yes, desperate times call for Karate Kid.

And I ain't talking about Jaden Smith.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." I muttered to myself, both my hands glued to my face now. "Can you please put something on? Oh god."

He advanced towards me and leaned forward, whispering. "Why? Can't handle the heat, sweet and innocent Miles?" His breath tickled my ear. Bringing a hand to my face, he tucked stray strands of hair behind my ear.

I swallowed, my throat feeling dry. "Just get dressed."

He laughed and I sensed him smiling at me. I kept my eyes covered until I heard his footsteps fade. Breathing deeply, I let my hands fall to my sides. It's not that I didn't find him attractive or anything, because I do. Who wouldn't? He's really handsome and well, flawless. Physically. I guess what made me resist him was his personality, his attitude.

I just never wanted to make the same mistake again . . .

Believe it or not, I've had a few relationships before and all of them ended rather badly because I'm, well, Miles. And somehow, every guy I went out with got tired of me. Said I was too young for commitment. Said I was too naive. A bunch of crap, really. But the one guy who hurt me the most was this guy who used to be my best guy friend before we started dating. And apparently, dating me was a part of his initiation in the fraternity he joined at University.

Yep, my heart was his passport to an exclusive organization. 

And I was stupid enough not to see right through him.

"Hey, Miles. Are you okay?" His voice jostled me from my thoughts. I faced him, forcing my lips to curl into a smile to hide the pain.

"Yeah, of course." I reassured him immediately. "So, you better go and I'll, uh, I'll clean the house."

He looked up and around, examining the interior of his mansion, which I had scrubbed, polished and swept everyday for the past three weeks. "I don't think there's a need for that. The house is still squeaky clean."

"Oh," I said, feeling disappointed. Uh-oh. Miles, no. Keep your mouth shut! Do you hear me, me? Whatever you do, don't . . . Too late.

Without thinking twice, I started blabbering. Seriously though, I embarrass myself way too much. "So, I guess I should head on home now, right? I mean, you obviously don't need a maid today because like you said, the house is still pretty much squeaky clean"- this is what happens when I get upset over something -"and isn't it funny how 'squeaky' is the actual sound a clean floor makes when you rub your sneakers on it?" I talk too much.

"Miles, I want you to go to the studio with me."

"And speaking of sneakers, mine got drenched in beer. Don't ask why. It's a pretty long story." I paused, his words processing in my head. "Wait, what?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "Miles, shut up. For a moment, please just shut up." He let out a deep breath out his nose before continuing. "Do you or do you not want to go to the studio with me?"

"My dad's a member of the navy and he has a really big gun. Use it on me if I ever refuse that offer." I said, making him grin. And fine. I may or may not have smiled a teensy weensy bit after he did. I just found it cute, okay?

He held a hand out, waiting for me to take it.

"Uh, how about no." I sauntered out the front door, wearing the smug expression I have mastered for years.