Eighteen ➵ z.m. [Camp NaNoWriMo November 2015]

<10> Hey E I really miss you.

I've slept around quiet a bit in my day, but never once in my extensive arsenal of one night stands have I woken up to the smell of bacon lingering in the air and a cup of steaming coffee on the night stand.

Quickly I jump out of bed, looking around for any sign of Zayn. I don't find any so I take the chance to dress up in my clothing attire from the day before while I still had time.

I wasn't exactly sure where Zayn was, but I knew he was somewhere around here: it was his place after all.

As I shimmy into my dress I mentally scold myself for getting into this situation in the first place.

Normally having a one night stand wouldn't be such a big thing to me- I wasn't a slut, but I'm not a saint either.

Mixing business with pleasure is something that I strive to never cross, but somehow last night with Zayn all of my personal rules and boundaries flew out the fucking window.

Awkward, was one thing Zayn and I's encounters couldn't be as my father would choke the living light out of me for crossing lines that were marked with yellow and black caution tape.

Hopefully things would go back to normally fairly soon as I couldn't risk the chance of my father finding out about my lust filled night.

I'm not sure how Zayn's father, John Malik, felt about mixing business and pleasure, but I'm not so sure I want to find out.

My father blowing a gasket was one thing, but him and John freaking out was a totally other.

I have never been remorseful of sleeping with somebody ever before, and I didn't like how it made me feel. If Everly Grey Wilde was just Everly and Zayn Malik was just Zayn, then I knew I wouldn't be feeling this way.

Sometimes I just wish I could retire from my last name- I've grown so sick and tired of it over the last couple of years and I'd like a new one. One that didn't make people shutter in fear every time it was said aloud.

Even though I constantly complained about the family name it was very helpful in times of great demise. If my abduction had been initiated by anyone else, once I had mentioned who my father was would have let me go right then and there, begging me not repeat what had happened down in that chamber.

"Good morning," I greet Zayn walking into the kitchen, coffee cup in one hand my cell phone in the other.

His unclothed back was turned towards me as he was hunched over the stove flipping pancakes with a spatula.

"Morning," Zayn says. "How'd you sleep last night?"

Zayn remains facing the opposite direction, but I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Fine, thank you," I respond.

I didn't want things to be awkward between the two of us, but the question he asked and expected me to answer was a bit uncomfortable considering I had came over last night to talk business, not for Zayn to fuck me on his sofa while some dumb adult cartoon played in the background drowning out my rapid panting and Zayn's low groans and dirty whispering in my ear.

"I figured. You were pretty worn out after I fucked you," Zayn recalls.

I cringe at his vulgar explanation of why I slept so soundly the previous night. My first thought was to deny his claim, but he was correct in saying that he wore me out.

"We should talk about that," I say taking a seat on the barstool.

If we were going to be working together in the future, I didn't want us having sex to make things awkward between us. Not only was it immature, but also unprofessional. The last thing I needed to worry about was running into Zayn while I was out and about. Especially if I ran into him, while one of us was with Harry. That would be horrifying.