"Please," Zayn begs. "Just... let me kiss you."
Diamond gives him that look - the one she always gives him. The one that makes him feel like a small child being denied ice cream. "Sorry, but you know it's against my policy."
She doesn't sound sorry...
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Diamond left as soon as they were done, as always. She was cold about it, as always. She offered no real explanation for showing up, which was new because she'd never just showed up before, but wasn't exactly unexpected. But what wasn't usual, was that Zayn didn't pay her.
It's a stupid thing to fixate on, he knows, but that tiny little fact has been spinning round and round in his mind for days. It's unimportant, really, a minor detail - but to Zayn it represents so much. Of course, Diamond showed up of her own volition, so it wouldn't have been right for her to ask for money afterwards. As much he craves her anyway, he didn't ask for her services. That was all her.
And that's normal, Zayn realises.
Diamond showed up at his door, they had sex, and she left, without the exchange of money (or very many words). And in that way, Zayn thinks, they were no longer pròstitute and client. They were two normal people, meeting up and having sex.
Somehow, in the middle of the vegetable aisle in this little supermarket, that makes Zayn's stomach warm and fuzzy. He picks up a few bell peppers, getting a variety of red, orange, yellow and green, and some leeks. And some spring onions. He doesn't really know what the difference is, but he puts them in his trolley. Along with an aubergine and a bag of onions. All in all, half the vegetable display goes into his trolley, a smorgasbord of green, yellows, red, purples, whites. Zayn is going to cook tonight. He is going to pick up a cookbook and cook something, regardless of whether his ex-fiancée handled those same pages five years beforehand. She has moved on, and, so has he. A little. His obsession with Diamond has to mean something right? Besides, if his plan falls through and he can't bring himself to use the cookbooks, he has a phone, a brand new laptop, and the internet.
He pauses, casting his eyes over the butternut squashes. Will he need those? No sooner than he realises that he should have decided what he would make before he went shopping, somebody's cart crashes into his in a crescendo of clashing metal.
"I am so sorry!" the woman behind the offending trolley says, her voice strung high by panic and embarrassment. Nevertheless, Zayn knows that voice. The voice that haunts his dreams and has fuelled every fantasy session he's had for the past two weeks.
God, two weeks. That's really all it took to flip his life upside down?
"Diamond?"
Diamond looks up from where she's assessing the damage to her groceries and his, blanching when she finds out who she just ran into. "Z-Zayn," she stammers in surprise. When she had chosen this supermarket because it was cheaper and held more variety than the one closest to her house, it never occurred to her that Zayn might use it, too. She'd been under the impression that he never left the house.
Immediately, Diamond grips the handlebar on her trolley and begins backing up, ready to bolt. Just as fast, Zayn reaches forward and snags her wrist in his hand. "Don't," he begs. "Don't run from me."
