Underneath My Skin

Ch. 9

I take a step back to take one last look in the mirror. I have on my gold dress, gold heels, gold earrings, gold neckless, and even gold eyeshadow. All gold everything. I guess Zayn was right when he said gold compliments my caramel skin town.

I hear a knock at the door and I grab my purse.

"Where are you going again?" Jackson asks. He's sitting on my bed, looking at me weird.

"Are gallery."

"Have fun."

I smile and practically run to the door. I stop in front of it and fix my hair, that I spent an hour curling. I take a deep breath and open the door. Zayn smiles a sexy sideways smile as his eyes rake up and down my body.

My cheeks heat up. He has on a white button down shirt, with a tux jacket over it, black dress pants, and black slacks. The top button of his shirt is undone, making heat rush to my groin. Holy fucking shit this mother fucker is fine as hell. So fine that it was necessary to use all those cuss words in the same sentence.

"You look amazing," he compliments.

I swallow but there's no spit. My mouth has ran dry and my palms are sweaty. Why am I so nervous?

"Thanks. You do too," I smile.

I step out of my apartment and lock my door. He takes my hand and we take the elevator down to the lobby. We exit the building and he clicks a button on his keys unlocking a black Escalade. I didn't even know he had car. He opens my door for me and I climb in the enormous SUV. He hurries around to his side, gets in, and takes off.

"I'm excited to see your art," I admit.

"Its not all that," he shrugs and I playfully roll my eyes.

He turns the radio up and we listen in silence as he drives quite fast to the art gallery.

When we arrive a Valle worker opens my door, and another one opens Zayn's. Zayn gives the man his keys and he get's in. Zayn walks around the vehicle and takes my hand, only this time he looks down at it. Shit shit shit.

He gasps, and pulls my hand to his face. "What happened to your hand?" He whisper-yells.

I pull my hand from his grip and shrug. He takes a deep breath to control his anger, but there is no hiding how angry he is. He starts walking into the old brick building and I follow. Once we are in he spins around to face me.

"I have to talk to some people." He says.

"Okay, I'll just look around."

He nods, turns on his heels, and walks towards a group of people. In front of me is a sign that says Starring Zayn Malik.

He said it was featuring his work. Not showing all of it. I take a walk around and start looking at the giant canvases on the walls. Most of then are graffiti, which I find really cool. But, the next painting saddens me.

Its a withered black rose. Its sad and gloomy. The next painting I see is a pole. But I know its not just any pole, its a stripper's pole. Who paints a picture of a stripper's pole?

My blood starts to heat up. Is this some kind of joke. I look to the next picture and all the air escapes my lungs. Its me sitting on a bench reading a book. Even though my face is angled down towards the bench, I know its me. I slowly back away from the wall until i'm halted by a strong barrier. I turn around to face Harry.

He's wearing a white button down shirt, the sleeves stop mid arm, showing off his glorious tattoos. The top two button of his shirt are un buttoned and I quickly look down to control my sexual thoughts. He has on black dress pants and shoes.