Coach Malik

Chapter Four

I rubbed my eyes drowsily, the sun hitting my face. Rolling over, I groaned stretching my arms out, sighing happily. That is, until I realize where I am. But that's the thing, I don't frickin know where the hell I am.

I take in my surroundings, looking at the stuff in the room. My mind is foggy on what I remember, but I know I am in Zayn's room. 

Slowly, I sit up and jump out of his comfy bed, tiptoing out of the room. The hallway is dark, only th morning light radiating on it. The living room is empty as I walk in so I head into the kitchen. No one in here either. Well, this is kinda creepy. No Zayn. I can make my escape! But first, coffee. 

Gingerly, I start to make myself coffee, not giving a crap about what Zayn thinks. I grab the milk from the fridge and scoop some of the coffee grounds into the Mr. Coffee Maker machine. It starts to drip into the cup and I smile in satisfaction. 

"Well, you certainly made yourself at home." I jump out of my skin as his voice came up behind me. I spin around to see him about two inches away from my face. 

"Geez, you're like a ninja! How do you do that?" I ask bewildered. All he does is smirks, standing next to me as I watch my coffee drip into my cup. 

He opens the fridge, bending down to grab some whip cream and I bite my lip when he turns back around. "I have my ways." He says simply. 

"Of coarse you do.." I mumble, rolling my eyes to myself. 

"What's that? I didn't hear you. Can you speak up a bit?" He jokes and I glare at him, sticking my tongue out in his direction. "Oh, very mature." He chuckles and I can't help but laugh with him. 

After my coffee stops dripping I take the whip cream and swirl it on top and put Red Velvet Cupcake creamer in it as well. It's heavenly on my tongue. 

Zayn makes toast and takes the rest of the coffee I made and drinks it plain as it is. Gross. I hate black coffee. It never tasted good to me. I always loved coffee with creamer or blended coffee like a smoothie. 

We sit at his small table in silence, only our slurping and biting is heard in the apartment. To be honest, his apartment is spacey, medium sized, and very depressing. Everything is gray and no lights are on. 

"I'm headed to the warehouse. I'll just drop you off when I'm on my way." He suddenly says and I jerk at the sound of his voice. I nod but for some reason, I have a longing feeling. Like I want to go with him. 

Before my brain can even tell my mouth to stop talking, the words tumble out, "I'm going with you." He looks at me funny, one eyebrow ached and one creased downwards. His jaw clenches visibly and he tenses a bit. 

"No, you're not." 

I scowl. "Yes, I am." 

"No, you're not!" He snaps. 

"Yes, I am! You can't tell me what to do." I snarl. 

"Yes I can! It's  my warehouse, it's my dance crew. So, you're not going." He barks. 

"You're not the boss of me." I say sassily. He stands up from the table, slamming his fist on the counter and I stand up, too, our faces glaring at each other inches apart, staring coldly. 

"Try me." He threatens, coming around the corner of the table and literally bending down, picking me up, and swinging me over his shoulder. Ugh! 

"Let go of me!" I demand, pounding on his muscular back with my fists. I groan in frustration as it hurts my hands more than it's probably hurting him. I see we enter the hallway and I hear him open a door, stepping inside, and then once we're inside, he slams it shut with his foot, because obviously his hands are occupied from frickin holding me!