[COMPLETED]
❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞
Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an...
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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
"Here," Zoe grabs my hand, pulling me out of the store we'd just spent ten minutes browsing through, only to leave empty handed. I actually barely had time to even look at anything but I guess that's what I get for shopping with Zoe. She doesn't actually enjoy shopping, she just wants to buy shit. She doesn't browse—it's in an out within two minutes if she doesn't immediately see anything, and she never tries things on.
"Jesus," I pant, trying to keep up with her. "Where are you taking me now?" My voice coming out ten times more whiny than I ever intended it to be.
"Let's go get coffee," she stops in her tracks and beams at me. Her hands are filled with three shopping bags with assorted accessories and articles of clothing.
Zoe insisted on this shopping day. I really don't know why, but every time a guy walks by us on the street she immediately bites her lip and turns in my direction. Then she'll do the last thing I want her to do—she'll bring up that mystery cheesy pickup line guy from the night before.
Internally I sing an old childhood song about a boy obsessed with a girl. It causes me to smile a little externally and Zoe picks up on it.
She cocks her head at me for a moment, before her lips curl into a sly smile. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Zoe turns back around and continues walking.
No, I'm really not.
I roll my eyes, knowing that she doesn't have eyes in the back of her head. "For the last time, no. I don't know even him, and . . . ugh . . . just no. He really didn't turn me on . . . he was adorable in the way that I'd never date him."
She waves her hand in the air, and I instantly know she's not listening to a word I'm saying. "Sure, sure, whatever you say. What do you think his name is?" She rapidly twists around to look at me. How in the hell did she not just suffer from whiplash? Zoe continues walking at a speed much too fast for me. "Chuck? Kyle? Curtis? Jesse? Aaron? How about Jake?" She's rambling off names and I can barely keep up with her. "Wait . . . he's English . . . what are some English names? Oliver? Ryan? Jayd—"
"Okay, seriously Zoe . . . enough already."
"He had so many tattoos . . . so dreamy," she's ignoring me, obsessing over a man she met once for like, ninety seconds and will likely never see again. Miami's a big city.
"Why don't you date him then? God, you're already in love with the poor boy . . ." I realize that I sound really bitchy, but Zoe doesn't catch onto it, instead she turns again to face me. I'm just tired of her assuming that I was into him just because he hit on me. He's not my type whatsoever, I don't know why she hasn't figured that out already.
I'm more into tall, dark and handsome. Although, tall isn't a necessary requirement. Dark and handsome will do just fine.
"But he was so into you and so . . . not into me," she bites her lip and I can imagine the pictures forming in her brain right now. Pictures of the stranger and her.
