Entangled | Zayn Malik

Chapter Thirteen

I'm outside the saloon, perched on the gravel, well because I needed somewhere to sit and there are no seats around and why not. Zayn's in the loo. Now that I think about it, there should definitely be seats out here. Maybe I'll write a letter to the owner.

Dear owner of Hal's Saloon (presumably Hal),

I'd like to write a complaint regarding the fact that there are no seats outside your pub. Where do you propose one sits while waiting on a taxi? The gravel just does not cut it. Maybe put some sand there instead. Or grass. Or a rug. Or some seats.

Any of the above would be fine.

Yours sincerely, Kaya Greyson.

I always did have a knack for writing good letters.

I hate to have to leave my car here but neither of us are in any fit state to drive home.

"This is uncomfortable." I say to Zayn with a screwed up face as he comes back outside from the toilet.

"Gravel isn't really designed for comfort." He laughs.

"Oh really? I thought it was specifically designed for just that?" I say.

"Only in some places."

"Interesting, you learn something new everyday."

"Come here." Zayn sits down next to me, opens his arms out, and gestures for me to sit on his lap.

"You kidding?" I say.

"I'm a lot comfier than the ground, I promise."

"If you say so." I get up and wipe the gravel from the back of my jeans and walk towards Zayn. He stretches his arms out and takes my hands - balancing me down onto his lap.

"If I'm too heavy just tell me and I'll move okay?" I tell him.

"You're light as a feather." He says, wrapping his arms around my stomach.

"Not quite that light." I say.

"Are you ticklish?" Zayn asks.

"No." I lie.

"Really?" A grin spreads across his face. "What if I do this?" He lightly squeezes his hands on either side of my stomach and I start squirming and laughing like an idiot.

"Zayn! Stop it!" I manage to squeal in between laughs.

"You lied to me Greyson." Zayn says, trying to keep a straight face as he continues to squeeze at my stomach and ribs.

"We look like a pair of twats." I say, still laughing like an idiot.

"We are a pair of twats." He says.

"Speak for yourself." I scoff.

"You're sitting on my lap in the middle of a car park, laughing and squirming, you look like just as much of a twat as I do." He laughs, arms tightening around my waist.

I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scents - the freshly washed smell of his t-shirt, and the smell of his subtle aftershave with a hint of alcohol. The softness of his t-shirt feels comforting against my skin.

"Okay, then we're both twats." I say, slightly muffled as my face is nestled in his neck.

"Then we're both twats." He repeats softly and I can feel him nodding his head.

I'm suddenly conscious of the fact that he hurt his ribs earlier today and I sit up quickly.

"Your ribs." I say, "are they still hurting?"