Half a Heart

Chapter Eleven

Work dragged on, and on, and on. Instead of focusing on the manuscript I should have been critiquing, I daydreamed instead of soft hazel eyes and jet black hair, warm tender skin and--

"Ms. Cordova?" the speaker on my phone snapped me out of my thoughts.

I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear while absentmindedly scratching on my notepad with a pen, surprised to hear that I had a visitor.

"What kind of visitor?" I asked, a bit nervous. I was only an intern, after all.

"Young, black hair, brown eyes-"

"Yes, yes, let him in." I hastily replied, smoothing my hair and straightening my blouse.

Zayn hadn't ever visited me at work before, oh god.

Should I act normal? Or professional?

Before I had time to decide, Zayn casually walked around my cubicle, trying to act casual. With his hands in his pocket, rolled-up sleeves exposing his tattoos, and delicious scruff, I was almost drooling- but boy, did he look out of place.

I stood up, glancing at the clock. 1:38.

Draping my arms around his neck, I couldn't resist at least one unprofessional kiss. His fingertips lingered on my waist as we pulled away from each other, and I giggled nervously.

"What's up? You've never come here before," I asked, adding quickly, "Not that I don't appreciate it."

Zayn drummed his fingers against one of my filing cabinets. "I thought maybe we could grab lunch or something, is that cool?"

I was so awestruck by him, watching the way his pink lips slowly moved up and down, puckering as he said 'we'.

"Yeah, that sounds fun," I smiled, grabbing my purse and shoving my keys and manuscript inside to finish later. "Where to?"

"How does Tijuana sound?" Zayn sidled alongside me as we began walking towards the elevator and I leaned in to him, enjoying his musky fresh smell. He always smelled like he had just washed his clothes with, like, ten gallons of detergent and it always smelled so good.

Tijuana Flats was probably my favorite restaurant in the entire world. "Tijuana sounds great."

***

After we had ordered and while we were eating, I took out the manuscript I had been working on and flipped open to the last page where I had doodled my notes in the margins. Zoning out, I broke a nacho in half and dipped it in my queso, absorbing myself in the text. I kept reading, forgetting my surroundings.

Breaking my thoughts, I felt Zayn's eyes on me. Glancing up, I saw him looking at me the way I look at him, full of awe and wonder. I couldn't help but smile, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

"What?" I asked, giggling.

"You're just so...I don't know, you're so cute when you get into what you're reading. It's adorable." I blushed and started to fold up the packet.

"No, don't--" his hand over mine, "what is it about? Is it good?"

I started to explain, "Well, it started out really well. But, the main character- this girl Dalia, is really naive. She goes to a bunch of like, dumb frat parties and something bad happens at each one. She doesn't understand that she's apparently, like, really hot or whatever and people keep starting fights over her or try to drug her or rape her and it's kind of getting really predictable, you know? The whole 'she has an overprotective boyfriend who starts a fight over anything' kinda deal."

Zayn's eyes crinkled and he leaned forward, interlocking his fingers with mine. "Then why keep reading it?"

"I don't know," I admitted, "It's really well written. I feel like if she changed the plot and stopped repeating the same conflict, it could really have potential."

Gazing at him, I watched Zayn's lips slowly make out the words. "I love how you see the good in everything, to be honest. If it would me, I probably would have trashed it by now." Teasingly, he softly pulled on my fingers and said, "Maybe you're the naive one."

I laughed along with him, "Maybe. But I still like giving people chances, you know? After I write all my notes I'll give it back and maybe she can try again."

Zayn picked up our trays, balancing them atop one another, and started getting up to throw them away. I stood up to join him, shoving my manuscript back into my purse, and he draped his arm around my neck.

Pressing a kiss into my hair, he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you more," I said into his shoulder. He turned his head, leaning down to press his full lips against mine as we slowly walked out.

We straddled Zayn's motorcycle and as he started it up, I leaned forward and pressed my face against his back, sliding my arms around his waist in one single, fluid motion.

I was in love with how comfortable I was with being in love with him.

When we parked back at the building, Zayn decided to walk me back to my office. He held my hand as we walked through the lobby and up the stairs, whispering sweet nothings into my ear and making me giggle.

Finally we came to my cubicle and set my stuff down. Zayn pressed me against the wall, his body against mine, and set a kiss right below my ear. I shivered, sponging my lips to his for a moment as he said, "I'll pick you up later, yeah?"

I nodded, sliding my fingers out from his belt loops as I watched him walk away and down the stairs, whistling softly to himself.

Humming along quietly, I took out my manuscript out of my purse and settled myself at my desk. While looking for my pen, my eyes landed on Zayn's keys next to my bag. He must have left them by accident, I thought.

Rolling my chair back, I grabbed his keys and fast-walked down the stairs. I heard Zayn's voice in the lobby, probably talking to the receptionist.

I rounded the stairwell, entered the lobby, and froze in my tracks.

Narrowing my eyes, I shook my head and backed up. In front of me, Zayn and the receptionist were-- no, they couldn't be.

They were kissing.

I gasped, backing up even more until my back smacked against a large potted plant and it almost fell.

Zayn looked at me, panicked.

"Brooke, wait!" Zayn yelled.

But it was too late. I had already turned and started stumbling up the stairs as fast as I could, angrily brushing away the tears that fell onto my cheeks.

How could he?