[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
I watch as Zayn's lanky fingers turn down the dial to the radio, admiring the tattoos that cover the backs of his hands. He's weaving in-between traffic and there's a part of me that feels absolutely terrified, but as I watch the way his one hand grips the wheel, and the other rests on the gear shift knob between us, I can't help but feel safe. He drifts around a corner and I can't stop the squeal of excitement that falls from my lips. He looks at me and when he sees me grinning and laughing he can't help but crack an actual smile. The smile on my face is unavoidable, I've never felt so alive.
When he rounds another corner, he has to slow down because of the traffic. There's an odd silence that passes between us and I use the time to steal little stares at him here and there. He's in his element, and honestly he looks insanely sexy while doing it. "So what was that last night?" Zayn speaks up, over the still-quiet radio and my throat instantly dries.
I flip my cellphone over in my hands when I feel the familiar feeling of two vibrations. It's a text message from Zoe. Something about her being thankful that I'm okay, but also curious because I'd just spent the night with Zayn, who she only knew as some mysterious guy I met at a party. I fiddle with my cellphone and look out the window. What do I tell him? Well, not the truth . . . He's a stranger to me at this point. "I just wasn't feeling well," I lie, hoping and praying he doesn't question me further.
Zayn doesn't say anything, staring out the front windshield, seemingly frustrated with the traffic. When he bites his lip out of concentration I have to look away because he's much too attractive. Do I even want to be with him? Or am I just really attracted to him?
What am I thinking? He's probably the type that doesn't do girlfriends. He's likely just out looking for a quick fuck and then he moves onto the next one that catches his interest.
"There's a Halloween party tonight. You're coming with me," he says without looking at me, without even asking if—not only I'm interested—but if I'm even free.
"I am?" I question, quirking an eyebrow in his direction. "I wasn't aware. I already had plans with friends." In all honesty, I don't have any plans but the fact that he's saying I'm coming with him without even asking irritates me and I end up sassily crossing my arms and pursing my lips while waiting for him to respond. I don't know him, what makes him think that I'd agree to going to shit with him when the only things I know about him are his name and what he does in his free time?
"That hyperactive chick?" He clicks his tongue, ignoring my answer. "Bring her. What are you wearing?"
"Nothing," I snap. "You can't dictate what I can and can't wear, Zayn. And you can't just decide where I'm going. I'm not yours. I'm not something you own—like this car. If I choose to come tonight, I'll wear whatever the fuck I want."
