Runway Walk

I spent the rest of the morning trying to avoid Zayn. After the disaster of last night, the last thing I wanted was to face him. I could still feel the humiliation creeping up my neck every time I thought about it—the kiss, then throwing up all over him. I groaned and shook my head, trying to focus on the present.

But if Zayn wasn't making fun of me, was he even Zayn?

I was in the kitchen, spreading peanut butter on some toast, trying to plan out my day when he strolled in, his usual smirk plastered on his face. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"You know, if you're trying to avoid me, you're doing a terrible job, because as a human you do need to eat," he said, raising an eyebrow.

I stiffened, keeping my back to him as I slathered more peanut butter than necessary on my toast. "I'm not avoiding you."

Zayn chuckled. "Right. So, last night never happened?"