The force of attraction

I woke up from a bad dream with pulsations in my head and something scary lingering in my mind.

Think Me and Zayn about to make out during soccer practice in the locker room. Shirtless. Sweaty. Hot.

I was heaving again.

"Poor thing, In case you didn't know, it's called a hangover" Cole cooed, trying and failing at stifling the laugh that bubbled in his throat.

I was in too much pain to laugh along. Even if it was at myself.

It wasn't like I hadn't drunk before. I'd had my fair share of alcohol, just then, I'd eaten atleast a bite of some food.

To seamlessly fit in my dress with no protruding pot belly, I only had water yesterday.

"I know what happens when people drink alcohol colander" I just didn't think the effects would be that disastrous.

Ah, early morning banter with Cole and probably a cup of tea was ought to clear the storm clouds risen over my head but when Holly's pitchy laugh evaded my hearing and I felt so much worse.

That morning, with my headache pounding up a storm, I walked down the starecase praying for a decent breakfast: scrambled eggs, Orange juice, toast, maybe.

But, my eyes were forced to feed on holly in her righteous prostitute attire. I grimaced but couldn't look away. She was leaning over–that was fine, she was in Cole's knee length shirt but underneath said shirt was a lacy thong that did very little in it's area of expertise.

Her bra was probably amidst the puddle of clothes Cole ripped off her because it definitely wasn't on her.

Cole was gazing with moon eyes as she worked in the kitchen. His stare mainly on her butt.

Why did I leave my room again?

i was hungry, remember?

What events transpired last night were very obvious because of what they were wearing–almost nothing. Cole was in his ducky boxers for Goodnesses sake.

I cringed hard, almost regurgitating undigested food when I remembered there was nothing.

"Eat up" Holly, weirdly but nicely served me breakfast in a rush to return to the source of her daily pleasure. My eyes rolled into my head.

She whispered something Cole's ear. His lips quirked up and in the matter of seconds, the disgusting couple were behind the shelter of Cole's door ripping off one another's clothing like they had heatstroke.

I was alone, finally. A relished little moment but also very lonely, so I thought about the only thing I didn't want to.

Zayn Davenport and his involvement in my dream.

Everything about last night and the past week was weird. Zayn and I weren't enemies but neither were we friends, it was a good balance between both but last night tilted us towards the friendship part of the meter and maybe more.

I didn't want to believe that.

Last night was a normal thing at the Charity gala: Get drunk and hangout but it was becoming far too familiar to feel comfortable.

In my dream, Zayn was his normal self, same eyes, hair, lips, height, just, he was sweet, caring, attentive and unable to abstain from my lips.

Idealism at it's finest.

I buried my face in my palms in shame. My dreams of Zayn were perverse. Zayn would file a restraining order against me if he knew I had such thoughts about him, about us.

There was no us.

I was reveling in a shitty train of thought, until mom walked into the kitchen in what I may refer to as the sluttiest night gown known to man. Just when I thought holly was being totally insensitive.

Dad trailed behind her, rubbing away crustiness from his eyes.

"Morning guys" I hollered.

"Happy Lazy Sunday!" Mom cheered, progressing closer to me, I scooted away in fear of catching whatever viral disease was being spread in the Mayfield household.

It was spreading too fast for my comfort.

"Good morning Milan, Have a good night?" Dad's question was dumped in oblivion when he grabbed Mom's waist and smouldered her in kisses. There went my innocence and appetite.

"PDA guys, have mercy on me" I shielded my eyes.

"Get a boyfriend first and even you wouldn't bother about PDA" Mom said, massaging dad's shoulders. "Besides, this is my house, if you don't want to watch, there's always the streets" Dad nodded in agreement.

I picked the short straw on appropriate parents didn't I?

"Shouldn't you be hung over?" I sipped at the horrible cup of tea. The diabetes in a cup passed my throat by chance, I sputtered and swallowed the rest.

"I should be but, not after last night" Mom's words were definitely not inauspicious neither was dad's smirk.

I didn't want to revisit the thought. I was drunk but I still couldn't ignore their noises.

"I didn't ask for any visuals" Don't think about it. Don't think about it . Just run away. "I'll be going to my room now to recover before I die of disgust. Here's some tea if you want some"

Someone deserved Holly's jaw dropping delicacy.

The walk to my bedroom worsened my awful mood. Cole's fortress was manufacturing much more noises than it did last night. The bed was squeaking so bad.

I clamped my ears and ran for my life but the sounds followed because Cole Mayfield's brothel and my bedroom were next to one another and paper thin walls helped nothing.

They needed to learn a thing or two about celibacy.

In my bed–warm and hungry, I returned to contemplating the meaning of my dream.

I needed a therapist.

How did one explain Zayn touching me in ways that erected the hairs on my body while i moaned like a sick horse to a therapist?

She'd shake her head and send me to a baptismal.

I wasn't meant to have dreams like that, they were creepy and provoked heat in my cheeks and empowered my headache.

Worst of all, they made me think of Zayn.

I slumped into a pillow, groaning. I could never look at him the same again. Neither could I stop thinking of how his lips felt.

My phone vibrated, distracting me from the ache in my head. It was momentary but I was thankful nonetheless. I nabbed it from my nightstand.

ZaynDavenport: Hungover or nah?

Speak of the devil.

A smile climbed my lips. Stop smiling creep. My lips fell.

Why did he care if I was hungover? Well, he caused it but still, he was being overly invasive.

Me: Go to hell, you caused this

You really think Milan Mayfield would reject such a grand opportunity to quit studying the reproductive process because of pride? Hell no. I was an ass kisser too, remember.

Me: I'm so hungover I could die.

He replied quickly.

ZaynDavenport: Thank goodness, Now I have a reason to take you out for breakfast.

Breathe.

I was totally fine and not blushing like a prude because Zayn said something nice.

Zayn's text arouse that Fifteen year old who queued up behind other girls, awaiting her turn to date Zayn. She died when she was sixteen though.

I bit back whatever my dream was resurrecting. It wasn't a crush. It wasn't adoration. It had to be some rare form of hate.

Plus, he was taken.

I didn't dress up to put my dream to shame. I sported my most worn hoodie with decent sized holes, faded leggings and a mopy ponytail.

I caught Davenport's smile a block away and regretted my outfit choice. A sun dress was screaming my name but I just had to prove a point, didn't I?

He looked well. No eyebags, Prickly, vampire skin, dampened soul. I mean, he was glowing in the early morning sun like a Roman god.

Zayn looked fresh off a magazine page while I took the role of the overworked, underpaid Janitor who manned the trashcans during the shoot.

"Good morning Mayfield" He greeted. The air around him was sunflowers and daisies. It punched me in the face.

I should've settled for Deodorant at least.

“Hello, Zayzay” What the fritter was I saying?

I swung my arm, smirking like a little farm girl. His smile touched each ear.

“Someone's feeling better than I am”

I dropped the act–whatever it was meant to be– and crossed my arms over my chest.

"I'm here for the food not for you, I'm in withdrawal"

"You're hurting my feelings. Here I was thinking you actually missed my face" Zayn teased.

I had enough of making out with that exact face overnight not to miss it but I didn't mention. He didn't need know that.

"Let's head inside, shall we?" I nodded.

Zayn opened the door, letting me in first. The place wasn't special. There were pastels and Hello Kitty insignias and umbrellas. Quite childish.

“Stop glowering” His lips were close to my ear.

“I'm not. Get away from me” To his defense, I was glowering at both the kindergarten inspired interior design and him.

"Welcome!" The Barrister smiled when she noticed us. Her smile was real toothy. I knew she wasn't smiling at me. Smiles like that favor the male species.

Zayn waved. I was also forced to wave.

"Have you been here before?" Zayn asked, motioning me further inside.

Seats were sparse and far from one another and pink. We chose the table at the far back next to the window.

"Nope" I managed once I was seated. I hadn't for a million reasons:

It was an intimate space I would walk past on a normal day.

I didn't like coffee houses.

Solidarity wasn't a friend of mine.

And many more.

"How did you find it?"

"Lorraine works here" Zayn said calmly, easing into the booth.

I stared at him and stared some more. I wasn't fishing(adjective) my mouth was closed. I was just very shocked. Lorraine as in his girlfriend Lorraine?

I cleared my throat. "Um, why are we here?"

"For our Project. I almost forgot we had that"

"We could have worked over the phone" I groaned. "I'm going home"

Zayn's face fell faster than I could leave the seat. I was hungry and wouldn't bother throwing Lorraine back with a pancake if she played dirty.

A warm hand caught mine. "At least stay for breakfast"

That proposal was irresistible. A plate of pancakes and syrup sounded appealing after the excuse for breakfast I had.

Stay.

The internal battle was a minute long, my legs wobbled and Team Zayn bulldozed me back to my seat.

"If it helps, Lorraine's shift isn't until later in the afternoon" He smiled.

It didn't help.

"I can't help but feel like a sidepiece" I grumbled. His poor neck turned scarlet.

"That's not...it isn't...you're not..." Zayn spluttered. I held back my laughter for a commendable time. Zayn was a mess of it's and you's and I relished the sight. "Lorraine and I aren't even that serious"

"Yet you two are in a serious relationship and kiss half the time?" I cocked my head. "You know, disowning your girlfriend is a big red flag"

Zayn rubbed his chin. His lips parted and closed as he carefully selected what he wanted to tell me. "You'll probably not get it"

"Try me" He looked up, Uncertainty filled his eyes. "If you're not comfortable telling you don't have to"

Despite really counting on that reason, I couldn't extract it at the risk of his comfort for the sake of our growing friendship.

I could but then again this was a memorable time. It wasn't everyday we had heart to hearts.

"Soon enough Milan, soon enough"

“That's not an answer" I rolled my eyes. I should have used force. It's the only language men listen to.

A waitress peeked by our table, waving in Zayn's direction and Looking him dead in the eyes while I ordered.

“Didn't you mention Lorraine works here?”

“Yeah?”

“Then why do these piranhas keep coming at you like chum?”

Zayn guffawed. “I don't know. It's probably a contract to flirt when she's not here. I'm not usually this popular”

“It seems you're well used to female attention, aren't you?” I wasn't being shady, I just wanted to pluck a cord that'd rub him the wrong way. As per usual.

“All but One” He smirks almost seductively at me. I scowl. “I can't seem to get your heart in the bag, Mayfield”

“Maybe it's because I'm immune to your conniving tactics for wooing susceptible women” That sounded brilliant. “You should write a book, you know”

Our breakfast came before his response. Zayn was quaking with laughter.

I compared our plates. Mine was carbs and feminine glory. His were leaves of the medieval times.

"No wonder you're all flesh and bones" I pristinely had a bite of my pancake.

Cut the crap milan. I stuffed an entire roll of pancake down my throat. It's a talent.

Zayn looked offended.

"This is 100 pounds of muscle" He flexed. It was nothing new. I creepily watched his muscles ripple while he practiced. I could make a painting of each muscle of his body except one….

"As if" I laughed. “Your muscles are lean”

Facts. He made a thin build work. Goddamit, I was complimenting him in my mind. Who knows, next I'll be hightailing him screaming how godly his face is.

I consumed another pancake whole.

“How are you doing that?” Zayn leaned back, bewildered.

“I have mouthspace of a chipmunk. Born gift”

“What else don't I know about you?” Zayn wiped syrup smeared on my cheek with a napkin.

The point palpitated. It stung.

“A lot” My voice was way too husky to be deemed normal.

My heart was also doing something odd, beating twice as fast because he wiped effing syrup from my cheek. Zayn didn't kiss me. I was overreacting.

I expect no less from my hormones.

“Such as?”

Zayn leaned forward on the table, his hair fell over his forehead, casting shadows over his eyes.

My eyes darted around his sense organs very awkwardly. I couldn't skip the traces of my dream seeping back into my mind.

Breathe. I did.

“There's way too much to finish in one sitting” My huskiness was rising with the tension and piddling distance between our face.

I was sick.

I must have been because what the hell was happening? Why am I dripping sweat and flushed and sounding like a hardworking prostitute?

“We should get going” It's less than a whisper. Zayn doesn't hear it.

"You're right. Maybe we should hang out again. For progress sake" Zayn suggested.

I didn't want to. Not before I could sort out whatever haze had come upon me that made Zayn suddenly hot.

But our project. I could ditch an A just because my hormones were making me mad. I'd have to settle.

"Maybe we should. Where will our next meeting be?"

"I'll text you." He smiled and pushed around his food. I had no idea what it was, there was an abundance of leaves and a bunch of sweet corn here and there. Zayn looked uninterested in the meal.

I stared dreadfully at my plate and his, cursing my piddling kindness. Mom didn't raise a self centered glutton. "Want some?"

Zayn looked at my plate and had a little debate in his mind before snatching all my pancakes, abandoning his grass. "Zayn!" I whined but he was relentless, gobbling up half the plate's worth. "I'll never go out with you again if you finish my pancakes"

I wished just a little bit that he'd ignore me and finish up my food and I'd have an excuse to avoid him for the rest of my life.

Zayn stopped in his tracks, clearly mortified by the thought.

I chuckled and started a tug of war with the plate.

"Go out with him?" I looked up and Zayn tugged the plate to his side of the table.

I would've shoved his grass in his face if I didn't recognize the Five foot seven girl in the second sluttiest clothes ever (mom topped the list).

Good Lord!

Mai Bailey, One of Lorraine's slavish friend, the most supportive of her cause.

She was made of large bones and thick flesh. I wasn't the thinnest of them all but when Mia got in the way, I paved a way.

I gulped and let the plate lingering in my grasp go.

"Mia?" Zayn questioned.

He looked unabashedly smug unlike me who looked more or less like I got caught making out with a boy in the back of my dad's SUV.

"What are you doing here and with her? Lorraine won't be happy seeing you like this Zayn" Her

voice was stern and face set, glaring at me while simultaneously smiling at Zayn. Don't ask how.

"I know she won't Mia, you know that" He crossed his arms. That was eerily close to an inside joke, just, it wasn't funny.

I took the baton in my hand and made to explain but mia wasn't having it.

"Haven't you had enough Milan? Just leave Zayn for Lorraine, it's that easy, you don't have to be a bi-"

Well, I wasn't either.

Sure, I was terrified of her swinging her arm out at me and breaking my spinal cord but I wasn't a cat enough to sit and listen to crap.

"I wouldn't want to complete my sentence if I were you" I said lethally–if shrouding my fear behind a staccato counted.

Stop shivering.

"Or what?" She counted, straightening her back to her full height.

Mia was frightening, the scowl on her face doing the most of the job but that wasn't the point, her mass was.

I groped for threatening comebacks but none would make Gertrude break a sweat. "I'll punch your head in"

That slipped my mouth but it thankfully made Mia take a thoughtful step back. She didn't look scared but her body language said otherwise. "You'll regret being a secondhand girlfriend when Lorraine's done with you Milan, watch your back"

I blinked rapidly, watching as she retraced her steps and disappeared somewhere in the shop. I was mortified at how fluidly that plan worked out.

“Holy shit, Milan. You're superwoman?" Zayn over exaggerated, grinning wildly.

“And you're such a weakling" I breathed. “What if she beat me up?”

“She would never”

“Hell yes she would” I shoved his shoulders. “I can't believe you”

“Milan,” Zayn grabbed my wrist, staring me dead in the eye. Well, I wanted to punch his eye but I stayed placid. “She would never because I'm here”

“No shit Sherlock. How do you think fighting off your girlfriend's best supporter over your alleged academic enemy would sound?”

“Like I'm protecting a friend” Zayn smiled.

Damn metaphors, I fell into his smile.

Shitty bastard is as smoothe as bar soap. For an imperceptible second, I imagined what it felt like to switch places with Lorraine.

I shook it away harshly and pushed Zayn away from me.

“We should leave before Mia calls for reinforcements though" I sighed and stared at

the sordid remains of my pancakes thanks to Zayn.

"We probably should" We both reached in our pockets at the same time. Our eyes locked.

"I'm paying" We chorused.

In résumé, we stood with hands in our pockets staring evily at one another until the Barista walked over to our table and happily accepted both 100 dollar bills.

"Have a great day!" She hollered as we left.