I anxiously tap my foot on the ground as I wait for Zayn to walk through the door. I try to distract myself by writing in my journal, but my head is blank.

It's been a little over an hour since our phone call, and I'm hoping he hasn't changed his mind about the whole bucket list thing.

Why do you always assume people will bail on you?

Before my mind goes into a full-blown therapy session, I see the tall, handsome brunette walk through the door, his eyes finding mine immediately.

He gives me the most stunning smile before turning to Sandra and ordering himself a drink. I tear my eyes from him, trying not to gawk at his outfit.

He's clad in a pair of light-wash jeans and a simple black hoodie, yet he looks absolutely amazing. I nervously sip on my coffee and wait for him to approach me.

"Hi," he says, sitting down and looking into my eyes.

"Hi," I waste no time and pull the two concert tickets out of my pocket, placing them in front of him.

"What are these?" He questions, glancing at the tickets.

"Concert tickets. There's an outdoor show about thirty minutes from here. A couple of unknown bands are performing." I try my best not to ramble.

"A random concert, huh? What number was that?"

"Um, four, but we don't have to go if you don't want to. They were cheap tickets. I get if you don't want to, I didn't really give you a warning or anything." I ramble.

Stop rambling, Scarlett.

Zayn's face carries a playful look. "Sounds fun. Let's go," is all he says. Those four words alone were enough to calm my nerves.

"Awesome. We should get going. The first set is at ten, and it's an hour away." I put the tickets in my bag in exchange for my keys and stand up.

Zayn puts his hand over mine, shaking his head. "You paid for the tickets. We'll use up my gas."

I bite my lip to subtly hide a smile and nod, following him out of the cafe and to his car. I do a mini dance in my head when I see a regular SUV rather than a truck. Not that it would really matter at this point anyway. I just really don't like trucks.

"How was your day?" He asks, starting up the car. I hand him my phone with the address on it, and he plugs it into his GPS while awaiting my response.

"It was good, boring. Lots of school work to do." Today sucked. I've had a headache for what feels like ages. I've written so many papers this past week I could publish my own newspaper. I am ready for a year-long nap. As soon as possible, please.

Zayn doesn't respond right away, only after we're pulling away from 25 Hours and starting our hour-long journey. "You do this thing," he starts.

"Hm?" I question, observing his beautiful side profile as he focuses on the road. His nose is imperfect, a large bump curving it, but it is only noticeable from the side. It fits his face perfectly.

"After you answer a question, you doze off a bit, like you're giving an extended answer in your mind." Do I really do that? Visibly zone out? Wow, I always thought I was subtle with it.

"Um," I pinch the inside of my wrist again, trying desperately to relieve some anxiety. "I guess I do, kinda."

He turns to me momentarily. I can feel him analyzing me. "Why do you shorten your sentences?"

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I tend to ramble a lot, and people have always found it annoying, so I taught myself how to stop doing it. That all kind of goes to shit around you, though."

Did you really just say that, Scarlett?

I can see him smirking even from the side. His amusement is practically oozing off of him. "I like your rambles."

He likes your rambles. Holy shit, Scar, no one likes your rambles!

I look down, my hair shielding my face from him. "Thanks," I mumble.

He laughs softly, turning the music up a bit to take a break from my verbal embarrassment. For some reason, I don't mind being embarrassed with him. I enjoy his company way more than I planned to. The thought of him suddenly finding me annoying makes me want to puke.

Most people eventually find something to hate about me. Jordyn is the only exception.

The drive went smoothly. We engaged in small talk and asked one another random questions, secretly learning more about each other.

"Did you grow up here?" I ask him, leaning my head back and watching the road.

"No, Chicago." He doesn't seem to like Chicago very much because his response is clipped and his voice rougher.

I chose my next words carefully, not wanting to trigger some terrible childhood memory. "What made you want to come to California?"

"Berkely was always my dream school. When I got in for law school, I couldn't resist. Fell in love with the city, and here I am." He seems so open, so comfortable with himself and his decisions. "How about you?"

"Well, USC was my dream school. I'm interviewing for a job to stay here. Um, it's the second interview, actually. I hope I can stay here. California is a dream."

"I'm sure your interview will go great. You're incredibly intelligent, Scarlett." He needs to stop catching me off guard with these compliments. I can't handle it.

I feel my cheeks blushing, hiding behind my hair again. "Thank you, Zayn."

He winks. "Anytime."

Before we can finish our game of twenty questions, we pull into the concert area parking and drive around for an extra five minutes trying to find a spot.

Zayn eventually squeezes the car into a spot, and we get out, heading to the stage. I can't help but notice how much taller he is. I am pretty tall for a girl, landing at around 5'7, and he's still towering over me.

Before I can stop myself, "how tall are you?"

He looks down at me, smirking again. "6'2," he answers, awaiting my reaction.

I don't give him one, though, just shrugging and facing forward. We get to security, and I hand the man our tickets. He grabs my bag and looks through it, then motioning to the man that sweeps us with the metal detector.

I try to remain calm when the older man roams his eyes up and down my body before looking at my face. I stand in front of him, trying to ignore his weirdness, and put my arms out.

His hands get a little too close as he goes down my sides, touching me slightly and staring directly at my boobs. Is this guy serious?

"Excuse-" I start as he nearly tries to feel a boob.

"Get your fucking hands off her," Zayn says from behind me, startling the older man and causing him to take a step back.

"Again, Rodger?" The man that had checked my bag chimes in.

"Again?" Zayn repeats a look of disgust on his face. "There should be no 'again.' This man just put his hands on this young woman, and you say 'again?'"

I can see Zayn is beginning to get angry, his nostrils flaring. I grab his hand and squeeze, silently begging him to look at me. He does. "It's fine. I'm fine, Zayn. Let's just go in."

He clenches my hand this time, looking me right in the eye. "I'm not going in until I know that fucking pervert is fired." I can't blame him. I hate the thought that several women experienced this tonight and didn't have an outspoken lawyer by their side.

I hate knowing that I would've just ignored it if I were alone because I am terrified of confrontation. I am glad Zayn is with me tonight, even though this entire situation has made my anxiety skyrocket.

Zayn eventually spoke to the manager and ensured that the man who touched me was escorted off the premises. The manager apologized profusely and gave us a free pass to the front of the stage.

We went and got ourselves some drinks and head to the front section of the floor. Before we reach the loudest part, I stop Zayn, pulling gently on his arm.

"Thank you for sticking up for me." I will hold eye contact with him, even if it kills me. I need him to know I am sincere.

He smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear and nodding. "You shouldn't have to deal with that in the first place, but anytime." He takes my hand, pulling me to the very front of the crowd.

We are just in time as the lights dim, and the crowd begins to scream from all directions. There are a lot more people here than I'd imagined.

I've always loved concerts. It's a place where thousands of people hold the sole desire to sing and dance to these artists' music, forgetting about reality for a little while. Concerts give me a sense of freedom, no matter who is performing.

The sound of a bass guitar and drums shock my system and vibrate the floor, electrifying the crowd. Everyone immediately starts jumping and cheering, the energy unlike anything I've ever experienced.

Tonight, I allow myself to let go. I dance, and I sing along to the songs I know, mumbling cluelessly at the ones I don't. Zayn dances with me, too, moving a bit like a stick figure, but he looks hot doing it so, who the hell cares?

I sip my beer and let the music move my body for me. The performers come right up to the edge of the stage, screaming their lyrics and jumping with the fans.

My eyes are closed, but I feel Zayn's large hands find my waist, resting there and making my eyes snap open and look into his. "You are absolutely stunning." He whispers into my ear, dancing with me now.

"You're silly," I mutter, shaking my head. No one has ever described me as stunning before.

"No," he says, gently grabbing my chin and bringing me to look at him again. "I mean it."

I think it's safe to say I won't be sleeping tonight with that image in my brain now. How did I possibly get this man to come up to me three days ago?

I'm starting to think this is all a dream, but I really hope it's not.

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