I thought I imagined him when he first walked in. I got used to sitting here all night, waiting for him to show, pathetically. He didn't, though. For three nights.

I can tell he's a bit drunk, probably the result of his stress and trial. I wonder if he'd won. I still feel like he's not really here. Reality has felt strange lately, but when I'm with him, it makes sense. That can't be good.

You definitely need to mention that to Dr. Sweeny, Scarlett.

"Do you wanna do a thing on the list tonight?" Zayn asks, slurring a bit.

I smile, watching as his eyes try so hard to focus on me and not something distracting around the room. "Sure, but let's get you some coffee first." I stand up, about to buy him a coffee, when he slaps a five-dollar bill in my hand with a sly smile.

I come back in a few short minutes, Zayn staring intently at my journal. "Snooping, are we?"

Zayn's eyes follow me as I place his coffee down and slide into my seat, returning his gaze. "No. I wanna pick what we do next."

"Okay. What one do you want to do?"

"Midnight bowling!" He says enthusiastically.

"It's after midnight, Zayn," I remind him. "Well, I guess we could see how late they are open."

He nods, playful happiness lingering in his expressions while he sips his coffee. I hope he knows he is calling. I simply can't. Phone calls stress me out.

"Can you- um- Can you call?" I stutter. I am so embarrassed. As if he didn't think I was shy enough.

I expect him to make fun, but he nods with a small smile, picking up his phone. He googles the number for the closest bowling alley and calls the first one. "Hi. How late are you guys open?"

Zayn's eyes find mine while he partially listens to the person on the phone. I don't miss the way his eyes roam my face, looking everywhere before focusing back on my eyes. The way he holds my gaze is so intimidating, yet I can't get enough.

He said he missed me. He's drunk and mumbled, but he said it. Is that fast? Is it too fast to miss someone you'd only met hardly a week ago? My trust issues will never allow me to trust words like "I miss you" and "I love you." It's just how it is.

"We can go," his deep voice shocks me out of my overthinking brain. "They're open until 3 AM."

"Finish your coffee, and then we'll go." I hope I don't sound too much like an overbearing mother or something, but bowling with someone who's intoxicated is always a disaster.

Jordyn took me drunk bowling, where she slid down the bowling alley and hit the pins with her feet, kicking them down one by one. Then, as the employees were screaming for her to get off, she stands up and walks like a runway model all the way down. She fell three times.

Zayn finishes his coffee while I tell him the story.

"Jordyn, is she your best friend?"

I don't need to think about my answer. "Yes, and my roommate. She's been by my side since- well, let's say she's stuck around." I stop myself from saying something too personal.

I can tell Zayn is disappointed by my closed-off answers, but they're the best I can give. I don't open up to people easily.

"I had my second interview today," I decided to share.

"How'd it go?" He asks, genuinely seeming interested.

"Really good, actually. They said they'd call within the week and let me know." I fiddle with the loose piece of yarn on my sweater rather than looking at Zayn. I feel so shy around him, like that girl I was back in high school.

Zayn grabs one of my hands gently, silently asking me to look at him. I do. "I'm happy for you, Scarlett. I'm positive you'll get the job." He says confidently.

"Thank you, Zayn. How'd your trail go?"

"We won. That's why I was drinking, we were celebrating." He explains.

"Congratulations," I say, smiling brightly at him.

Zayn's big warm hand leaves mine and he sips the last of his coffee, slamming the empty cup down. "Bowling time!"

I can't hold back my laughter as he does a little victory dance after standing up. He looks ridiculous but absolutely adorable.

"Have fun, you two!" Bonnie says as we head for the door. I wave to her, smiling and saying good night.

"Please tell me your car is here, and we don't have to walk," Zayn whines.

I laugh, swinging my keys in front of his face. "Yes, my car is here."

We get into my car, Zayn immediately messing with the radio. I quickly pull out of the parking lot and head for the bowling alley. The roads are empty, and the only sign of humanity is when we pass the bars.

The city is filled with bars and restaurants, college students, tourists, and celebrities alike lingering on the streets. The nice thing about Los Angeles? There's never a dull moment. Need some entertainment? Head to the streets.

The closest bowling alley is one next door to a strip club. There are men in suits smoking cigarettes and chatting outside the boisterous club. As I park my car, the men stare at us for a moment before returning to their conversation.

I hate to stereotype, but men outside at night lingering on the sidewalks always made me feel uneasy. "Don't worry, if they say anything skeevy, I'll tell their wives they're here."

I furrow my brows at him. "How do you know they have wives?"

He smirks, glaring at the men through the windshield. "Call it a hunch."

"Oh, right. I forgot I'm talking to a hotshot lawyer." I roll my eyes, grabbing my keys and opening my door.

Zayn stops me, grabbing my arm. "Did you just call me hot?"

I push him off, laughing. "Idiot."

We head into the bowling alley, and an automatic sense of nostalgia washes over me. The movie-theater-like carpet has neon lights bouncing off of it, and a pathway lit up heading to the check-in desk. The music is loud and a disco ball hangs from the ceiling.

Zayn already fought with me in the car about paying this time around, so we don't argue once we're at the register. Our lane is ready, and the only other people here are a group of teenagers. They are loud enough to make the place seem packed, but I don't mind. Their laughter and enthusiastic chatter make me smile.

"I should warn you. I'm pretty amazing at bowling." I say, flipping my hair sassily as I untie my shoes.

"Am I amongst a pro-bowler?" He raises his brows, biting his lip to stop a laugh.

He is breathtakingly handsome.

We get our bowling shoes on, or as Zayn calls them: clown shoes, and find our balls.

"You're up first. No cheating," he hands me my ball and gently pushes my lower bag, forcing me to walk towards the alley.

I lied. I really suck at bowling. Jordyn did better than me while hammered and sliding up and down the alleys. Whatever. I close my eyes and step up, swinging the ball behind me and then launching it forward, releasing the ball.

Once the weight is gone from my hand, I open my eyes, watching the ball roll down the alley and knock down half the pins.

Hm. Not bad, Scar.

I turn around and see a smirking Zayn, crossing his arms and staring at me. "Pro-bowlers usually go for strikes. Just sayin'."

I punch his shoulder playfully. "I'm warming up," I step past him and pick up my ball, repeating my actions from before.

"Look at that! A spare," I really have no clue how I did that, but I brag about it to Zayn anyway. I can feel comfortable around him, and it's refreshing to let myself relax and have fun.

Zayn hardly gets five pins down, allowing me to make fun of him relentlessly. I thought I was bad, but he is worse. A lot worse.

Our first game seems to be very painful for him. I've never seen someone get so many gutter-balls in one game. It must be a talent of his. I, however, performed perfectly, getting 3 strikes.

"You've got a competitive side," he says, his legs kicked up on the chair across from him. I sit beside him, hugging my knees to my chest as I devour the french fries he bought.

I put my index finger over my lip. "Shh, don't tell anyone." The first game had been a massacre. I beat him by nearly 100 points, but our second game is pretty close. If I mess up, Zayn will win, and I can not have that.

He's a lawyer. His ego is big enough.

I grab my ball and prepare to throw it, swinging my arm back, but I feel arms around my waist that swing me, making the ball fall into the gutter.

I elbow the culprit, Zayn, of course. "Are you kidding me? You freakin' cheater!" Once he lets me go, I slap his chest repeatedly, only making him laugh hysterically.

"Thanks for letting me win, beautiful." He says, grabbing my hands to stop my assault to his chest. He stares into my eyes, his playful smile becoming a knowing smirk.

He has the most distracting features I have ever seen. His face is perfectly symmetrical. His bushy eyebrows the perfect distance, his nose the perfect size, his lips full. Everything about him is perfect.

"You can't keep calling me beautiful," I mumble, pulling my hands from his grasp.

He frowns, "And why's that?"

I get close to him, looking serious. "Only people that can beat me at bowling can call me beautiful." I walk past him and take my last turn, surprisingly knocking down every pin.

Thank you, Universe. I owe you one.