CHAPTER 26

ARIENNE CALLOWAY

I should've seen this coming.

The car had barely rolled to a stop at the petrol pump when my mom turned around in her seat, eyes locked onto me with that motherly judgment that could rival a mafia boss interrogating a traitor.

"Arienne," she said, her voice all sugar and steel, "go change into something more appropriate."

I blinked. "What?"

She sighed like she was so tired of dealing with my existence. "That dress is too short for a long trip. Go change."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. We've been in the car for, what, half an hour? And now she wants me to change?

"It's fine, Mom—"

She hit me with the look. The one that meant 'you have exactly five seconds to do what I say before I make you regret it.'

I slumped back against the seat with an exaggerated groan. "Seriously? It's just a dress. What do you want me to wear, a nun's robe?"

"A longer dress. Or pants. Anything that doesn't look like you're heading to a nightclub instead of a trip with family."

Jenni snorted from the middle row, not even trying to hide her amusement. Lily, curled up beside me, was sound asleep, her little fists tucked under her chin. At least someone was at peace here.

Zayn, though? He didn't say a word. But when I glanced at him, I saw it.

That stupid, cocky smirk tugging at his lips.

Yeah, I knew that look.

He was enjoying this.

Fucking bastard.

I huffed, reaching for my bag. "Fine. Whatever."

Then, I realized my next problem.

To get out of the car, I had to pass through him.

Zayn was conveniently sitting at the very edge of the seat, legs stretched out, blocking the entire way. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest like he had all the time in the world.

And he wasn't moving.

I narrowed my eyes. "Move."

He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Say please."

I scoffed. "Not happening."

"Then I'm not moving." He shrugged, settling in like he was meant to be a human obstacle.

Oh, this motherf—

I could already hear my mom's voice in my head. Arienne,stop fighting and just do as you're told.

I was not about to let him win.

So, instead of begging him like he so obviously wanted, I placed one foot on the seat, hoisted myself up, and—fuck it—climbed over him.

Yeah. Over.

His smirk vanished real quick when my bare thigh brushed against his as I swung my leg over.

For a solid second, I was practically straddling him. My hands gripped the seat beside his shoulders for balance, and my dress—which was already too short for my mom's approval—rode up even higher.

Zayn's whole body went still.

His hands twitched like he was physically restraining himself from touching me. His jaw tightened, his breathing slowed, and—if I wasn't imagining things—there was a slight tension in his eyes that wasn't there before.

I smirked.

Yeah. Suffer.

Then, just because I could, I leaned way too close to his ear and whispered, "Thanks for the seat."

Zayn inhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Before he could react, I slid out of the car and strutted off toward the gas station restroom, feeling his eyes burning into my back the whole way.

Let him deal with it.