Under Summer Sky • Zarry

27. After four

Zayn followed me back into the lounge, the muffled sound of Wild Thoughts by Rihanna playing out of the DJ booth from the upstairs dance floor. He grabbed an empty seat at the far end of the bar next, now drumming his finger tips idly on the bar top, with newly tattooed fingers adorned with several cool looking rings; a turquoise stone, black onyx, a chain of daisies on his thumb, an Alexander McQueen skull. 

As Liz walked over to take his drink order, I halted her. "I got this one," I said.

"Ohhh okay, you know him?" she questioned curiously.

"Yeah, well...I used to." 

I moved towards Zayn next, rolling my cream colored long sleeves up to my elbows as he looked up and smiled slightly with full lips, casting his brown eyes down to my tattooed forearm.

"Told you," he said lowly. 

I quirked a brow. "Told me what?"

"Told you that tattoos were addicting," he clarified. "Sick mermaid, that."

I glanced down at my arm where now resided a mermaid, anchor and rose tattoo. "Thanks. Supposed to be me, actually," I answered with a wry smile. 

"Is it?" he asked, appearing amused.

"Mhm, I'm a mermaid."

"I can see the resemblance," he remarked. "Same tits and everything."

I snorted with laughter at his comment, noting that his sense of humor hadn't changed, and I was glad for it. "But yeah, you were right. Got them everywhere now. Still not as many as you have, though. You're like a walking canvas," I replied.

He chuckled lightly. "I guess so. Perhaps someone ought to keep me out of the shop before I've got no bare skin left."

"Hey now, you still got your head to do," I replied.

"Yeah, true. Maybe that's what's next."

I then thought about my tattoos, specifically the first few ones that I ever got; the tiny A and my awful toe tattoo, inked by Zayn. And the ship, the swallows, the butterfly, the prism, all of which carried his permanent essence. 

I tried not to think about them like that anymore over the years and often fibbed about their real meaning when anyone ever asked about them, because I didn't want to explain it. So I just held them in my mind as a time in my life that was important to me. 

But I didn't regret any of them, however, and despite everything that happened since, I still didn't regret ever having been with Zayn, either. Not once.

I cleared my throat, getting back to the point. "So...what do you want?" I asked him, crossing my arms and leaning subtly on the bar top, centimeters from where his hands rested.

He stared at me for a long second, our eyes meeting and I felt a slight chill on my skin. "I mean, what do you want to drink?" I detailed.

He coughed, shifting on the bar stool. "I'll just have a beer, yeah?"

"Craft?" I asked, turning around to open the cooler.

"Sure, whatever you think is good," he responded. 

I searched through the cooler and decided on a craft beer called Lust; it came in a black bottle with a blood red top, flavored saison with strawberry, hibiscus and rose petals. I popped off the top with a bottle opener and poured it out into a tall glass, now sliding it toward him across the bar's surface.

He peered at the bottle then, hesitating to sip it at first.

"What's the matter?" I inquired.