Finley Abbott and Liam Payne were inseparable since they were little kids. Fast forward to 2012- as they finally meet again. This time, Liam and his bandmates are internationally famous and tour worldwide.
Finley thinks she's got all of Liam's mates figured out, all except one. Zayn Malik.


3. backstage with romeo.



   I went to the place where Liam told me to go, to find it completely crowded out already. I'd clearly underestimated the popularity of his little band. Ducking backstage to the massive arena, I told security my name and they'd disappeared for a bit, probably checking my history to see if I was a psychopathic killer or not.

   Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder.

   "So you did come, eh?" I glanced around to see Zayn standing there, in black jeans and a white t-shirt, a chain tucked under it. I started, blinking quickly and trying to gather myself. Oh god he looked so good.

   He didn't crack a smile, merely raked his eyes up and down my body without bothering to hide it, then nodded almost appreciatively. I didn't know whether to be slightly offended or pleased.

   "Yeah," I answered, immediately conscious of how weird my voice sounded. "Could you- ah, get me through security?"

   "Aren't you through?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows together as he placed a cautionary hand on my back. It felt like he was sending a current through my skin. He didn't even seem to notice. "Pretty girl like you, should be in and working on the floor already." He glanced at me, then smirked.

   I blinked, trying to process what he'd just implied, as he called security over, and waved me through.

   "Didn't introduce myself properly, did I?" he said with a slight frown, as he led me god knows where. "Zayn. Zayn Malik." I wasn't going to go and tell him Louis already introduced him for me. We hadn't said a word to each other before that.

   "Finley," I answered, "Finley Abbott."

   "What do your friends call you?" he asked, his eyes fixed ahead and not meeting mine.

   "Uh, Fin. They call me, Fin."

   "Right," he said, pushing a door open. I knew immediately it was their dressing room- there were clothes scattered everywhere, a few racks with articles of clothing thrown carelessly over them, shoes loose and lonely all over the floor. "Well you can wait here, I guess."

   I stepped in timidly.

   Zayn strolled over, and I watched him shamelessly as he grabbed a chair, shoved the pile of clothes off it and set it down for me.

  "There you go," he said and I gave him a shy smile, before I sat down. He was standing there, still watching me beadily. I could feel his gaze hovering. "Well, I'm gonna find the others. I'll be seeing you, Finley."

   I wondered if he hadn't been listening when I told him my friends called my Fin, or if he just called me Finley to remind me that he wasn't my friend.

   Either way, as I watched that ass disappear back out the door, I felt a little disgruntled.

   Zayn Malik. Already, one conversation deep with him and he confused the heck out of me. And what the hell had he meant by "a pretty girl like you, should be in and working on the floor already"?

   I wasn't even bristling over the fact he'd called me pretty. Just that phrase- working on the floor. Like a whore? I felt anger bubble in my stomach at the thought of it.   

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