Taking Chances

“BAILEY!” I heard Zayn screaming from the hallway, cutting through the drama blaring from my television. “BAILEY, HURRY UP AND OPEN THE DOOR.”

My eyes opened as wide as they could go as I hopped off the couch and raced to the door to open the door for my boyfriend.

Instead of seeing him lying there, bleeding, as I figured I would, I found him holding my CD in front of his face, the one that had just come out that day.

“God, scare me to death!” I laughed, putting a hand to my chest as I stepped out of the way to let him enter.

“Sorry,” he recited without meaning it. “I just wanted to show you that I bought it.”

“Thanks,” I granted before going up on my tip-toes to plant my lips to his softly. “Mind if I see it?”

He nodded and handed it to me.

My eyes scanned over the back, and my whole being seemed to swell with joy. “By the way, don’t ever listen to the fourth track,” I warned.

“And why’s that?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Because we wrote that after I had my argument with you.” I thought for a second. “Well, we wrote two songs. But the fourth track is really angry, like ‘I want to rip your guts out and make you eat them’ angry. The other one’s sad.”

“How would I be able to eat my guts if I didn’t have any guts?” Zayn pondered.

I stared at him for a second. “I like how you’re actually thinking about that.”

“I want an answer!”

I shook my head at him. “You’re pathetic.”

He looked at me resentfully before cracking a smile. “Alright, can I hear the CD now? ‘Cause you told me that I had to wait until it came out to hear anything. Which was horrible, by the way.”

Okay, so maybe it was a bit bitchy, but he was right: I didn’t want him to hear even one note of any of my songs before it came out for the rest of the public. I just didn’t want the whole surprise to be ruined or anything, and I wanted to know that his reactions were real.

Whatever. It made sense in my mind.

But unfortunately for him, it meant that he’d been waiting over a year since I started the writing process to hear any of my music.

“Fine, fine,” I laughed. “God, you’re so bossy.”

He gave me a look before throwing himself down on the couch. I reached over the side and picked up my laptop, logging in before inserting the disk into the CD drive.

I skipped around a little bit, making him listen to the more upbeat, fluffy songs before I showed him the couple that I really wanted him to hear.

“Okay, so,” I started, feeling my cheeks flood with a violent blush, “this one is the sad one that we wrote after the anger subsided.”

Zayn settled back and listened as the slow music started pouring from the speakers, soon accompanied by my soft voice. Like Simon promised, it really was, more or less, my raw voice, instead of the auto-tuned creation that used to get produced by my old record company.

I should have been listening to my song, since this was a song from an album that I actually had a hand in writing. It was incredible, really, the fact that I had the chance to do that. I never thought in a million years that I’d be able to help write a song. But the song that was playing, I had a say in how it came out.

But he was giving me absolutely nothing. His face stayed like stone as he listened, almost as if he was a movie critic instead of my boyfriend.

Zayn was quiet as I switched to the next song. “And this…” I trailed off, not really knowing how to introduce it.

He understood, simply listening without prompting me to say anything else.

I started to get a little choked up when I listened to the mid-tempo song. Unlike the previous song, I’d actually written the one I was playing Zayn just then. After I somehow came up with the talent to write a song (though, granted, we had a hell of a time trying to make music that fit), we edited the original song that Rick had written so that it was more upbeat and less personal, to the point where it was no longer about Zayn. He already took up three songs on my album; no need for us to go really crazy and make his head bigger than it already was.

After the song finished, I paused the CD, waiting for some kind of response. When I got none, I could feel myself deflate a little, though I made an effort to hide it. “Wow, cool, Zayn,” I joked, ignoring the tremor in my voice. “I put songs for you on my album, and that’s all I get?”

But then I looked at him. Really looked at him. And I finally saw the sparkles in his eye, how his lip trembled the tiniest bit.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, putting my palm against his face as I turned toward him. “Are you crying?”

“No,” he grumbled as a tear escaped. He let out a burst of embarrassed laughter as he reached up to wipe it away.

I beat him to the punch, resting my palm on his cheek and using my thumb to get rid of the small droplet. “Oh, honey,” I mused, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?!” he gasped. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

I blinked. “Wait, so you’re…?”

“I’m not crying because I’m offended, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I kept my mouth shut, since I didn’t want to incriminate myself. “I just…is that how you truly feel?”

I nodded, my hand still cradling his face. “Of course it is,” I replied. “I wrote that one.”

He stared at me with freaky saucer eyes. “You wrote that?”

I didn’t respond, since I’d kind of already given him the answer.

“God,” he gasped, a few more tears escaping from the corner of his eyes, “I love you so much.”

I opened my mouth to repeat the words back to him, but before I could, he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. One of his hands snaked up my back and wrapped itself in my hair as our lips parted simultaneously, my tongue slipping into his mouth.

He laid me down on the couch, pressing his body right up against mine. I pulled away breathlessly, but he didn’t miss a beat, trailing kisses down my neck, his hands roaming up and down my torso.

“’Ca home?” he muttered against my skin.

I guessed what he meant and gasped out, “No,” just as he hit my sweet spot with his tongue, a little sigh of content escaping my mouth.

He didn’t hesitate before climbing off me and grabbing my hand, almost dragging me into my bedroom and shutting the door forcefully before wrapping his arms around me again.