Part Four

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Scott looks at me with a mischievous glint as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head.

I sit cross-legged on the hotel bed, idly scrolling through my social media feed, which is surprisingly mundane tonight.

He's deliberately undressing in front of me, his movements calculated to test my resolve — to see if I'll give him the reaction he wants. But I won't make it that easy for him.

Despite my protests to myself, I find myself stealing glances between my phone screen and his chiseled physique. It's unnerving how effortlessly he flaunts his athletic build. I wonder how many people he has charmed like this before.

Standing before me in nothing but his Spiderman boxers, I struggle to suppress a laugh at the sight. He rolls his eyes playfully and crosses his arms over his chest.

"What's so funny?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I stifle a grin behind my hand. "Your choice of boxers is quite something. It's like you're trying to bring back your childhood."

"Hey," he retorts with mock offense, pointing a finger at me. "There's nothing wrong with Spiderman boxers, okay? They make me look cool and... sexy."

He growls the last word, sending an unexpected ripple of attraction through me. Damn, he knows how to turn on the charm.

Shaking my head, I try to regain my composure. "Keep dreaming, Scott. It suits you," I reply with a wry smile. "Definitely suits you."

He rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. "You know that's not true," he retorts, a playful edge in his voice. "Denial is just stage one. You'll come around eventually."

"You're impossible," I concede, my tone betraying a mix of amusement and genuine exasperation. "Go take your shower and take as much time as you need."

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright." His chuckle is infectious. "I'll see you in twenty," he adds with a cheeky grin and a wink.

What is it with him tonight?

As he disappears behind the bathroom door, I take a moment to check my phone again, hoping for a reply from Jason. Nothing yet. The silence is starting to gnaw at me. Maybe I'm just overthinking it, but the uncertainty lingers.

My eyes sweep the room—everything neatly packed and meticulously arranged. A small oak coffee table and two chairs occupy a corner, brown curtains drawn back to reveal the bustling city below.

Sinking into the soft quilt, I relish its comforting touch amidst the faint hum of distant chatter and passing vehicles.

Staring at the ceiling, I confront the reality of my mother's impending marriage to a near-stranger. Admitting my discomfort feels selfish, knowing she deserves happiness after my father's passing, while I'm still mourning.

But her moving on is inevitable, perhaps even necessary. My concern for her happiness outweighs my reservations. Still, I'm not ready for this change.

The bathroom door swings open slowly, creaking softly in the silence that has settled between us over the past hour. I shoot him a wary glance from where I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting.

He steps out, towel slung over his shoulder, and gives me an innocent look that doesn't quite match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

I raise an eyebrow. "What took you so long, Mr. 'I'm only going to be twenty minutes'?"

Scott smirks, a playful tilt to his lips. "Did you miss me, baby cakes?"

I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile at his nickname. "No. What were you up to? I want to know."

"Why?" He leans against the doorframe, towel still draped casually.

"Because you took an hour!" I exclaim, my frustration bubbling up. "And I want to shower as well."

Scott's smirk widens, his gaze turning slightly teasing. "I had a session."

"A session?"

He makes a zero with his hand and lightly shakes it up and down, a suggestive gesture that makes my cheeks flush. "A lovely session with Dilly the Willy."

My eyes widen as realization dawns, and embarrassment floods through me. "Oh."

Scott chuckles softly, sensing my discomfort but unapologetic.

He walks over, opening his suitcase on the bed and rummaging for clothes. "You could've joined me in the shower," he remarks casually, his voice laced with a playful edge. "It was nice and warm, just how you like it."

I sit up, resting against the headboard, narrowing my eyes at him. "I wouldn't have chosen to shower with you, even if I had the option," I reply sharply.

He chuckles, pulling out a pair of grey sweatpants. "Everyone has choices," he says, his tone light. "Sometimes, the easy way out seems tempting."

Instead of my usual sharp retort, I glance at the silent television in the corner. "Meredith mentioned ordering room service," I offer tentatively, trying to shift the awkwardness.

Scott grins, his gaze lingering on me. "Call me cliché, but I'm into you."

I whip my head towards him, caught off guard. "Scott, we kissed once," I remind him firmly. "That doesn't justify sneaking around behind my sister's back."

He pauses, his expression turning serious. "I know it's complicated, Zayn. But that kiss meant something to me."

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up. "It can't mean anything. Not with Meredith in the picture."

Scott climbs onto the bed, stopping inches from my face. His hand rests gently on my cheek, his touch warm against my skin. "Stop worrying about others," he murmurs. "What do you want?"

I close my eyes briefly, trying to collect my thoughts. When I reopen them, his intense gaze locks onto mine. "It's not that simple," I whisper, my voice trembling.

He leans in, and I press my hands against his chest, halting him. "Scott, we can't do this," I say firmly.

Scott retreats, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, sorry," he replies, his smile fading slightly. "I'm just following my heart."

I sigh, frustrated. "Sometimes, the heart leads you astray," I murmur, shaking my head.

Scott retrieves something from his bag, suggesting casually, "Let's order champagne. To our new friendship."

I eye him warily. "Why?"

"Because we can't be lovers," he explains, slipping into his sweatpants. "But we can be friends, right?"

I scoff lightly. "Where did you get that idea? We can barely tolerate each other."

He points at me playfully. "You can't resist me," he teases, his smile mischievous.

"You're impossible," I reply, rolling my eyes. "And infuriating."

"Crazy for you," he counters with a smirk.

I groan and lean back, feeling overwhelmed. Scott's persistence both intrigues and frustrates me. "Do you flirt like this with everyone? Including my sister?"

His expression sobers. "No, Zayn. What I feel for you is different."

Feeling the bed shift as Scott moves closer, I stand abruptly, but his grip on my arm stops me. "Seriously?" he questions, his voice tinged with amusement. "You're leaving because I'm here?"

I pry his hand off gently. "The world doesn't revolve around you," I retort, moving towards the bathroom. "I'm not one to swoon over you."

He watches me, his expression softening. "That's what makes you special," he murmurs as I leave the room.

I slip into the bathroom, ensuring the door clicks shut behind me—a ritual born of trust issues. Leaning against the cool wood, I let its touch soothe my overheated body, the subtle relief spreading through me like a calming tide.

Despite the nagging voice urging me to give Scott a chance, I remain cautious. The 'what ifs' echo loudly: What if this friendship leads to complications? What if it jeopardizes my relationship with my sister? The risks loom large, grounding me in hesitant realism.

Emerging refreshed, dressed in boxers and an oversized white t-shirt, I turn on the sink and splash cold water on my face, hoping to clear my thoughts.

As the water drips down, I stare at my reflection, trying to reconcile the mess of emotions churning inside me. Scott's words keep replaying in my mind: "What do you want?"

I don't know. Or maybe I do, but I'm too scared to admit it.

A soft knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. "Zayn?" Scott's voice is gentle, almost hesitant. "Can we talk?"

I take a deep breath, opening the door. "What is it, Scott?"

He stands there, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he says quietly. "I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

I nod slowly. "I get that. But it's not just about us. There's Meredith. And Elliot."

Scott sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know. But we can't pretend there's nothing between us. It's eating me up inside."

I look at him, seeing the genuine conflict in his eyes. "It's not that simple," I repeat, my voice softer this time.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "Then let's make it simple. Just for a moment. What if it was just you and me? No Meredith, no Elliot. What would you want?"

The question hangs in the air, and for a second, I allow myself to imagine it: just Scott and me, without the complications. It's a dangerous thought, but it's there, simmering beneath the surface.

"I... I don't know," I whisper finally.

Scott's shoulders slump slightly, but he gives me a small, understanding nod. "Okay," he says, stepping back. "But if you ever figure it out, let me know."

I watch as he turns and heads towards the bed, his usual confidence replaced with a quiet resignation. "Scott," I call out, and he stops, looking back at me. "This doesn't change anything between us. We still have to face reality."

He nods slowly. "I know. But I had to try."

I don't say anything as he gestures toward the silver trays. "I ordered your favorites—Chinese, sushi, and steak," he announces, nodding towards the trays on the gleaming silver cart. His voice, calm yet distant, fills the room. "Got your favorite latte too. And there's free WiFi for our Marvel marathon."

Shifting my weight, I ask cautiously, "How did you know these are all my favorites?"

Scott's smile softens with a hint of melancholy. "I don't," he confesses quietly. "I have my ways, squirrel. Never underestimate a man in love."

I narrow my eyes, snapping my fingers impatiently. "Cut the act."

His grin widens, a mixture of amusement and sincerity. "Alright, fine. I've been around your place long enough to pick up a few things," he admits. "I pay attention."

There's a kernel of truth in his words, unsettling yet undeniable. With his background in psychology, he's adept at reading people.

Having been hurt before, I've fortified my defenses. I won't let history repeat itself.

"I'm not really into romance, by the way," I mention casually, settling under the quilt.

Scott chuckles softly, turning towards me. "I know," he acknowledges with a knowing smile.

We lapse into a comfortable silence, letting the movie envelop us. The room fills with the soft glow of the screen, casting flickering shadows across our faces. It turns into a tranquil evening, and as sleep edges closer, Scott's words linger in my mind:

"Never underestimate a man in love."

•••

A/N:

ahahaha