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I often find myself making promises I know I can't keep.

For instance, I swore I would buckle down and focus more on my classes instead of fooling around and slacking off.

But instead of studying for my US Government and Politics midterm that was next week, I'm standing in a corner of the living room of a frat house with red solo cup in hand, while laughing my ass off.

Albeit, I wasn't that drunk (maybe a little tipsy, but who's asking) but I was faded enough to find the sleazy white guy currently talking to me funny. I never find typical jokes funny, because they're usually not my kind of humor. They're lame, honestly.

"So then, he tried to get by me, and I was like, 'no fuckin' way!' and I pushed him out my face!" The guy, whose name was said earlier but quickly forgotten, slurred out his oh so interesting story.

Rolling my eyes, I placed my drink on the table behind me and walked away. My mind was sobering up, and it no longer saw the point in pretending to laugh. I needed air, it was too humid and I felt closed in.

I scanned the room almost jumped for joy when I saw the back door of the house. But before I could take a step towards that direction, someone stepped in my way.

"Cash, don't tell me you're leaving already?" My roommate, Isra groaned out, shaking my head. "Stay a little longer."

"I just need some air," I explained, before giving her a quick hug. "I'll be back inside in a few so we can walk or take a cab back to our dorm together."

"Okay, find me when you're ready to leave," Isra said to me, before continuing to dance with the guy in front of her.

I walked to the door and pushed it open, letting the early Massachusetts autumn air blow across my skin. I continued to walk further outside until I could lean my head with my eyes closed against the side of the house and take a big gulp of clear air.

"A beautiful girl all alone behind a frat house during a party," a voice said, shaking me out of my thoughts. "Why, this must be the start of a cliché horror flick."

I started to laugh at his joke, the moment I opened my eyes to see who it was, the laughter died in my throat.

The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They were an intense shade of brown, lighter than black coffee but not darker than cocoa; but still enough for you to notice that they weren't just your average shade of brown.

My eyes drifted up to his hair, which was shaved at the side but gathered into a small topknot, which made slightly tipsy Cashmere want to run her hands through his hair.

I realized he was talking when my eyes drifted to his mouth—oh my god, his lips—and he was saying something.

"So what's a pretty girl like you doing outside by herself?" He asked me, and I almost melted at his words. It was the second time he called me pretty, and his voice was to die for.

He had a strong English accent, which made his voice deep and tainted every syllable in the words he spoke. It sounded divine.

"It's way too much in there," I responded, and as I got a better glance at his features, the more familiar he looked. Where did I know him from? "I needed air."

He nodded and leaned closer to me, and I could feel his body heat radiating and his musky scent wafting up through my nose.

I could feel his fingers brush the side of my face and when I looked up, he was so close to my face, any closer our lips would've brushed.

This was against everything I have been trying to avoid for months, but the sparks that radiated from where he trailed his fingertips kept my better judgment silent.

"Zayn!" Someone screeched from across the yard, and he tensed before turning around.

"What the fuck do you want?" He growled at the girl, who was striding towards us.

"'What do I want?'" She repeated in disbelief. "What I want is for you to stop hooking up with other people when we're together!"

Those words clothed me like a bucket of ice cold water on my head. It instantly sobered me up and I tried to get away from him.

When he refused to let my wrist go, I glared at him. "Get the fuck off me, asshole."

I felt his grip tighten. "Who the fuck are you talking to like that? Do you know who I am?"

Oh hell to the fuckin' no!

I instinctively raised my knee and swiftly hit his groin, which made him crumple to the ground.

"Yeah, I do know who I'm talking to," I spat, before walking back into the house. "You're an asshole."

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a/n: I hope my inspiration for this doesn't die because I actually really like the plot, and I want to redeem myself from the last Zayn fic I've written lmao

all the love, rachel.