Page 104 of Written By a Woman

“Signe?” Zaid’s voice sounded in my living room, and I quickly tugged my shirt off to put a different, less-hole-y shirt on in its place. I was just grabbing a clean one when the bathroom door I had left cracked open, opened wider, revealing the man himself.

I was in my purple bra, a cream-colored shirt halfway up my arms before I lifted them to tug it over my head, my sweatpants hanging low on my hips, revealing the men’s boxers I bought for myself to wear. Half of my hair was brushed, and I thought I felt a drop of mouthwash drying on the side of my mouth.

And yet, the way Zaid’s eyes darkened as he stood in the bathroom doorway holding a pothos plant in one hand, his other gripping the doorknob after seeing me, made me feel like the most tempting thing alive.

“Hi,” I squeaked.

“Hi,” Zaid smiled, his eyes meeting mine after taking in, well, everything.

“I’m pulling myself together.”

“Okay.” He left the door open and leaned against the doorframe, his free hand going into the pocket of his slacks while he still held the little pothos plant in his other large palm.

“What’s that?” I asked, nodding towards the plant.

“It’s for you,” he gestured towards me with the pothos, reaching forward and setting it down on the countertop next to the sink, “Are you stuck?”

“Huh?”

“Your shirt,” He nodded towards my shirt around my arms, stepping closer.

“Oh,” I glanced down at my arms, still halfway shoved through the arm holes of the shirt that I hadn’t pulled over my head yet, “I—well—I was going to put it on.”

“You were?” Zaid’s low voice was teasing, making butterflies spread in my chest and throughout my body, his steps closing in on me in my tiny bathroom.

“Yup,” I nodded, still not moving to finish dressing myself.

“And yet,” Zaid stepped closer as he reached out with one hand to rest his index finger on the cream-colored shirt, gently tugging it off my arms, “You don’t seem like you want to.”

I swallowed around a dry but excited lump in my throat, “I’m distracted.”

“By?” Zaid asked, successfully tugging my shirt off my arms and holding the garment up with his index finger.

“You are standing in my bathroom,” I straightened a little bit and tried patting my hair down into place, “Bringing me plants, hacking into my social media—”

“I’d hardly call it hacking when you use the same password for everything,” he raised his eyebrows at me, scorn coloring his expression for a moment, “Something you told me yourself.”

“Yeah, well,” I lifted a shoulder, reaching forward and tugging my shirt off of his finger to toss it to the side, “It’s still taking advantage of my platform.”

“It’s almost as manipulative as writing a fictional character whose appearance looks an awful lot like someone you work with,” Zaid met my eyes, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “And trying to hide it from said someone.”

“Did you really know the entire time?” I felt nerves skitter in my belly, insecurity creeping in. Perhaps that was partly due to still being topless in my bathroom with Zaid Ansara.

“Ever since my sisters cornered me the night of your livestream and told me all about it,” Zaid smiled, stepping closer and taking my hand in his.

“Andtheyknew the whole time?” I asked, my mind reeling, “When Salma came to your office? When I babysat—”

“The entire time,” Zaid’s gaze was bouncing between my eyes as he tugged my hand and guided us out of the bathroom, towards the couch, “They meddled a bit, trying to convince me that I needed help wooing you.”

I stopped in my tracks right as Zaid took a seat, tugging on my hand to get me to join him, “Wooing me?”

“Wooing you, courting you, charming you,” he tilted his head in mock contemplation, “Seducing you.” He tugged on my hand once more, firmer, making me stumble onto his lap on the couch. Before I could adjust, he wrapped both of his arms around my waist and held me tight as I awkwardly lay bent over his lap. He lowered his head to brush his lips against my ear as he said, “I needed all the help I could get, Signe.”

I felt shivers race down my spine as his breath fanned against the side of my neck. I squirmed, and he loosened his hold on me enough for me to turn around and seat myself properly on his lap, wrapping one of my arms around his shoulders.

“You aren’t upset?” I asked, tracing my fingers across his hairline on the back of his head.

“No,” he confirmed with a shake of his head, “I’m mostly annoyed that you ran away and ignored all my calls and texts.”

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