When in Paris... (Language of Love) (11 page)

“Last night I came to talk to you about high school and I left without an answer. So I’m going to ask you again, why didn’t you like me?”

Something flashes across his face, an expression I can’t decipher, then he levels his beautiful blues at me. “As I remember it, you didn’t like me much.”

This time he didn’t deny it outright. No, he did something sneakier. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare turn this around and blame it on me. You didn’t like me from the beginning, the first day of high school.”

“I didn’t—”

“Zach, are you going to tell me the truth or not?” The guy may be sexy but he’s maddening as hell.

“If you’d let me finish,” he continues calmly. Too calmly when I’m sitting with frustration rolling through me like a coming storm.

“I didn’t—” He breaks off and looks away long enough to indicate his discomfort before again meeting my gaze. After roughly running a hand through his hair, he emits a heavy sigh. “I never disliked you—per se.”

Per se?
I hope my arched brow adequately conveys my sentiment on his reply.

“Look, if you want the truth, I thought you were a snob.”

I give myself a stern warning not to appear hurt as my lips tighten and I try not to wince. After all, he’s not the first one to feel that way. He’s not even the second or tenth. That’s how many saw my reserve, my shyness.

“I’m not.” My voice is very flat, carrying the same remoteness one would expect from the same kind of person he thought I was.

His eyes darken when they drop to my mouth and then shift back up to meet mine. “I know that now.” His voice is a rough whisper, his gaze penetrating. And that’s all it takes to hollow my breathing.

I allow myself a brief moment of weakness before collecting my composure. “I don’t know, Zach, I always got the feeling it was more than that. Like you somehow felt I’d done something to you. I mean, for four years, you didn’t speak to me unless you absolutely had to.
Four years.
” As unbelievable as it may seem, acknowledging that out loud hurts. “Did I, Zach? Did I somehow offend you?”

He stares down at his half-eaten breakfast growing cold on the white ceramic plate and swallows hard. The heavy weight of silence ticks so loudly between us, it seems to take on a unique sound of its own.

When he lifts his head, he pins me with his pale-blue gaze. “No, you didn’t do anything. And looking back at it now, I see it was all me. I judged you before I ever got to know you. I’m sorry.”

While I don’t doubt the sincerity of his apology, there’s something about this whole situation that feels…incomplete. I don’t know, but like something is going unsaid. Or maybe it’s just me hoping his reasons would’ve been something more substantive.

“Okay, I accept your apology.”

“Friends?” he asks in his lust-inducing low voice that makes a mockery of the word.

But I won’t let him distract me.

“We agreed to be friends two weeks ago and then you ignored me until I showed up at your apartment last night so I’m pretty wary when it comes to
your
definition of the word.”

Zach emits a low chuckle. “You’ll have to forgive me but I don’t have a lot of girls who are strictly friends. You can say I’m a little rusty. I’ll get better with practice, I promise.”

I’m sure there aren’t a lot of girls who want to be strictly friends with him, so that I can definitely believe. “And you want
us
to be friends?” Maybe he didn’t get a good feel of my breasts last night. I
am
a girl.

“Sure, how hard can it be?” he asks with a wink. “So you wanna try this again? Friends?”

If there’s a list for the ten most devastating smiles, Zach’s would definitely be on it. Not good.

A couple beats go by before I give a sharp nod of agreement. “Friends.” I try for serious but the glow lighting his eyes suck me under. Next thing I know, I’m returning it in full measure.

As we finish our breakfast and talk about football, theatre, living away from home and the fact that I haven’t declared a major, I ponder the statistical probability of me being fine with a
friends-only
relationship with Zach.

~*~*~

Given how my morning started, the rest of my day is pretty uneventful. My drama teacher informed us auditions for the class play,
It’s a Man’s World
, written by Miss Ramsay herself, are being held in two weeks.

There’s no hope of me being the next Audrey Hepburn because parts for the school play,
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
, are only open to theatre majors and as yet, I’m still undeclared. I love the theatre but majoring in it? It’s not like I want a career on Broadway or in Hollywood, and I’m not interested in teaching it either.

So it looks like I’ll be auditioning for a role in my class play. I already downloaded a copy of the script onto my iPad, which means my entertainment for many exciting nights is secured.

Tonight though, I plan to get started on my geography project. It’s not due until next Wednesday but my full schedule means I don’t have time to procrastinate.

The buzz of my cell vibrating sends me to my side of the room and digging it out of my purse. My brother’s face shows on the screen.

“Hey,” I say, after pressing the speakerphone button on the screen. “How’s the job?”

Jason’s voice sounds like it’s coming from next door. “It’s great. How’re you doing? How’re the new digs? Settling in okay?”

My brother just graduated from college with his master’s degree in chemical engineering and in July landed his dream job in Boston. With me gone, my parents—my mother especially—are suffering a bad case of empty-nest syndrome.

“A buddy of mine says his kid brother goes to Warwick. Colin’s pretty cool so I figure his brother can’t be half bad. You mind if I give him your number?”

I sputter. “Are you trying to hook me up?”

“Of course not,” my brother says with a laugh. “Believe me, I’m aware you don’t need my help for that. Remember, I’ve been beating the boys off since before you were a teenager. I just got the impression from Colin that Scott could use some friends.”

Well, it’s not like I have a ton of friends though I’m sure I’ll make more as the year rolls on. Especially in theater. Acting is a very bonding experience.

“Sure, you can give him my number. What’s his last name?” More guy friends. Isn’t that every girl’s dream? Or maybe Scott will turn out to be totally hot.

“Scott Carver.”

“Hmm, he sounds like a knife man.”

My brother laughs but he always laughs at my lame jokes.

After shooting the breeze for another couple of minutes, we hang up promising to keep in touch—which means he’ll call every two or so weeks.

I’m at loose ends. Lunch had been a small bag of peanuts, a granola bar and bottled water. I’m famished but it’s only four thirty, and dinner with April is still hours away. I eye the brand-new mini-refrigerator tucked between the bed and my desk—one of my parents’ going-away presents. Right now, there’s only two bottles of water in there. What I need to do is gets some fruit and a six-pack of Coke. Which means I need to go to the grocery store.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing in the parking lot, keys in hand, debating whether I should walk or drive. The grocery store is less than a mile away and the weather is practically balmy for the northeast at this time of the year.

Screw it. I’m up for the exercise, something that’s been tragically absent from my life since school ended in June. And without my mother making sure I get at least something nutritious to eat every day, if I’m not careful, I’ll find myself packing on the dreaded freshman fifteen sooner than I can say,
let’s order in
.

Tucking my keys back into my purse, I traverse the pathway leading from my dorm to the commons. The motto of
start early and leave early
couldn’t be more evident in the lack of students I come across.

Up ahead, I notice of group of guys loitering outside the communications building. My first instinct is to find another route, one that will steer me clear of potential whistles or catcalls. As I gauge my chances of managing this stealthily, one of them sees me and elbows the guy beside him. If I suddenly veer away from them now, they’ll know I’m doing it to avoid them.

Be brave, Olivia. Be brave.

Instead of dropping back, I pick up the pace and stare straight ahead. What’s worse is as I walk by them all I can hear is the silence. Their raucous laughter of only a minute ago is no more. I
feel
them staring at me.

“Don’t be an ass,” one of them growls.

“What the fuck is it to you?”

Male voices break the silence, each coming rapid-fire after the other. And I recognize that voice. The first one.

A glance in their direction confirms what I already know, it’s Zach, and he’s glowering at a shorter blond guy. He shifts his gaze to me.

“Olivia, wait up.”

I don’t stop but I do slow down.

“Shit, Pearson. All you had to say was you know her,” says the blond guy, his expression something between chagrin and annoyance. But he’s talking to his back, because Zach’s already walking away from him.

When I’d seen him at breakfast, I didn’t think I’d see him until tomorrow. I can’t say I’m disappointed though.

For the first time, he’s not carrying his backpack. And the letter jacket he was wearing this morning is gone.

“Where you headed?” he asks upon reaching my side.

“What was that about?” I ask, glancing back at the group. No surprise, they’re still staring.

“Just guys being assholes. Ignore ’em.” Zach had cursed at the guy, so maybe it’s good I don’t get a play-by-play of what he said.

“So, where you headed?” he repeats as we walk toward the parking lot.

“The grocery store.”

He slants a glance down at me. “Yeah?” A smile plays over his lips. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift. I got some shopping of my own to do too.”

“I have a car.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Meaning I could have driven if I’d wanted to. I didn’t because I wanted to walk.”

A chuckle rumbles from his throat. “Touché. Okay, how about this? I suck when it comes to this stuff—you know, shopping. I could use someone like you to help me.”

“Someone like me? You mean a girl, isn’t that what you mean?”

“Not if it means you’re going to take offense because you think I’m being a chauvinist pig,” he says, laughing. “Actually I meant a friend.” His smile, the sleepy thing he’s got going with his eyes is putting my will under serious duress. I’m learning Zach gets only sexier when he’s being impossible—and coercing me to get his own way.

He’s good. I’m buckling and he knows it.

“Come on, my truck’s over here.” He angles his head in the direction of a green Ford truck.

After the minutest of pauses, I start toward it and only then does he fall in stride with me, as if he had no intention of taking no for an answer. The thought shouldn’t have pleased me quite as much as it does.

“Very nice.” The sun is beginning to set, but there’s still enough light out to create a blinding shine off the finish of the truck. It has to be new.

“Thanks. A graduation present from my brother.”

He proceeds to walk to the passenger door and I trail behind him, confused. I’m wondering if he’s forgotten he’s driving. It’s only when he pulls open the door and steps aside do I realize he’s opening the door for me.

Oh God, the perfect gentleman.
I will not swoon. I will not swoon.

Feeling somewhat bemused, I step up onto the running board and slide into the passenger seat. “Thank you,” I say before he pushes the door shut.

Jeff never opened car doors for me. Well except the door to the limousine we took to the prom. But that was prom and I was all decked out in a gown wearing two-inch heels. That can’t really count.

I watch Zach as he gets into the truck and for some reason, he looks hotter than Hades. I’m not sure if it’s my hormones or the simple gesture of opening my door that has me practically mindless. All I
do
know is that being friends with Zach has just gotten infinitely more difficult.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

My first instinct is to deny it outright. The only problem is I’m staring at him. The irritating thing is, I didn’t know that I was looking at him in a certain way. But now I have to come up with something to say. Lickety split.

“It’s nothing. I just never realized how tall you were.”
Lame. Lame. Lame.
Nice thinking on your toes, Olivia.

Zach chuckles as he starts the car. “I’ve been six-two since I was sixteen. And I’m not
that
tall. You wanna see tall, check out the guys on the basketball team. You’re just on the shorter side. You’re like what, five-five, five-six?” He sends me a quick up and down as he backs out of the parking space. As brief as it is, his look is like a heated caress and it does crazy things to my insides.