When in Paris... (Language of Love) (18 page)

And just imagine, I defended her to that
a
-hole. What the hell had I been thinking? That she’s this nice girl—who also happens to be the girl I’m hot for—who doesn’t deserve to be slammed having guys talk shit about her.

As it stands now, I should have kept my mouth shut and let him say whatever the hell he wanted.

I take the stairs two at a time and must have a thundercloud of an expression because when one of the two girls who let me in the dorm the other night looks up at me as I pass her in the opposite direction, her smile falls faster than an anvil.

At the apartment, I’m glad I have the place to myself, at least for a little while. Troy won’t be home until after his evening class.

When my cell rings, I instinctively think Ashley before I recognize it’s not her ringtone. I check the screen and recognize my home number. Damn, don’t really want to talk to my mom right now. Not with the mood I’m in.

“
Hey, Mom.”

“
It’s not your mom,” barks my dad.

Great, just what I need. My day only gets better and better.

“
Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I have to force myself to sound normal, like I have no idea what he’s calling about. 

“
Your mother tells me you aren’t coming home during your break.” The disapproval in his voice is only a ramp up to the spitting fury I know is coming. This, if you can believe it, is the calm before the storm.

“
Yeah, school trip to Paris.” Which is a trip, after what just went down, I’m not sure I want to take. If it wasn’t too late to bail, I would sit this one out.

My dad clears his throat, a distinct grumbled sound that means he’s preparing for the speech. “What the hell are you going to do in Paris? When the hell are you ever going to need French? I mean Spanish, I can see, but French?”

I lean back against the kitchen counter and cross my legs at the ankles as I stare down at my scuffed Nike sneakers. Since he’d probably drive out here and kick my ass if I cursed him out, I have to satisfy myself with letting loose in my mind.

“
What’s the big deal, Dad? It’s a week during a
break from school
. We don’t have practice.”

“
Just because there’s no practice doesn’t mean you
don’t practice
!
”
My dad’s voice booms so loud through the speakers, I’m pretty sure he's pushing his already high blood pressure up. He actually expects me to surpass my brother’s accomplishments, which include two Super Bowls, two MVPs and a complete passes record. Records it took my brother six years in the NFL to accomplish. Simple, right?

“
Christ, Dad, I can practice when I get back. I’m not even the starter.” The minute the words are out of my mouth, I realize my mistake. But it’s too late to call them back so I brace my ears for the fallout.

“
Jesus H. Christ, haven’t I taught you anything about drive? You’re not starting because you don’t want to start. I’ve seen Cardello throw. He throws like a pussy. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than he has in his throwing arm.” Franklin Pearson worked up into a lather isn’t a pleasant thing to hear but it’s a hundred times worse witnessed in techno-color 4D. I’m relieved I’m only getting the half show.

“
John is one of the best college quarterbacks and you know it, Dad.”

“
Then how come he hasn’t won a goddamn title for you yet? Look, I wanted you to go with me to meet—”

Oh, hell no.

“
Listen, Dad, gotta run. Coach called a late meeting. I’ll see you during Thanksgiving break.” When my dad’s in this state, it’s pointless to try to reason with him. And I’m not. I’m done.

I hang up before he can get another word in about going to the secret Michigan trip he has planned and toss my cell on the counter. It skids across the Formica and bounces off the wall but doesn’t fall to the floor. Thank God.

First Olivia and now my dad. A crappy day capped off by a crappy evening. We lost the game against Purdue and I had to watch that ass Milton crow like he had anything to do with the win. He fumbled the ball twice but our defense wasn’t able to capitalize on it.

I played half of the second quarter and when I was out there I kept asking myself,
Is this what I really want to do with my life
? Take blows to the head, get tackled every time I turn around. More than once I wondered what—or namely who—I was playing football for. And after conversations like the one I just had with my dad, I wanna quit. Get him off my goddamn back for good.

I don’t want or need the glory of going professional. I look at the shit my brother goes through: the groupies, gold-diggers, the high-profile marriage that crashed and burned in the spotlight of the media. Who needs it? I sure as hell don’t.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

OLIVIA

April comes back to find me sitting cross-legged in my pajamas—an oversized Florida State University t-shirt my brother got me when he attended—on the bed. It’s a little after seven and I’m too wired from my fight with Zach to do anything else but go over it again and again in my mind.

“In bed already?” she asks archly as she dumps her bag and books on her desk. Plopping down onto her unmade bed, she removes her gorgeous but completely unsuitable boots with a grimace and a blissful sigh of relief. You couldn’t pay me to wear those heels all day with all the walking I have to do.

“Okay, tell me what’s wrong. Something must have happened. You never eat in bed.”

I peer at her from over my pint of fudge-ripple ice cream—my favorite comfort food. “I had a fight with Zach.”

That bit of information has her scrambling to my side, her green eyes alive with curiosity.

“Dish,” she instructs.

The story tumbles out between spoonfuls of decadent fudge and cream. Like any good litigator, April listens closely with only minor interruptions.
Did Rebecca say she thought the guy was a football player or knew he was? Did he actually say he heard you put out or that he thought you did? Zach was here? No, you didn’t!

“Liv, I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this,” April concludes when I finish. “I mean you can’t know for sure he was the one who started it. Before you go accusing him, you need to give him a chance to explain.”

“April, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I
am
on your side, it’s just that it sounds like he’s really mad that you would think he could do something like that. But then, who else could it have been, right?”

Whether she’s just saying that to console me or actually believes it, I’m not sure. But the whole situation has completely sucked the joy out of my first month of college.

“Just don’t say anything to Troy. The less people who know about this, the better.” If Zach wants to tell him, he’s welcome to. I certainly can’t stop him. But I have a feeling he won’t.

April is silent long enough for me to wonder if I’m asking the impossible. Finally she nods. “Okay, I won’t say a word. But boy is this going to make things awkward. Troy invited us over for dinner Friday.”

“Well you can count me out.” I can’t imagine ever stepping foot inside their apartment again.

How is it possible that I went to school with Zach for four years and never exchanged more than two words with him and now in the matter of less than a month the thought of not talking to him makes me feel more wretched than I did when I realized Jennie had betrayed me? None of this makes logical sense.

“Are you sure you don’t want me—”

“No!” I say emphatically. “There’s nothing more to say. I know it’s him and there isn’t anything he can say to me that will make what he did okay.”

April snaps her mouth shut, pressing her lips tightly together. After a beat she says, “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”

It’s not the way I want it but it’s the way it’s going to have to be.

The weekend has officially begun for us because neither of us have Friday classes. We stay up until the early hours of the morning talking and April recites the lines of the male role while I practice Caroline’s lines for the audition. After an hour, I think I have it nailed, or at least I hope I do.

The auditions start tomorrow at ten a.m. and run until next week Tuesday.

I try to put my fight with Zach out of my mind, but I can’t help remembering how mad he was and how hurt he appeared, which has me questioning myself. When I finally fall asleep, I can’t shake the niggling feeling that’s telling me I might just be wrong about him…again.

~*~*~

I wake up to April shaking my shoulders. She’s still in her pajamas, a yellow tank top and matching checkered yellow, blue and purple bottoms.

“It’s nine. Isn’t your audition at ten?” she asks around a yawn and a stretch as she makes her way back to her bed and crawls under her flowered comforter.

That jolts me out of bed. I shower and dress in record time and make it down to Lawrence Theatre with ten minutes to spare. I use up every one of them going over my lines.

There’s about twenty of us there and I’m third in line. By the time it’s my turn, my palms are damp and my hands aren’t quite as steady as I wish they were. Pete, the guy I’m reading with looks just as I pictured Mac. Tall and athletic, good-looking if you’re into blonds. I’ve always been a sucker for dark, tousled hair and blue bedroom eyes. An image of Zach pops into my head. I dismiss it just as quickly.

Pete’s smile puts me at ease and thirty minutes later, I leave the audition feeling pretty good about my performance—okay, thrilled about it—but I can’t tell by the expression on my drama teacher’s face whether she was anywhere near as impressed.

With the audition out of the way, I have the rest of the day and the weekend to look forward to. I’m climbing the sloping walkway past the commons that leads back to my dorm, when the ping of an incoming text message sounds.

I dig my cell out of my purse. Rebecca’s name and text message is displayed at the top of the screen.

Rebecca:
Where are you?

Continuing toward the dorm, I text her back.

Me:
Just left my audition. On the way to my room.

Rebecca:
How’d it go?

Me:
Great, good, I guess…crossing fingers I was as good as I thought I was. LOL

Rebecca:
Hehehe, right. Fingers and toes crossed over here. What r u doing 4 lunch?

Me:
Eating.

Rebecca:
Hardy har har. Save me from cafeteria food 4 the 7th day in a row. Pizza? My treat.

I maneuver around a group of girls, heads together deep in conversation and nearly plow head-on into—my head snaps up—Zach. His hands grip my forearms, stopping me from making frontal full-body contact. The speed at which he let’s go of me is a pretty good indication that he didn’t know it was me. The way heat pools in my lower stomach and proceeds south is a pretty good indication of just how much he still affects me.

For a few seconds there’s nothing but silence. The girls—now about a foot behind us—turn interested gazes toward Zach. I swallow and try to compose myself by reminding myself what he did and why I’m mad. I definitely don’t want him to know how much he’s hurt me.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you.” I deliberately make my voice this-doesn’t-faze-me cool.

Watching me through narrowed eyes, he nods curtly and then continues walking. Away from me.

I have to literally force myself from turning around and watching him go but the three girls behind me aren’t quite as reticent.

“Who the hell is that?” one girl asks in a breathless giggle.

“He’s eye-candy with muscles,” is the last thing I hear before I’m out of earshot.

It takes me a couple seconds to recover from the encounter. I inhale a breath and summon back up some of my anger. I can’t believe him. He has some nerve acting like he’s the injured party here. Like I did something to him and not the other way around.

I gaze down at my phone, my face burning hot despite the chill in the air.

Rebecca:
hello????

Me:
I’m here. What time?

Rebecca:
12:00. Any later & we’ll have to wait 4ever to get a table.

Me:
My roommate, April…?

Rebecca:
the more the merrier. Exercising my dad’s visa card.

Me:
I’ll drive.

Rebecca:
Cool pick me up in 45

Me:
C u then.

Trying to put my recent run-in (literally) with Zach in the back of my mind, I rustle a still-sleeping April out of bed and tell her she’s got forty minutes to make herself presentable, which to her means dress so guys will sit up and beg.