When in Paris... (Language of Love) (19 page)

April and Rebecca still haven’t met but I’ve mentioned Rebecca to April so she knows what to expect. We pick her up at her dorm, and by the time we pull into Giordano’s Pizza, they’re yapping like a bunch of magpies and you’d think they’ve been friends for eons and a day.

At quarter after twelve, we’re late and it shows. The parking lot is almost at capacity but I’m lucky and score a parking spot close to the doors when an older couple pulls out. In the restaurant, our luck holds. There’s a table for three available so we’re seated immediately. I shrug out of my jacket and hang it over my chair along with my purse. Rebecca and April do the same.

We settle in and indulge in idle chitchat until our waitress takes our order: one Coke, two Diet Cokes and a large pepperoni pizza, extra cheese, light on the sauce.

“So, Rebecca, do you have a boyfriend?” April likes to get right to the point.

“No, but I’ve got this Eddie Cibrian look-alike in my sights,” Rebecca states with a suggestive rise of her brow. “He dresses like a jock but I’m still doing my reconnaissance. I’ll let you know what I find out.” That said, she tears off a piece of the complimentary breadsticks the waitress recently placed on the table, and pops it into her mouth.

Uh oh.
I glance at April who has that deer-caught-in-headlights look on her face. She knows exactly who Rebecca is referring to.

“Eddie Cibrian, huh? I think I know who you’re talking about.” I’m grabbing the tiger by the tail or however that saying goes. And it’s strictly for selfish reasons. I want my best friend and my new friend to be friends so it’s best we lay all the cards on the table now.

Eyes lit with excitement, Rebecca quickly swallows. “Who?” she demands sharply. “Now you realize, don’t you, that you know all the hot guys?”

I ignore her oblique reference to Zach and continue. “It’s Troy, April’s best friend from high school.” If I put extra emphasis on the words
best friend
, that was inadvertent. I’m simply not convinced there’s nothing going on between them. “And you’re right, he is a jock. He’s on the football team.”

Rebecca directs an incredulous stare at April. “
That
guy is your best friend? Your best friend?” she repeats, her voice rising in disbelief.

In response, April does something she rarely does; she blushes and the stain of color is highest on her cheekbones. Then she looks across the table at Rebecca, lifts her chin and flashes a smile. “We’re just friends.” She parrots it like a well-rehearsed line. “We’ve known each other since we were five.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrow and after a beat of silence she says, “So you wouldn’t mind if I make a play for him?” With her dark, thick hair pulled back in a ponytail, today Rebecca is channeling Kate Beckinsale in the role of the girl-next-door more than ever. Her camel sweater sets off her blue eyes and brown textured jeans are fashionable without looking too trendy. In other words, she’d probably be perfect for Troy.

My gaze darts to April when she doesn’t immediately reply. She looks like she’s trying to collect her thoughts, unsure of what to say.

“He already has a girlfriend,” I offer.

April shakes her head. “Not anymore. They broke up a couple weeks ago.”

Really? That’s news to me.

“So he’s free?” Rebecca presses.

“I guess so,” April says with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

After a moment, Rebecca says, “You’re as bad a liar as Olivia.” She looks pointedly at me.

Huh?
My spine goes taut. “What does that mean?”

April stares wide-eyed at her, looking equally aggrieved.

A smile dances at the corner of Rebecca’s mouth as she gives a careless shrug and picks up the menu in front of her. “It means you’re either both lying to me or you’re lying to yourself.
Come on.
” She draws out the latter. “If you weren’t really interested in these guys, you’d be happy to set me up with them. I mean, you claim these guys are your friends, which means they must be good enough to date, right?”

“You know I’m not even talking to Zach after what he did,” I protest but not disputing her claim absolutely. “And as my friend, why would you even want to go out with him now?” Girlfriends are supposed to stick together.

“I’m talking even before the—” she ducks her head, leans forward over the table, cupping her hand at the side of her mouth and whispers, “—rumors that you put out started circulating.” Pulling back, she drops her hand, sits up straight in her chair and resumes speaking in a normal voice. “When I asked you if you wouldn’t mind if I made a play for him, you reacted almost exactly the same way April just did.”

I’d be wasting my breath if I denied it. And not because it’s the truth but because not even April would believe me.

“But without the phony laugh at the end,” Rebecca adds.

April brings her palm down on the wood table with just enough force to make her point but not enough force to draw undue attention to us. “I wasn’t being phony,” she whispers fiercely.

“No you’re not, but your laugh was,” Rebecca replies smugly and I get the distinct impression she’s enjoying this. A lot. “Oh, come on you guys, it’s not that I don’t get it. I do. If I had guy friends like that, I wouldn’t want them dating anyone much less my girlfriends. I’m just cursing my luck that it seems all my new friends have a thing for every guy who gets my juices flowing.”

“No,” April says, shaking her head, “Troy doesn’t see me like that.”

Rebecca chokes out a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Sweetie, I don’t think there’s a guy alive who
doesn’t
see you like that.”

I’m more interested in the fact that my best friend just stated,
Troy doesn’t see me like that
as opposed to, we
don’t see each other like that
. To me, there’s a very telling difference between the two. But now’s not the time to point that out. However, my situation with Zach is completely different. I never claimed that we were buddies or anything like that. At the end of the day, our falling-out is not even a ripple on a pond. I cut off the voice in my head before the little irritant can contradict me.

April looks like she doesn’t know whether she should take Rebecca’s last comment as a compliment or not, although clearly it was.

“Think what you want, but I know exactly the way things stand between me and Troy.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Since you two are practically the only friends I have here, I really can’t afford to piss you off.”

I try to stifle a grin because I should still be irked at her but lose the fight. Of course she’s lying. Rebecca’s the pretty and popular kind of girl who makes friends easily. Every time I’ve seen her outside of class, she’s surrounded by a group of students—male and female alike. And each and every time, she calls me over and performs the introductions. I’ve met a ton of people through her.

April manages to hold hers off longer than I did but succumbs in the end. The next thing I know we’re all giggling like a bunch of school-aged girls.

“But since I’m making this incredible sacrifice, you both have to promise to keep your eyes open for a guy for me. My requirements are simple. He can’t be shallow or weak and he can’t be blond.” Rebecca makes a face. “He also cannot be
into
hot blondes.” She gives me a stern pointed look…then winks. “Or gorgeous brunettes who make me want to gouge my eyes out.” April is on the receiving end of her next death glare and wink.

And in that moment, I know just like April, Rebecca Ann Winters is going to be one of those friends I’ll keep for life.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

ZACH

I want to say, over the past couple weeks, I put the incident with Olivia out of my mind. The thing is I have to see her at least twice a week in class. Invariably, I’ll catch sight of her around campus, but I do my best to avoid her when I can.

I wasn’t able to avoid her last week when she’d walked right smack into me. It’d taken me a second to remember why I didn’t like her and why my body shouldn’t react the way it does when I see, much less come, in physical contact with her.

I just keep telling myself that I don’t give a shit what she thinks of me. The fact that her opinion is so horrifically wrong really pisses me off. I have no problem owning up to shit I actually do but I’ll be damned if I’ll let some prissy-ass blonde lay the blame on me for shit I didn’t do. And that’s as much as I’m going to think about her tonight. With us leaving for Paris on Saturday, it’s enough we’ll be forced together all next week.

Troy is heading home Saturday but tonight he’s out on a date. The first since his split with what’s her name and so far I’ve made no plans of my own. Midterms are over. With no classes for a lot of students on Fridays, eight o’clock on a Thursday night is early in a college town. I’ve got the numbers of at least a half-dozen girls I can call if I’m looking to score, but for some reason the thought doesn’t have the same pull it normally would.

But it still doesn’t mean I can’t go out and have some harmless fun before I leave. I’m thinking I’ll take Lisa—a girl in my poly sci class—up on her invitation to stop by her and her roommate’s party tonight. Pretty, brunette and brown-eyed, she’s definitely more my type. Maybe I’ll have a nice memory to take with me since I’m pretty sure I won’t be making any of those in Paris.

Barefoot, I go to the kitchen and open the fridge. For dinner, I grilled a steak on the George Foreman grill thing. Not exactly something that tasted like it had been grilled on a barbeque, but it hadn’t been bad. But that was hours ago, and now I’m hungry for something, I just don’t know what.

As I’m debating my choice of mint ice cream, the last piece of apple pie and grapes—yeah right—there’s a knock on the door.

There’s a couple of girls—both juniors—who live a few doors down. The one with the short dark hair and nice ass has been dropping hints to me the size of an atomic bomb blast. She’s cute and clearly willing but I’m not about to hook up with a girl who lives practically next door. I’d feel weird bringing another girl to my apartment knowing she’s that close by and potentially watching. No, there are definite situations I actively avoid no matter how convenient it or she may be at the time.

I open the door without checking the peephole and am surprised to see April standing on the other side. As usual, she’s all dressed to the nines and looks stunning. Her green eyes, I’m damn sure, have stopped more male hearts than I can count.

She flashes me a smile, but her gaze is busy scanning the area behind me. “Hey, Zach. Is Troy home?”

Opening the door, I take a couple steps back to let her in. She follows. “No, Troy’s out,” I reply, stopping and turning to face her.

“
Crap. I just got off the phone with Liv. She’s stuck on the other side of town with a flat tire. I told her I’d call Troy to see if he could run out there and give her a hand but he’s not answering his phone.”

One thing April is
not
is subtle and if I were the type of guy Olivia obviously thinks I am, I’d smile politely and tell her I’ll give Troy the message when he gets home. But I’m not that guy even though tonight, I sorely wish I was.

I give a sigh and run a hand through my hair. She doesn’t deserve it but how the hell can I go to Lisa’s party knowing Olivia is stuck on some road at night. But it shouldn’t take me long to change her tire and jet over to the party.

“
I’ll go. Where is she?”

April’s face lights up and she gives me an enthusiastic and grateful hug. “You’re the best.”

After vowing that she and Olivia will enroll in AAA, she gives me the name of the two cross streets Olivia is closest to and promises to call her to let her know I’m on my way.

It takes me twenty minutes to get there. I can see Olivia’s car on the side of the road—which is really a cross between a route and a highway—and the closest stop lights are about two miles down. There’s a car pulled up behind her and I see a guy approaching on the driver side as I slow down and pull over onto the shoulder in front of her.

Quickly, I get out of the truck and walk back toward her car. The guy who stopped is an older guy. He looks like he's in his late forties with his own spare tire around his middle and his hair tamed in that balding-on-top ridiculous comb-over.

With a nod at me, he motions me back to my truck, saying, “I got this. Just a flat tire.”

Yeah, right.
I clench my jaw. I don’t like this guy. Who the fuck turns down help changing a tire? Especially an old guy in a wool dress coat, a suit and tie and wearing black polished dress shoes?

I tip my chin toward Olivia who is watching the interplay from where she’s sitting in the front seat, hands fisted around the steering wheel. “S’okay, I’m her friend, she called me.”

I’ve never seen a smile fall faster than the one he’d just been wearing. And let’s face facts, the only reason he’s offering is because he obviously got a look at Olivia. The guy probably hoped he’d get lucky tonight. My throat tightens at the thought. He’s old enough to be her father for crissake.