When in Paris... (Language of Love) (6 page)

***

OLIVIA

Oh. My. God. Crap like this can only happen to me. No seriously, only me.

My eyes stray to Zach’s butt as he walks toward the rear of the apartment. I bite my lower lip to keep the drool in my mouth. I drop down into the blue sofa behind me and a moment later, April is pressed against my side, shoulder to shoulder. “You’re hot for him. You should have been honest with me. I just gave him my Vulcan stare.”

In other words, she’d tempered her one-hundred-megawatt smile to a still-beatific sixty watt. That’d show him.

From my vantage point, I can partially see Troy at the door exchanging cash for food with the delivery guy. Not sure how much voices carry in this place, I drop my voice to a whisper. “I do not and I repeat, do not have the hots for him.”

“Yeah, right.”

“And what about you? You didn’t tell me Troy looks like that guy who left his wife for Leann Rimes. You know, the one with the dimples. Except a more muscular jock version of him.”

I think I had a brain freeze when I saw Troy. In the six years since I’d last seen him, he’d grown into a bonafide, grade-A hunk. White teeth and a gorgeous smile—thank God for braces—and he’s tall. I think even taller than Zach. It’s like my mind couldn’t comprehend how the boy I’d known had grown into this—this man.

“Eddie Cibrian? Oh get out. He doesn’t look a thing like him,” April scoffs.

That is when the guy in question appears, holding three paper bags of Chinese food, the delicious aroma quickly filling the room.

“Ladies, dinner is served. I hope you appreciate all the work I’ve put into the meal.” Troy smirks as he places the grease-speckled bags on the oak-topped dining table and begins opening the bags and removing white cartons of food.

April immediately abandons her spot beside me on the sofa to take over serving duty. Troy leaves her to collect plates and utensils from the galley kitchen.

Since they seem to have everything under control, I get up and advance to the kitchen, prop my hip against the counter and watch them work. I can’t help but note how well they work together, almost like they’ve done this more than a few times before.

“So, Troy, how do you like Warwick?” He really does look like that Eddie guy and I’ve always thought he was hot. But there’s no way I’d ever go out with him, not with Zach being his roommate and my best friend being his…something-more-than-friend-but-less-than-girlfriend if that makes any sense. Bottom line, it would be too weird.

Troy cocks his head toward me as he grabs a bunch of napkins from one of the cupboards and places them in the middle of the table. “It’s great. My schedule basically sucks but I’ll have to deal with that tomorrow.”

“There.” April stands back to study the table. I can see her mind whirling as she checks to make sure everything needed for dinner is laid out perfectly. “C’mon, have a seat.”

The table itself is surprisingly tasteful but small enough to fit comfortably in the dining room/nook area. As I’m settling into my chair, I hear Zach coming down the hall. No matter how much I tell myself to keep it cool, having him this close heightens every one of my senses, which is fast becoming a regular state for me.

With Troy and April sitting next to each other, the only place for Zach to sit is beside me. I purposely don’t look up when he pulls out the chair and sits down.

“Smells good,” Zach says.

April, and not Troy, proceeds to give us a rundown of the dishes in the cartons. For the next couple minutes we’re passing cartons back and forth and filling our plates with everything from fried rice, pot stickers and sesame chicken. April also insists we all take a fortune cookie. I don’t like them but I take one just for the fortune.

Big changes are coming in your future.
Can anyone say vague?

“So you guys are all in the same French class?” Troy asks once everyone is fully involved with their food. I hate that I can’t truly enjoy mine with Zach sitting at my elbow. He, on the other hand, seems to have no problem with it if the amount of food piled on his plate is any indication. And the rate at which it’s being consumed. Nothing short of death puts guys off their appetite.

“Well, Liv and I planned it that way. Zach, well, he’s just a bonus, right, Zach?” Reaching for a can of Diet Coke, she flashes him a smile. For a moment he appears surprised but quickly responds with one of those grins that used to drive the girls in high school around the bend. Easygoing, infectious with a dash of potent sex appeal. The combination is as explosive as a stick of dynamite. My gaze drops to my plate.

“So you’re not going to Paris with us, huh?” April asks casually.

“Wait, who’s going to Paris?” Troy asks, lowering the egg roll he’d been about to bite into.

“Our French class is going to Paris during mid-winter break. I’m not going.” His answer is abrupt, as if in an attempt to cut off any further inquiry.

Troy turns to April. “So you’re going to Paris?”

“Yeah. Pretty cool, huh? You should add the class and go with us.”

“We’ve got football,” Zach says.

“Yeah, but Brighton says the practice is optional, something about his wife expecting her baby that week. Plus, we don’t have a game until the week after we get back.” Troy shovels another forkful of chicken into his mouth.

Zach’s only response is a grunt. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to go.

“There, now you can come to Paris with us,” April declares, sending me a quick look. And I know that look; she’s plotting and conniving because it’s something she’s really very good at. I can feel my insides clench up.

Lifting his eyes from his plate, Zach gives her a lopsided smile. My stomach somersaults and it takes everything in my power to remain unaffected. Or to at least give the appearance of being unaffected.

His shoulders rise and fall in a negligent shrug. “I don’t know. Paris isn’t really my thing.”

“Why?” April asks, continuing to push. “Afraid your girlfriend will freak if you go without her?”

The hand carrying a forkful of rice halts midway to my mouth. It isn’t until Troy makes a sound of muffled laughter that I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for Zach to respond.

Zach shoots me a look that’s over in a flash, but is so intense it burns. In a good
and
bad way. Suddenly it’s hard to breathe and I feel trapped, unable to look away. I hate that he manages to do this to me
every time
.

Shifting his attention to April, Zach quirks a brow. “Girlfriend, huh?” Another fleeting look in my direction and a lazy smile steals across his face, his eyes lighting in quiet amusement.

I shovel the rice in my mouth and chew.

“What?” April demands, her eyes darting from Zach to Troy and back. “Just what is so funny?”

Yes please, let us in on the joke.
Call me paranoid but I’m getting the awful feeling it has something to do with me.

“Nothing,” Zach replies, shaking his head as he tries to suppress a smile…and fails. Troy simply shrugs, suddenly the wide-eyed innocent. Like I would ever believe that.

“If it was nothing, you both wouldn’t be acting like this,” she says, sitting back in her chair, a frown pulling on her mouth.

The guys’ eyes meet across the table and a look passes between them. Troy clears his throat and says, “You just pulled the oldest female trick in the book.”

April jerks her head slightly back and her eyes go wide then immediately narrow. “Excuse me?”

At the soft warning in her voice, Troy barks out a laugh. “Okay, okay, don’t blow a gasket. But think of what you said to Zach. You asked him if he wasn’t going to Paris because his girlfriend would have a fit when you don’t even know he has one.”

Well call me a dimwit but I don’t get it. And the mystified expression on April’s face tells me we’re rowing in the same boat.

“Come again?” April asks, turning her bewildered gaze to Zach.

Zach reclines back in his chair, a dryly amused smile ghosting his lips. “He means if you want to know if I have a girlfriend, all you had to do was ask.”

After he says that, what does he do? He looks at
me
like I’m the one with the hidden agenda.
What an ego.
And he’s not the only one staring at me, but now so are Troy and April.

April. My best friend.

My defenses go up and before I take the time to think it through, I blurt out, “Why are you looking at me? I’m not the one who asked. Anyway, I don’t care if you and Ashley are still together.”

There’s a big difference between being vaguely curious and actively attempting to ferret out information. I’m certainly not guilty of that. Although, it probably hadn’t been a good idea to mention his ex by name.

“Of course you don’t,” Zach agrees smoothly, his tone conveying exactly the opposite.

Of all the egotistical, pompous, asshat guys I’ve ever met, he takes the cake. He must think he’s God’s gift.

“Believe me, Zach, if I wanted to know I would’ve asked,” I reply in feigned sugary sweetness, lying through my teeth. For a guy who knows diddly squat about me, he’s sure making some pretty grand assumptions.

Wait.
How the hell did I get pulled into this? April had been the one playing investigative reporter and now she’s just sitting back watching us like we’re her favorite stand-up act. With friends like that and all that.

“Relax, Olivia, I’m only messing with you.”

Right, that’s what he says but his words are at odds with the way he’s watching me. As if he can read every thought that’s ever gone through my mind. But if he wants to play the whole thing off as a joke, I’m fine with that.

“Of course you were,” I say in an equally agreeable tone before I return my attention to my food without sparing him another glance. I can feel him staring a hole into the side of my face. Good, let him get a long, hard look.

Troy does a poor job covering his laugh with a cough. When I narrow my eyes at him, he quickly averts his gaze, pushes his chair back and stands. “April, I almost forgot. My mom sent you something. I have it in my room.” He motions for her to come with him.

Gee, how subtle.

But my traitor of a best friend can’t scramble out of her chair fast enough and the next thing I know, I’m watching as they disappear down the hall and hear the subsequent closing of a door, leaving me and Zach alone. Something that’s never happened before.

“April,” I call out belatedly, making a move to rise. Zach’s hand on my arm prevents me from following them.

“They obviously want us to talk.”

While Zach is speaking, all I can think—all I can feel is his warm hand on my arm. I must have been looking down at his arm like I’d grown another one because he releases me, not quickly, but slowly, so the tips of his fingers trail over my bare flesh until the contact is broken.

“Sit down. I think we need to clear the air if we’re going to be friends.”

Reluctantly, I sink back into the chair, vowing to wring my best friend’s neck as soon as I get her alone. Right now I’m sure she’s thinks she’s just the cleverest little matchmaker in the world.

“Oh, we’re going to be friends are we?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out how close we
haven’t
been the last four years but I don’t want him to think I care.

“Well there are friends and then there are
friends
. Which one is up to you.”

At his panty-tossing bedroom voice, the pulling sensation in my lower belly is making its way south in a hurry. I swallow hard as my heart slams against my rib cage. Okay, what on earth does
that
mean? Of course he doesn’t explain and I don’t ask him to because I’m not sure I really want to know. Getting friendly with Zach is the cause of all kinds of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

But being alone with him, being pinned under his unwavering blue gaze completely unsettles me. I do my best to shake it off.

“Look, Zach, I’m not sure what the deal was back in high school but just so you know, I don’t have anything against you. So if you want to start fresh, I’m okay with that.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, just stares at me with such heated intensity, I’m afraid if I inhale to calm the choppiness of my breathing, I’ll lose my breath completely. His gaze drifts down to my mouth and it’s like a physical touch. This close to him, his beautiful eyes are mesmerizing. His lashes are thick, gently curved and long enough to have me dying of envy…and lust.

“I’d like that,” he says and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not but his voice sounds deeper. Sexier.

Oh God, have I just agreed to be Zach’s friend?

There are friends then there are
friends
.

What am I, insane? I catch myself before I descend into a girly meltdown. I don’t do that. That’s not who I am or have ever been.
Argh!
It’s all Zach’s fault for making me crazy. I’m not sure if he’s still messing with me now or what but I’m pretty sure that after four years, he’s not all of a sudden trying to get with me. Being friends with us means no more ignoring each other or acting as if the other doesn’t exist. It’s shooting the breeze when the occasion warrants. And that I can do.