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 d
riven 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.
“Five-six,” I confirm in my next breath.
As he shifts the truck into drive, I can’t help but stare at his hand. Short, blunt fingernails on long, tapered fingers that look like they’ve taken their share of nicks and cuts. Nice hands. Hands probably capable of giving lots of pleasure.
Before I turn three shades of pink, I direct my attention to the road. The grocery store is literally across the street, in a shopping complex two buildings down from his apartment building.
“If April’s from Illinois, how’d you come to be best friends?” Zach asks, as we pull out of the parking lot.
“We met while we were auditioning for a commercial.” It comes out in a rush, like I want nothing better than to be rid of it. I’m touchy about my childhood modeling and acting past.
We hit the red light at the major intersection and the truck rolls smoothly to a stop, giving Zach the freedom to give me his focused attention for the next minute. I curse the light.
I don’t want to look at him, but I know he’s giving me the same look people give me when they know I used to be one of those kids stage mothers carted around from audition to audition. I can only thank God my father stopped my mother from entering me in those kiddie beauty pageants. I could never have lived that down. I also thank God I wasn’t very successful. A pretty face does not a star make—the wise and often reiterated words of my father.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I say this without looking at him.
“How am I looking at you?” The low timbre of his voice has me jerking my gaze to him and he’s got this look in his eyes that start my heart thumping hard.
“I don’t know, like everyone does when they find out.” My voice is tight as I steel myself for what’s to come, which is why I take the offensive. “They either feel sorry for me because it’s obvious my mother must be either pushy or self-absorbed—or both. Or they hate me because I must think I’m too cute to live. Either way, the fact never goes over well.”
That’s a lesson I learned early on. Kids are not impressed with other kids who spend an inordinate amount of their spare time meeting with casting agents, photographers and are occasionally excused from school for said activities. Actually it’s the quickest way to get a new girl in a new school despised and shunned—mostly by the girls.
He’s silent for so long, I don’t think he’s going to respond, adhering to the if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all philosophy.
“Well, we know you don’t think you’re too cute to live. Although you may be too gorgeous for most of my friends. And no matter how bad your mom might be, she’s got nothing on my dad, so if people should feel sorry for anyone, it’s me.”
His compliment knocks me over and he finishes off the job by flattening me with a sexy smile and a wink.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZACH
I told her we’d be friends, knowing full well I want to get in her pants. And I’m pretty sure she wants me there as much as I want to be there.
I’m still deciding whether I’m serious about it or not. If I am serious, what the hell am I doing? Obviously my head isn’t screwed on tight. Friends shouldn’t want to strip their friend naked and kiss every inch of their body.
Me and Olivia alone in my truck is a bad idea because let’s face it, I don’t “do” the friend thing with girls like Olivia. Especially not when all I want is to do Olivia. And the last thing I planned to do tonight was to go grocery shopping with her.
It’s that asshole Dillon’s fault for the T&A comment he made when we saw her coming. Christ, it’s like some guys have never seen a pretty girl before. I might have been able to ignore him if he were talking about some random girl, but I know Olivia. She’s not some girl to me. At least not now.
And after hearing about her short-lived stint as a child wannabe actor, she got my reaction dead to center. That’s exactly how I pictured her mom after all the shit that went down when my aunt divorced my cheating-ass uncle. But God gave me brains for a reason and there’s no way I’ll ever admit that to her. She’s not responsible for her mom being a cheat and a home wrecker.
“Don’t let April fool you,” she says as I pull into a parking spot at the grocery store.
“What do you mean by that?” I turn off the engine and angle my body toward her. I notice her hand is already on the handle of the door. She looks poised for flight.
“I mean she’s not just a pretty face, even though she flits around like she is, or that she doesn’t mind that’s how people treat her.”
I’m studying her, trying to read what’s in her eyes when she yanks open the car door and gets out. I follow her more slowly and meet her in front of the truck. In silence, we make the short walk to the entrance of the store. The first set of automatic doors swish open and I’m walking toward the other when I notice her hanging back.
“You’re going to need a cart, aren’t you?” She stops a couple feet behind and gestures to four rows of steel-wired shopping carts behind her.
With her hair down around her shoulders the way I like it an
d wearing black skinny jeans that make her slim legs look like they go on forever, she attracts the attention of three guys on their way out. Judging by their appearance, I’d say they were all about my age. Two of the guys, who she actually brings to a stop about five feet from me, are practically eating her up with their eyes, their gazes sweeping her from head to foot while wearing these stupid-ass grins on their faces.
What the fuck? What the hell do I look like? They don’t know I’m not her boyfriend. I could be. Well I am tonight as far as they’re concerned.
“Hey, you got a problem?” I throw it out like a challenge.
Their gazes shift to me and a look of surprise flashes across their faces. The third guy continues out the door, a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Naw, man, no problem,” the skinny guy replies.
“Good. Look, I don’t mind if you look at my girlfriend, just don’t ogle her. It embarrasses her.” And pisses me off.
“Cool. Didn’t mean no offense,” his friend says, pulling the skinny guy by the sleeve of his jacket, urging him outside where the third guy is waiting on the sidewalk doubled over in laughter.
Seconds later, in the whoosh of the doors closing, they’re gone. I turn back to Olivia, who is watching me with a curious look on her face.
“Girlfriend?” she asks, quirking a brow.
I give a careless shrug. “Hey, they need to learn to show some respect.”
She chuckles softly and after a pause says, “Okay then, getting back to the cart, do you need one, because my stuff will hold in one of the baskets.”
“Yeah I do. I told you I suck at this.” Some people say they have a quiet little voice inside them that cautions them when they’re about to do something stupid. Well the little voice inside me isn’t quiet. In fact that voice is loud as hell and he’s telling me in no uncertain terms I can never be just friends with Olivia.
Pulling a cart out from the line, she pushes it toward me. “You wanna steer?”
At her question, all kinds of crazy, dirty thoughts fill my mind. Thoughts of us naked on my bed, me above her, steering us to a mind-numbing orgasm. I bite down on my inner cheek hard to suppress a smile and clear my throat so I won’t sound like the horny bastard I am right now.
When in Paris... (Language of Love) Page 8
