Rebecca lets the subject of Zach drop and we finish texting; me to April and my brother, Rebecca to her friend back home in Reno and her mother. By the time we’re done, the attendant at the counter is calling for first-class passengers and those needing assistance to begin boarding.
Only then, in the hustle and bustle of everyone positioning themselves to get in line when their rows are called, do I dare look around. I nearly start when I see how close Zach is, standing not even ten feet behind me—staring directly at me. Hands shaking slightly, I feather my fingers through my hair and jerk my head back around. My face becomes fiery hot as a blush steals over me.
Rebecca and I are pressed shoulder to shoulder as the crowd around us tightens. The jockeying for position has grown positively fierce. I have a stranglehold on my carry-on and my brown leather Coach purse I bought with my birthday money is flattened against my stomach.
When our rows are called—Rebecca and I aren’t sitting together but luckily we’re only two rows apart—the line surges, pushing me against the woman in front of me. My apology is met with an irritable grunt. Well excuse me. Like it’s my fault people treat this like a carnival ride.
“How’d they get in front of us?” Rebecca asks, sounding vaguely piqued. My gaze darts to the front where Zach, Bill and Mike have miraculously jumped the line.
“Special privileges, I guess,” I say with a shrug. It’s not a big deal.
It takes us another ten minutes to board the plane and another five to get in the vicinity of our seats. I’m in 15A, which is a window seat and Rebecca is in 17B. As I’m nearing my row, I notice Zach—he’s so tall, it’s hard to miss him—stowing a leather gym bag in the overhead bin. Then he turns and slips into the aisle row of 17.
I nudge Rebecca sharply in the shoulder. “Switch seats with me,” I say in an urgent whisper, my mouth next to her ear.
Confused, she turns and looks at me and then at the row feet in front of her. I can tell the way her eyes widen, she knows why I’m making the request.
Turning her head to peer at me over her shoulder, she grumbles, “Man, you’re gonna so owe me.”
“Thanks.”
A minute later, Zach’s eyes widen briefly as I stop beside his row and hoist my carry-on into the packed overhead bin above. Before I can say anything, he’s on his feet taking it from my hands and after a bit of maneuvering of bags, manages to find a place for it.
“Thank you.” My voice is breathless, as if I’d been the one who’d been wresting my luggage in place. “You didn’t have to do that.” But that’s the kind of guy he is. His actions are purely reflexive, the sort of thing a person does when they’re raised to help out when they can, even if the other person doesn’t deserve their help. Even when the person has insulted them and thinks the worst of them.
“I guess you’re here.” He motions toward the seat beside him.
“Yeah, that’s me.” It’s hard to sound casual when he’s watching me so closely.
Stepping back in the aisle, he clears enough room for me. After I settle into my seat, he resumes his, glancing at me as he buckles in.
The cabin is still noisy with the buzz of conversation and overhead bins being slammed shut. It’s the best opportunity to say what I have to say. Biting my bottom lip, I turn to him and meet the clear blue of his eyes.
“Zach, I just want to say, I’m sorry that I accused you of saying those things about me. I know you didn’t. I know you couldn’t.” I say it without my voice breaking into tiny fragments of noise. But I’m not in the clear because I feel the burn of tears at the back of my eyes.
***
ZACH
I close my eyes briefly and stare at the back of the seat in front of me. I don’t want Olivia’s apologies. I don’t want to see her looking vulnerable and anxious. Truth is it’d probably be better if she stayed pissed at me.
“Let’s forget the whole thing, ’kay?” I ask, turning to her.
She looks so contrite and miserable, I feel a sharp stab in my chest.
“I won’t be able to forget it unless you accept my apology, until we’re talking again,” she says, laying her hand on my arm.
The first thing that registers in my head is how soft and pretty her hands are. She sees me looking at her hand and snatches it back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Olivia, it’s fine,” I say softly as I fight the overwhelming urge to touch her. “And I forgive you.”
The brunt of my anger had really died a week ago. Although I didn’t like it or think I deserved what she thought of me, I understand how she came to that conclusion given our history and the circumstances.
She’s staring at me and her hazel eyes look huge. Her face is flushed and her lips look soft. I try not to think of all the times I wanted to kiss her but it’s hard not to when she’s looking at me like she’s offering up more than an apology. “Thank you. You’re a good guy. I hope we can be friends again.”
Even in those early days, had we ever been friends? Maybe we’d been attempting to give it the ole college try, but I don’t want to have sex with my friends. I’ve never wondered what my “friends” look like naked. Friends don’t star in any sex dreams I’ve ever had. Being friends with Olivia is, in the best-case scenario, a pipedream, and in the worst-case scenario, a nightmare.
“Sure,” I hear myself saying with as much sincerity as I can muster, “we can be friends.”
A small sigh whispers past her lips. The smile that lifts the edges of her mouth makes the plane feel like it’s a hundred degrees.
~*~*~
It’s amazing how easy it is to just pick up where we left off. Like we hadn’t been fighting the last two weeks. There is a little awkwardness at first, but soon I have her laughing. She asks me about football and I ask her how things are going with the play. She tells me she got the leading role and how rehearsals are a lot of hard work but she loves it. She’s says she’s also amazed at how much she’s learned about sports, especially baseball and football.
“Hey, if you want to know more about that, just ask me.”
She appears surprised by my offer and then shyly pleased. “Thank you. I actually asked Troy if he’d give me pointers on the lingo. I want to sound authentic, you know, like I really understand the sport.”
“You don’t have to bother him,” I hear myself say. “I’ll teach you. I used to play baseball but that and football got to be too much so I had to choose.” The idea of her getting pointers from Troy causes a bit of tension to form between my shoulder blades. It’s not that I’m jealous. I’m not one of those possessive guys, it’s just that we’ll be together pretty much every day for the next week so why not have me share my wealth of knowledge?
Snort. I’ll go with that one.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a pain.”
God, it’s a crime how different she is from Ashley, who’d taken it for granted that I would do everything for her.
Whoa, dude. She’s not your girlfriend. But now that we’re talking, I can’t help thinking more and more that we can do something more like a friends-with-benefits thing. I mean, I can’t see her as a one-night-stand. I like her. I can talk to her and she wants to learn more about my two favorite sports. But I’m not looking to get serious with anyone. Not now. Not so soon after Ashley.
“No problem,” I assure her. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know in Paris.”
Her eyes flit to mine and then she glances away. Only when a blush washes over her face do I realize what I just said and how it could be taken. But she’s right, I won’t mind teaching her a thing or two about that too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OLIVIA
The one time Zach leaves his seat to use the restroom, Rebecca scrambles over, demanding to know how things are going. I tell her all is forgiven, which has her looking at me as though I just told her Zach and I joined the Mile High club. Giggling, I assure her there is nothing else to it, we’re friends again. Her snort and, “Ye
ah right” remark tells me exactly what she thinks of that.
When we land at Roissy Airport in Paris, it’s been a long nine-hour flight and it’s ten o’clock at night. We have a shuttle waiting for us to take us to our hotel located near Notre Dame.
Without saying a word to me, Zach kind of takes over, retrieving my bag and then his from the overhead bin. He helps me on with my coat and then with an almost possessive-type move, places his hand on the small of my back and urges me ahead of him in the narrow aisle.
After we file off the plane, mademoiselle Dubois gathers us together, making sure to get a head count. Once all fifteen of us are accounted for, we follow the signs to Baggage Claim and then to Ground Transportation once we’re all weighted down by all our luggage and assortments of laptops and other electronic paraphernalia.
I know we’re in France but it’s weird to see signs in French. My verbal French skills are much to be desired but they’re ten times better since I started this class than they were in high school, where the focus was on learning to conjugate être and avoir into all fifteen billion tenses. Okay, slight exaggeration, only one billion.
If I thought I was excited, Rebecca makes mine pale in comparison, chatting two hundred words a minute, the pitch of her voice seems to increase exponentially the longer we breathe Parisian air.
My attention is split between what she’s saying and the thoroughly delicious view of Zach walking ahead of us with Bill and Mike. My eyes trace his broad shoulders, his narrow hips and butt that would give David Gandy a run for his money. And that’s saying a lot. I’m trying not to ogle him, but never in my life have a pair of black jeans molded over warm skin and long, lean muscles looked so good.
“Hey, are you listening to me?”
I start and glance over at Rebecca, who is staring at me through narrowed eyes. Her gaze darts to Zach and then back to me. Pretty soon a smile plays at the corners of her mouth. Her appreciative stare lands precisely where mine had been. “Yum. Serious eye candy, huh?” she asks, waggling her brows.
I sheath the claws I didn’t even know I had. Meow.
“Stop looking.” If our eyes gave off heat rays, Zach’s butt would be scorching hot right now.
“Hey, I didn’t promise I wouldn’t look, I just can’t touch.” She emits a long-suffering sigh and then says, “I swear, the things I do for my friends. Just remember, you owe me big time.”
I know she’s teasing but right now I’m feeling a bit territorial when I know I have no right or cause to be. Anyway, Rebecca may be pretty and bubbly and all that but I can’t see her with Zach. As a matter of fact, I can’t see anyone else with Zach. Crap, I know where my treacherous thoughts are going and I know I need to shut them down.
~*~*~
It’s almost eleven before we get to the hotel. By this time the whole lot of us are dragging. I’m hungry but not exactly tired. It’s not even five in New York.
Rebecca and I pretty much stick together, happy we’re sharing a room. There are six other girls and seven guys. I think Zach is sharing a room with Bill but I’m not sure.
Check-in doesn’t take long and we all have rooms on the ninth floor. As we wait for the elevator, I glance over at Zach, who appears to be in an intense conversation with Mike, when he looks over and catches my eye. He keeps talking but he doesn’t take his eyes off me for seconds that lengthen long enough to draw attention. Certainly mine. And his look starts tentacles of desire to wend their way through me. Looking away is no longer an option.
“Jeez, Liv, get a room already,” Rebecca leans over and whispers in my ear.
Her words end up being the motivation I need to tear my gaze from his. “Femme ta bouche.” Shut up en Francais.
Rebecca chortles. “Good to see your French is improving.”
When the elevator arrives, Rebecca and I are the first to board the empty lift. Zach, Bill and Mike are the last to board but somehow in all the shuffling Zach ends up standing next to me. I’m not claustrophobic but the elevator is packed tight with ten travel-weary American teenagers and our luggage and there’s not an inch of wiggle room. Zach standing next to me, my shoulder pressed solidly against his, makes it all that much harder to breathe properly.
“You tired?” he asks, peering down at me.
Without actually measuring them, I’m sure his eyelashes are an inch long and for a second I’m mesmerized. I blink and do my best to shake off the feeling. Concentrate, Olivia. “Not really, but I’m hungry.”
“You want to hang out in our room? We’ll order in.” He looks over at Rebecca, who is listening to our exchange with avid interest.
Several of the other girls, Jessica, Emily and Francesca halt mid-conversation, shoot furtive looks at one another before turning speculative gazes on me and Zach. Jessica, who I’m positive has a thing for him if the way she flirts with him in class is any indication, gives me a haughty, steel-eyed perusal before leaning down to whisper something in Emily’s ear.
“Sure, we’d love to,” I reply, staring at Jessica, daring her to say a word.
The elevator doors swoosh open on the ninth floor and we all pile out. My luggage is stacked three pieces high. Clothes occupy the bottom large one, my laptop is in the next and at the top, my handbag/catch-all else. Making sure I have the straps for all secured, I wheel the monstrosity out and pray nothing falls off.
In all the noise and confusion of us getting off, I lose track of Zach and have no idea in which direction he went. Rebecca and I locate our room at almost the end of the hall on the south side.
We spend the next fifteen minutes unpacking and checking out where we’d be sleeping the next six nights. Nothing fancy, the room boasts two double beds, a desk, two chairs, a small table in what would be described as a tiny sitting area and a flat screen TV that sits on a sturdy faux-wood dresser. I’m not a coffee drinker so the coffee pot and filters are lost on me. The bathroom is functional and clean, just the way I like them. The electrical outlets are…different.
The shrill of the phone on the desk is jarring in the quiet of the room. Rebecca’s on it within seconds, jerking it off its cradle.
“Bonjour,” she says in a sweet friendly voice. It’s obvious she’s been dying to try out her French in earnest. Her face brightens when the person on the other end responds. She turns to me, eyes dancing.
“Hold on.” She extends the phone to me.
I take it without a second thought. “Hello.” Bonjour is easy. Impress me with some real French.
“Hey, Olivia, you still coming?” My heartbeat accelerates at the unmistakable sound of Zach’s voice.
“Yes, what’s your room number? I kind of lost track of you by the elevator.” I’m pretty sure he didn’t have my room number before, which means he went to the trouble of having me looked up.
“Nine-twenty-three. You girls good with a greasy traditional American meal of hamburger and fries or do we need to order you something more refined now that we’re in Paris?” At the teasing note in his voice, I get that tingly feeling all over again. Jeff never gave me a tingly feeling anywhere, even in the beginning. Even when we were making out.
I mouth, burgers and fries? to Rebecca’s brows raised in question. She nods fervently.
“Yep, we’re good with that. Oh, can you make mine a cheeseburger and just let us know how much it costs?”
“Forget the money. My treat,” he says dismissively.
“Zach, I want—”
“Olivia,” he says in this stern, brook-no-argument voice.
No one has ever said my name like that, low and sexy, a sound between a growl and a purr. I have to admit, my name on his lips is a complete and utter turn on. Which is when I know I’m in trouble so deep, I barely have the strength to swim up for air. From where I’m treading right now, I wouldn’t mind if I drowned.
“It’s my treat,” he continues, speaking softer now, his voice almost coaxing. And it works because I cave with a breathless and mumbled thank you. My face is hot when I hang up
the phone and turn to Rebecca.
Giggling, she shakes her head and says slyly, “Boy, are you two going to have fun in Paris.”
Several lurid thoughts come instantly to mind that I try to squelch. Nothing serious can happen with Zach no matter how much I want it. Yes, I’ve known him for over four years but we’ve barely scratched the surface when it comes to our friendship. For me, getting physical with a guy takes time. Which means nothing can happen while we’re in Paris.
~*~*~
After traveling for the last twelve hours, I take the quickest shower known to man and pull on black jeans and a long-sleeved peasant blouse. Make-up is minimal and my hair gets a vigorous brushing before I feel presentable enough for a late dinner with Zach…oh and Bill—although it’s not like it’s a date.
The guy’s hotel door opens practically before we can knock. “Heard you coming,” Bill explains with a wide grin, opening the door wide to let us in.
Bill’s on the track team and has the body of a long-distance runner, long and lean. His hair is a dishwater-blond and he’s cute with a wicked sense of humor. His French is pretty good too.
His gaze goes over me but the one he directs at Rebecca is definitely more appreciative.
The delicious odor of greasy burgers and fries hit me the minute the door opened. In the midst of poring over the silver-lidded dishes on the table, Zach shoots a look at us. “Hey, right on time.”
I notice he’s changed too. His hair is still a bit damp on top where it is longer. Another pair of jeans but these are dark-blue and not as worn but look just as good on. I walk over to Zach and Rebecca hangs back to talk to Bill. I don’t know if she’s interested in him or whether she’s deliberately trying to give me and Zach a bit a privacy.
His gaze sweeps slowly up and down me as I approach and the clenching in my stomach begins anew as I feel the heat of his gaze everywhere it touches. Self-conscious, I run my hands down my thighs to have something to do with them but I’m sure it only draws more attention to just how nervous I am.
When in Paris... (Language of Love) Page 15
