When in Paris... (Language of Love) (29 page)

She blinks and silence begins and lengthens. “What exactly do we have, Zach? I just want to be clear.”

The question and the stiffness in her voice is a bad omen. Not only do I need to stick to the truth but I have to make sure I say it right. If not, I can see this whole thing imploding on me and I’m not willing to give up the possibility of what I—we—could have because I didn’t say it right.

“
We’re seeing each other.” I hold my breath, waiting for her response. Luckily I don’t have to worry about dying of asphyxiation.

“
Seeing each other,” she says as if testing out the words on her tongue and pondering the meaning. “Do you mean dating the way April does, a different guy every week?”

“
Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

Her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens. “Then how would you put it?” she asks in a deceptively quiet voice. I’m not fooled into believing an explosion isn’t coming.

“
I’m not sure what you want me to say. I like you. You like me. I want to continue to see you. Isn’t that a good place to start?”

“
We are
sleeping
together, Zach. I think we’ve gone a bit beyond just dating, don’t you think?”

Christ, I think she’s expecting me to declare my undying love for her, which is just not going to happen. I already admitted that I like her.
A lot.
I don’t throw that around loosely, much less the word love.

“
Right, and I don’t want things to change.”

“
So am I not supposed to ask about Ashley or any other female you talk to, is that what you’re saying? That I don’t have a right to know? That I shouldn’t assume we have a standing date for Friday and Saturday nights? Which means what, Zach? That we can date other people? That we’re not in a relationship? That I’m not your girlfriend?”

After she’s riddled me with a barrage of questions, she regards me, her gaze direct and unblinking.

“
Look, I’m not looking for anything serious. But I’m not looking to date other girls. It’s just that I only recently got out of a relationship and I’m not—”

“
Right, I get you,” she bites out, her voice choked. “You don’t want to get serious. I heard you the first time.” She swallows and stares down at her lap, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. I move to put my arm around her but she flinches away from me as if she can’t bear my touch. I drop my arms to my side.

“
Liv, you don’t have to worry about Ashley. Honest to God, there’s nothing going on between us. She’s just—”

Her head comes up and my guilt increases tenfold when I see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “This isn’t about
your
ex-girlfriend anymore, Zach. This is about the fact that we don’t want the same thing. What you want is someone to call over when you’re looking to get laid. You’re looking for something casual and I’m not. I’m just not,” she says, whispering the last three words.

As bad as I feel, I know it’ll be ten times worse for me in the end if I cave. I think about all the times in my life when I just gave in and did what others wanted me to do. My father with football. All this crap with Ashley that has me still tied to her in a completely unhealthy way. Even my mom and my aunt expecting me to stay away from Olivia because of what her mother did. And I did. I convinced myself she must be like her mother and I stayed away, far away. All the good it ended up doing me.

Well I’m done with that. I have to do what’s right for me and I’m not going to be guilted into having a girlfriend when I don’t want one.

***

OLIVIA

Breathe. Breathe.

I force the air from my lungs and then inhale deeply as I fight for my teetering composure. I can’t afford to totally lose it. But what else do you do when you realize the guy you gave your virginity to, the guy you just had sex with doesn’t want a girlfriend? What do you do when he essentially tells you he’s looking for what equates to as a friend-with-benefits arrangement? Nothing too deep, nothing too serious.

Oh my God, I have to get out of here. Right now.

Throwing modesty aside for the sake of expediency, I drop the heavy comforter from around me and bolt from the bed—butt naked—and quickly collect my clothes that are scattered on the floor. It takes about ten seconds but it’s the longest ten seconds of my life. I feel Zach’s gaze burning into me.

“Liv, what are you doing? Where are you going?” he asks, rising from the bed.

I ignore him. Once I have my clothes bundled in my hands, I walk quickly from the room and don’t stop until I’m locked in the bathroom.

Seconds later, Zach’s knocking on the door. “Olivia, talk to me.”

“I’m going home.” I dress in record time, not bothering about the disheveled state of my hair or my complete lack of make-up.

“You don’t have your car,” he reminds me.

Shit.

It’s late but the dorm is only about a mile and a half from his apartment.

“And don’t even think about walking because it’ll be a cold day in hell before I’d let you do that.”

What, is he reading minds now?
Anyway, I wasn’t seriously considering it.

After pulling on my socks, I open the door to find Zach standing there, wearing only his underwear. I really wish he’d put some clothes on. Not that there was any chance of me having sex with him, but this would all be much easier if he was covered up.

“I’ll call a cab.” I step around him and head down the hall toward the front door, scooping up my coat on the way. I grab my handbag from the kitchen counter and rummage through it until my hand closes around my cell phone.

“You’re not calling a cab.” Zach’s standing a foot behind me, looking resolute and pissed off. I glance up at him, making sure my eyes don’t budge below his collarbone.
Some clothes, please.

“I’m going back to my dorm, Zach,” I say firmly. Though I have no idea if the cab company is open this late and if so, how long it will take one to come.

Seconds elapse before he replies, “Fine. Then I’ll take you home. Give me a minute to throw some clothes on.”

He waits for my curt acquiesce before returning to his room. I exhale an unsteady breath, my hands braced against the wall.

By the time Zach returns a minute later—clothed, thank God—my boots and coat are on and my purse is slung over my shoulder.

The ride to my dorm is completed in silence save the two times Zach attempts to talk to me and I cut him off with a curt, “I don’t want to hear,” and a stony look.

I don’t protest when he insists on walking me all the way to my room, suffering the torture of his presence. My hand shakes as I unlock my door and when it opens, I practically bolt inside, only glimpsing Zach’s inscrutable expression when the door closes shut on his face.

Slumped against the door, my heart races madly as I wait to hear his retreating footsteps. But all I hear is silence. Knowing that he hasn’t moved from the other side of the door causes tears to sting the backs of my eyes.

I think I hear him say my name but by this time, I’m convinced I’m hearing what I want to hear. Another minute passes before I hear his measured tread and then the sound of the door to the stairway opening…then closing.

~*~*~

It may be colder than Siberia outside, but the sun’s rays cast a vertical slash of light on the tan rug through the gap in the curtain. Waking to the room this bright means I’ve slept way beyond my usual six thirty rise-and-shine time.

It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize I’m back at school, to orientate myself with the familiar pleated blue curtains, the jacquard comforter my mom bought for me from Macy’s and April’s posters on the wall.

But the moment I’m fully conscious, everything that happened with Zach—the good and the bad—comes rushing back in a wave of wrenching heartache. My chest gets tight and I have to fight back the tears smarting my eyes and waiting to erupt like a geyser.

Raising my head requires too much effort, so I just lie there, trying not to think but the memories refuse to be kept at bay.

Without the regular sounds of life in the dorm, the place is freakishly silent. Everyone should start arriving back sometime today, until then, it’s like I have the place to myself.

I’ve never felt quite so alone in my life. And this is the one time I have no desire to be alone. A glance at the clock confirms what I’d already know, I’ve missed breakfast, which closed at ten and won’t open for lunch until eleven thirty.

Yesterday, dinner consisted of half a ham sandwich I grabbed at the airport on our way home, so my stomach’s really feeling—and protesting—the twelve hours it’s been since it’s had any food in it. The problem is I have no desire to move from this bed. The knock on the door that nearly catapults me out of it does the trick quite fine though.

There’s desire and then there’s necessity.

“Coming,” I call out, shoving my cold feet into my fluffy bedroom slippers and grabbing my pink ankle-length robe from the foot of my bed. On my feet, I quickly shrug it on and belt it tightly around my waist.

“Who is it?” I ask as I approach the door.

“It’s me.”

Zach.

His voice stops me cold in my tracks. Why I’m surprised, I haven’t a clue. But I am.

I have seconds to decide what to do. I mean I don’t have to see him right now. Don’t have to look at his gorgeous face and remember how good he made me feel last night—and all those nights in Paris. Too weak to ignore him though, I open the door, clear in the knowledge that I’m not ready to communicate with him on any level right now. Obviously I’m a hard-core masochist.

“Zach.” Thankfully, I get his name out without the telling cracking of my voice that would indicate to him I’m still in a state of grieving and pining. My expression is as distant as I can manage.

The first thing I note is that his five o’clock shadow is a good twelve hours overdue. Unfortunately for me, it only makes him sexier. The same can be said for the gray polo shirt he’s wearing under his leather jacket and his faded blue jeans. In his left hand is the overnight bag I took to his place last night. I’d forgotten all about it. But that explains what he’s doing here.

There’s a beat of silence when we stare at each other. He clears his throat and asks, “Can I come in?”

I don’t even pretend to ponder the question and simply move to the side to allow him to enter. Once he’s in, I close the door.

“Thanks for bringing me back my stuff,” I say, nodding in the direction of the overnight satchel he’s placed beside my bed.

Zach shakes his head dismissively. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I avert my gaze so I’m not looking into his eyes. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to give him the chance to wear me down. Especially when I’m not feeling as strong as I want to be. As strong as I
should
be.

“Listen, Liv,” he says and takes a step toward me.

Hastily, I take a step back before I’m overcome with the need to hug him, bury my face in the crook of his neck and inhale the clean masculine scent of him.

Without attempting to come closer, he continues. “I’ve only recently come out of a relationship and I need a break—”

“Seriously, Zach, take all the time you need.”

He lets out another heavy sigh. “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“What, because I won’t be your casual hookup?”

“Dammit, Liv, you know that’s not how I see you,” he says, a definite edge to his tone.

“Really? Well the way I see is that you want to have your cake and eat it too.” Clichéd, yes, but if the idiom fits.

“Liv,” he whispers, my name a soft, seductive plea.

I close my eyes, determined not to give in.
So not fair.

Suddenly, I’m flooded with memories of Paris. Of us having sex for the first time, how good he made me feel and not just physically but emotionally. I honestly thought he felt the same about me that I feel for him, that he wanted what I wanted.

“No, Zach, that’s exactly how you see me, which
I
was too naïve to see. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to give you my virginity.”

The look of shock on his face is something I’ll never forget. And I don’t know if the last part slipped or if I wanted to stress just how involved I’d already been. But whatever the reason, now that it’s out, it isn’t something I can take back even if I wanted to.

***

ZACH

At first, I’m positive I didn’t hear her right. There’s no way she’d just said what I thought she did. Then I’m just praying my muddled brain has gotten it all wrong. I briefly close my eyes so I won’t be able to see the stark truth in hers.

My mind scrambles back to the
first time
,
desperately trying to remember that
exact moment
. I’m searching for a physical sign, some indication that would confirm what I’m hoping I didn’t hear. But my mind draws a complete and utter blank. All I remember is how good she felt, how good I felt and what a mind-blowing experience it was. Then I’m getting it jumbled with all the other times and soon I can’t even think straight.