Read Online When in Paris... (Language of Love) by Beverley Kendall - Free Book Online Page B

away, she places her palm gently on my cheek and brings my gaze back to hers.
    “I know you and I know you like him. I knew it before I even saw the two of you together at dinner.” Her voice is soft, her green eyes compassionate.
    “No, you’re wrong. I-I-I—” The moment I begin to sputter, my denials are rendered ineffectual. I know it as well as April does.
    Her hand falls back to her lap. “Okay, so what’s the problem? Who’s not speaking to who?”
    “Whom,” I instinctively correct her.
    Manicured brows gather over the bridge of her nose and her eyes roll up to the ceiling. “We’re not in English class, so please spare me the lecture. Honestly, you’re incorrigible.” She sticks out her tongue. “But I should get extra marks for my exemplary use of incorrigible.”
    I can’t help but laugh. April has a knack for that—turning my melancholy moods around.
    “So who is it, you or him?” she asks, continuing to prod.
    I summon one of my most aggrieved looks. Who me? Never.
    “Okay, so it’s not you,” she concludes. With her thumb under her chin and her index finger pressed against her pursed lips, she takes on The Thinker pose. “Did you ever find out why he never spoke to you in high school?” she asks after several seconds of silence.
    I shake my head.
    “Then you need to talk to him. I know you and I bet it’s eating you up inside, not knowing why.”
    “Maybe it’s because he’s an ass and likes to play games,” I mutter snidely, not feeling charitable.
    April’s jaw juts out mulishly. “Liv,” she reasons, drawing out my name, “you need to do this. Let’s not even pretend you don’t like him, plus he’s Troy’s roommate. Don’t you want us to be able to hang out together and have a good time?”
    My mouth snaps closed, her words effectively cutting off any further argument I would have made.
    Uncrossing her legs, she swings her feet to the floor and stands above me, hands perched on her hips. “And there’s no time like the present. C’mon, get off your butt and go over and talk to the guy before your French class tomorrow.”
    Self-preservation, a powerful, basic instinct, kicks in. “I’m not going—”
    “Yes. You. Are.” Her expression, her stance, the stubborn jut of her chin indicates she’s declared war on me. Which means she’s prepared to harangue me until I throw up the white flag of surrender because I can’t take it anymore.
    “Fine,” I say grimly and push to my feet. “I’ll go talk to him if it’ll get you off my back.” What I really intend to do is spend the next half hour driving around, wasting time and gas on this futile endeavor.
    April doesn’t try to hide her smile of triumph. “And don’t even think about pretending to talk to him. I’ll find out if you did or didn’t.”
    Right, Troy.
    I narrow my eyes at her. “You know, you’re a cruel, cruel bitch.”
    April’s tinkling laughter is the only reaction I elicit from her.
    ~*~*~
    As I stand outside Zach’s apartment, my thoughts are chaotic and the urge to flee nearly drives me back to the safety of my car.
    But April’s right, I have to do this for me. I’ve been living with this thing between us for over four years now and I need to put an end to it one way or another. And she’s also right when she said I want to know. I do. A lot. On some of my braver days in high school, I’d actually thought about confronting him and asking him what was his beef with me. Of course I hadn’t, and now it’s like I’m stuck in that place. A place I need to get out of. 
    I summon my courage and knock briskly on the door. Seconds later, I hear the sound of advancing footsteps. There’s a pause and I presume either he or Troy is using the peephole, then the door opens to reveal a barefooted Zach, hair mussed, dark stubble shadowing his jaw, and his eyes looking like he just woke up.
    “Olivia.” There’s both surprise and puzzlement in his voice.
    I so wish my name didn’t sound