Read When in Paris... (Language of Love) for Free Online Page B

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