in my head? I thought back to the quiet sigh that had vibrated against my tongue, and the way she scooped clawed at the back of my neck. It definitely wasn’t all in my head. She’d been kissing me back. I was certain of it. “I thought you wanted—I mean, didn’t you—”
“No. I need to study, Tate. I’m going to fail this class, and I can’t. I can’t…be distracted. I’ll lose my scholarship.” Her bottom lip wobbled, and her eyes brimmed with glossy tears.
Oh, fuck. Please don’t cry. She turned, her hand moving toward the elevator button, but I stepped in her way.
“Look, I’m sorry. Shelby, stay. I can help you with your French.”
She inhaled a ragged breath. “No. You’ve made it clear what you’re actually interested in, and it’s not my language skills.”
“Shelby.” I chuckled, and her eyes darted to mine. The tears were gone, replaced with fiery anger.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No, it’s just…” I leaned back against the elevator doors. Damn, there was no way to say this without sounding like a complete and utter ass. “I just thought you wanted it, too. I’m sorry that I read the signals wrong. Come on…come back inside. We’ll go back to studying. Just studying.” What I wanted to say was you kissed me back and seemed to be enjoying it for a hot second. But based on her reaction seconds earlier, that probably wouldn’t fly.
“You won’t kiss me again?” She narrowed her eyes and looked at me sideways, the muscles at her shoulders bunched tight.
I shook my head. “No. I won’t kiss you again. Unless you kiss me first, in which case, all bets are off.”
Relaxing her shoulders, she rolled her eyes. “That won’t be happening.” She moved, backing into my kitchen once more. “But I’m only doing this because I have no other options, and despite your clear character flaws, you are some sort of French speaking wunderkind.”
I had to smirk at that one. “Wunderkind, huh?” I liked that. She sat on my couch once more, this time all the way in the corner, and I sat an arm’s length away.
“You know…I promised not to kiss you. And I keep my promises. But I bet you’ll be kissing me before Ceele’s next quiz.” I grinned, and her mouth dipped into a frown.
“Why? Why would you even want me kissing you?” she blurted out. Was she seriously asking why? She couldn’t possibly think that I didn’t want to kiss her. But she wasn’t like the normal girls who lived in this building. She came from wealth, but she didn’t constantly dress like she had someone to impress. Outside of that kick-ass car, she didn’t seem to spend a lot of money in general. And I didn’t have to worry about her being only after my trust fund—something my parents loved to caution me over.
“Oh, really?” Her sarcastic voice snapped me back to the present, and I realized I hadn’t yet answered. “Well, that’s just fascinating. I’m so desirable that you can’t even come up with reasons, huh?”
I laughed and grabbed a macaroon for myself. “Well, why wouldn’t I want to kiss you? You’re beautiful, smart, sweet—
Her face twisted. “Sweet? You think I’m sweet?”
I snickered. “Well, okay, not always to me. But I also kind of like that you give me shit back.”
She opened the French book. “Prince Charming at work, I see.”
“Hey, Shelby,” I said, my grin widening. “Est-ce que tu veux sortir avec moi ce soir? J’aimerais bien ça.”
Her mouth opened, and the blank look on her face took a few moments to pass. Finally, a soft smile splayed her mouth. She rolled her eyes, and her neck mimicked the movement. “No, I would not like to go out with you tonight. No matter how happy it would make you.”
…
An hour and a half, eight macaroons, and a whole baguette later, we had tightened her verb conjugations considerably. According to Shelby, she was able to speak well enough to get by, but it was the reading comprehension and especially the listening sections of the test that killed her. I spoke in French almost the whole time, slowly at first, and then sped up as she got the hang of it.
I noticed Shelby checking her phone. “Quelle heure?” I asked.
“Trois-heures quinze,” she said, barely looking up.
“Actually, if you’re going to answer with three fifteen, you need to add de l’apres midi at the end. Or say it in military time.”
“Shit,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I knew that, too.”
I