The exercise is simple enough on paper—practice using verbs likegustar, querer,andpensarto talk about things you like, want, or hope for. Except every question feels like a goddamn trap when Avery’s sitting there looking like she stepped out of my daydreams.
“Empiezo,” Avery says sweetly, her pen tapping rhythmically against her lips. “Griffin, si tuvieras un día libre, ¿qué harías?”
(If you had a free day, what would you do?)
I stare at her for a moment, the pen still lingering at her mouth, before I remember how words work.
“Um… dormir,” I say flatly. (Sleep.)
She laughs softly, leaning back in her chair. “Qué emocionante,” she teases. “¿No tienes más ambición?”
(How exciting. Don’t you have more ambition?)
Oh, two can play this game. I raise an eyebrow. “¿Y tú? Si pudieras vivir en cualquier parte del mundo, ¿dónde vivirías?”
(And you? If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?)
Her gaze flickers with something I can’t place, but she doesn’t falter. “España,” she replies smoothly. “En una casa con vistas al mar.”
(Spain. In a house overlooking the sea.)
She looks so pleased with herself that I can’t resist pushing her buttons. I lean closer, keeping my voice low. “¿Sola?”
(Alone?)
Avery’s smile falters for just a second, but she recovers fast. “Por supuesto,” she says, her tone breezy. “La independencia es importante.”
(Of course. Independence is important.)
The instructor walks by, nodding approvingly as she overhears us. “¡Excelente trabajo! Muy fluido.”
Avery beams at the praise, while I try not to dwell on the way the sunlight catches the gold necklace she’s wearing.
“Your turn,” she says, sitting up straighter and leaning slightly forward. “What’s something youwantin the future? Use the subjunctive.”
Her voice is all teacherly, but I catch the faint hint of a smile as she watches me struggle.
Don’t mess this up, Knox.
“Quiero…” I start slowly, chewing the words. I glance at her, sitting there with her stupidly perfect posture and her pink top that’s way too distracting. “…queciertas personasme dejen concentrarme.”
(I want… certain people to let me concentrate.)
She bites back a laugh, shaking her head. “Not bad, Mr. Football Player. Almost sounded natural.”
“You’re distracting,” I grumble under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Excuse me?” she says, mock offense written all over her face.
“Nothing.” I clear my throat, pretending to write something in my notebook as the heat creeps up my neck.
Avery, of course, doesn’t let it drop. “If I’m distracting, that sounds like ayouproblem.”
I glance up, and she’s looking at me like she’s got this whole thing figured out. Her confidence is infuriating.
“Careful, Sinclair,” I mutter, trying to focus on the lesson as the instructor starts calling on pairs to present. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
She smirks, her pen tapping against her lips again as she leans back in her seat. “Oh, I’m already there.”