Page 76 of Ward Willing
That I want to do things for him and watch his mystified expression.
That I don’t care where my life takes me, as long as he’s by my side…
“Do you ever take your own advice?” I ask.
“I love teaching. And writing. It’s the best of both worlds.”
I take another bite before grimacing and wrapping the burrito up. “Why have you been avoiding me?” I ask quietly, after a few seconds of silence. Liam’s brows pull together, but he doesn’t answer me. I continue. “Before today, I’ve only really seen you in class,” I start, wincing a bit.
God, I sound like an obsessed schoolgirl who has a crush on her professor.
“It’s not easy to be around you, Zoe,” he answers, his voice low as his eyes bore into mine.
I’m surprised at his honesty.
Then again, Liam has never played games. He’s always candid, always telling me exactly how he feels. He doesn’t have time for bullshit because he’s above that.
“How so?” I whisper.
Sighing, he leans back in his chair and gives me a wounded look. “Because I’m no longer in control when I’m around you,” he says, assessing me boldly.
My lips quirk up as my skin heats. “And you prefer being in control,” I finish.
“Yes.”
“Maybe losing control isn’t such a bad thing,” I offer.
The expression that falls over his face after I say that is almostsad.“You’re right. I’m not going to beat around the bush,” he murmurs, eyes blazing with…something.“The problem is, you’re everything I want, and everything I can’t have. Do you understand howfuckingexhausting that is?”
Oh.
“Who says you can’t have me?”
“You’re so sure you want this,” he says, voice low. “And yet you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
He’s wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. I do want this—withhim.
“I enjoyed our time together in Catalina, and I know you did, too.”
“Fuck, Zoe. Are we really going to talk about this now, in broad daylight?” My face falls a bit, and I hear him mutterfuckbefore rubbing his mouth. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve had an eventful morning.”
“What are you so scared of?” I ask, tilting my head as he watches me.
“Careful. That’s a loaded question,” he purrs.
I squirm in my seat, but before I can get him to elaborate, he stands up and changes the subject.
“The burritos are garbage here anyway,” he jokes. “You would’ve been unhappy here.”
I laugh as we make our way back to the locker, where I retrieve my phone and wallet. I decide to leave my sweatshirt in the classroom because he’s right.
Maybe UCLA was never for me.
As we walk to the car, he hands me a small, purple flower.
A violet.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the flower from his hand.
