This is Zach Westbrook we're talking about — the human embodiment of unshakable swagger and confidence.
And now he's nervous? Like he just got shoved under a spotlight with nothing prepared.
"Uh, well..." Zach shifts, his jaw working, like he's searching for the right words but keeps coming up empty.
He takes a deep breath, like he's psyching himself up, then blows it out in one long rush.
"I was in love with you in high school," he says.
It comes out fast, almost like he tripped over the words.
My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out at first. My throat catches like I swallowed wrong, even though there's nothing there.
"You—" I choke, air stuttering in my lungs. "You wha—What?"
"I said, I was in love with you in high school," he repeats. He's looking at me with that sheepish half-smile.
I have to fight the urge to let out a sharp gasp, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
If he had said this to me back in high school? Oh, I would've beengone.Laid out. I'd have floated through the hallways like I was walking on clouds, doodling"Mrs. Caroline Westbrook"in my notebooks, picking out our future kids' names, and designing our imaginary dream house in my head.
He said was,my inner sass-monster cuts in, doing its usual job of yanking me back before I swan-dive straight into that dangerous little daydream.
Right. Hesaid 'was'.Past tense.
So, it shouldn't matter. Right?
Except... it does.
God, it does something weird to my insides — like someone shook up a snow globe and now all the glitter's in a frenzy. My stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat anyway.
I smooth my face out fast, schooling my reaction before he can catch it. I already let him see how much he got to me earlier — practically turned into a drooling idiot at the sight of his bare chest. Yeah, not happening again.
"I wanted to tell you." His mouth tips into a chuckle, but there's no humor in it—just something tired, something that twists in my chest.
"God, I've wanted to tell you for years. That I liked you." His gaze flickers to mine, then away, as if it's too much to hold. "That I've been in love with you."
"But I couldn't. I didn't." He drags a hand over his jaw, his shoulders tight. "I didn't tell you because I was a goddamn coward."
A coward?
"What... I don't... What do you mean?"
"I had every chance to tell you how I feel. So many, actually. But I didn't." He shakes his head and lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh.
"The truth was, I was scared," he admits, voice rough. "Scared it was just me. Scared that if I told you and you didn't feel the same, I'd lose you—lose our friendship too. So, I stayed silent."
My fingers twitch against my thigh, and for a second, I almost laugh.Seriously?
I might as well have worn a neon sign that said"I ♥ Zach Westbrook."I basically turned into a malfunctioning robot every time he touched me — tripped over my words, went red in the face, the whole cliché package. And it wasn't exactly a secret either; half the school knew.
Why does he think I got terrorized by his fan club for years? He really is dense as hell.
God, if he knew how many nights I stayed up wondering if I was the only one feeling it.
"I kept waiting for the right time to tell you. Like an idiot." His jaw tightens, like he hates admitting it out loud. "Like some cosmic sign would flash in the sky telling me it was safe to tell you how I feel. I told myself if I just waited long enough, you'd figure it out first. Or maybe I'd catch some look—some hint—and then I'd know."
Again? Seriously?
