Converting The Rich Boy

"I can't be with you." I whispered, tracing my hands down his arm. The blank stare he gave me was clear that he was trying to stay strong. He hated showing his feelings and I knew that he did.

"Why?" His deep voice cracked. The French accent I grew to love seemed as if it had faded along with his emotions.

"We don't come from the same community," Tears trickled at the corner of my eyes. "You're from the richest family in LA and I'm just a transfer from Colorado. I'm in the middle class and for crying sakes, I'm black. You're white and we just don't mix." I lied and with every word my heart broke a bit more.

"Does that really matter?" He stepped dangerously close to me. His hot breath fanning down my face now as we locked eyes. His beautiful green eyes staring down at me.

I nodded. "Can I tell you something?" Once again I nodded, feeling slightly dumb for repeating the same actions.

"I'm in love with you Milan Foster."