After buying me a ticket and running with me to catch the train, Luc pushed through the car to get me the only seat left and shielded me from all of the greasy men, who, if he hadn't been there with me, would've undoubtedly been bursting through their tight, tapered pants while trying to catch shameless glimpses of my cleavage. I definitely caught Luc gazing down there a few times, but oh well. I just wished Jeff could've been there to see another guy checking me out. Humph.
Only a few short stops later, I followed Luc through the underground labyrinth of the Notre Dame metro stop, and we emerged to the bustling Place St. Michel.
The sweet aroma of hot Nutella crêpes wafted past me and made my stomach growl as I took in my surroundings. Bright yellow awnings of Gibert Jeune bookstores lined the busy square which held the towering St. Michel fountain at its center. The elegant sound of the French language flowed from the sidewalk cafés as Parisians sipped red wine and laughed with their friends. Chatty groups of tourists speaking every language possible weaved in and out of the cobblestone streets toward the Seine.
The excitement was contagious, and before I knew it, I found myself thinking that there was no other place in the world that could possibly be as thrilling or as beautiful as this.
This was the Paris I’d remembered.
How had I managed to stay away for so long? And what reason would I ever have to go back to the States?
Luc placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me across the scooter-filled streets to the Seine. We strolled along the deep blue, sparkling river together in a comfortable silence until Luc led me down a flight of stairs to the river bank. Adjacent to the gothic Notre Dame cathedral, a dinner boat floated calmly on the quiet waters. We climbed on board, and, with his warm hand still firmly pressed into my back, Luc took me to the rear of the boat where a couple was sitting, their arms and legs draped all over each other, seductive whispers passing back and forth between them.
“Zose are my friends,” he said, pointing in their direction.
He introduced me to Benoît, one of his close friends, and Lexi, Benoît’s date. Benoît was taller and thinner than Luc, but strikingly handsome. Likewise, Lexi was absolutely gorgeous. Taller than me, she had perfect, thin legs, long, wavy black hair, iridescent amber eyes with neatly waxed eyebrows, a naturally dark complexion, and enormous breasts. I mean enormous. The two of them—Benoît and Lexi that is—were quite a sight. They could’ve easily been a pair of sexy models on some high fashion Parisian billboard.
Bisous were exchanged around the table, and before I knew it, I was enjoying a tall glass of Merlot and was chatting up a storm with Luc’s friends.
“So how do all of you know each other?” I asked the group.
“Luc and I grew up in Paris together, and then studied finance together in college. And Lexi and I just met about a month ago,” Benoît said in a perfect American accent.
“Wow, your English is really good. Did you study in the States?” I asked him.
“Yes, actually, I lived in New York City for a year, right after college.”
“You are saying that Benoît speaks zee English better zan me?” Luc asked as he aimed his flirty eyes at mine.
“No, not at all. I could tell that maybe he’d spent some time in the U.S., that’s all.” I giggled as I took another swig of my wine.
“Sure,” he said as he tapped my foot with his underneath the table.
Just then, Luc’s cell phone rang. His eyebrows furrowed inward as he looked at the name on the caller ID. “Pardon,” he said as he shot up from the table, gave Benoît a knowing glance and jetted toward the door.
“I’m going to have another beer. Do you ladies want another drink?” Benoît asked.
“I’ll take a dirty martini, and get this girl another glass of red wine. We need to show Charlotte a good time on her first night in Paris,” Lexi said as she gave Benoît a sexy wink.
We both watched as Benoît walked over to Luc, who was talking on the phone near the door. Luc lowered his phone, then leaned toward Benoît to tell him something. Both of their expressions darkened before Luc got back on the phone and Benoît headed over to the bar.
“What do you think that’s all about?” I asked Lexi.
“Damned if I know. This is the first time I’ve met Luc. And all I know about Benoît is that he’s amazing in bed.”
I grinned. I liked this girl already. “Do you think Luc has a girlfriend or something?”
“Oh girl, all the men over here have girlfriends, fiancés, wives, lovers—you name it. That’s why you have to play the field and not take any of it too seriously.”
“Cheers to that,” I said as I clinked my glass with hers. “So, what brings you to Paris? You’re American, right?”
“Yeah, born and raised in New York City, but my family spent every summer in Paris in our little pied-à-terre, and I just fell in love with it, you know? So, I moved here three years ago, right out of college, and I haven’t looked back.”
“So you don’t think you’ll ever move back to New York?”
“Not really. I mean, I travel back and forth a lot, so I still get to see my friends and all of my New York boys, but Paris is . . . well, it’s Paris. What more can I say? New York doesn’t even hold a candle to this city.”
“What about the men here? Do you like French men better?”
“Oh, honey, you have so much to learn. The men here are cheesy, yes. But, wait until you get one in bed. They are the most incredible lovers on this planet. Take Benoît for example. Too thin? Yes. Pants a little too tight? Absolutely. But I’ll take a bony ass and tight jeans any day when I know that once I get those tight little babies off of him, he’s going to keep me up all night begging for more.”
I felt a flush creep over my cheeks as I laughed at Lexi’s candor. “Wow. I had no idea. I had a boyfriend back home when I was studying abroad in France before, so I didn’t get to experience any of this firsthand.”
“Well, you’ve got a hot one taking you home tonight,” she said as she nodded her head toward Luc who was walking back to the table. “Don’t be afraid to test the waters.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Lexi was exactly the kind of girl I needed to be hanging out with to make me forget about my low-life, scum of the earth ex-fiancé back home, and to advance my research . . . so to speak.
After Luc and Benoît made it back to the table with our drinks, Luc didn’t mention anything about his mysterious phone call, and I didn’t ask. He was probably seeing lots of other women, but I was here to play that game too, so what did I care?
At about one-thirty in the morning, after five glasses of wine, several uncontrollable fits of laughter, and endless drunken conversation in franglais with my new friends, we decided it was time to head home. Lexi and I exchanged numbers, and she promised to call me later in the week so that we could have a girls’ night out.
Once Luc brought me out into the refreshing night air which had cooled considerably, I realized just how drunk I was. I had forgotten how easy it was to get drunk on French wine—it goes down so smoothly that you don’t realize how much you’ve had. Luc placed his arm around me as I stumbled up the stairs and strolled with him along the river, its dark waters now shimmering underneath the moonlight.
“Thanks so much for taking me out tonight . . . I really needed this,” I stammered, stifling a giggle. I always broke into uncontrollable giggles whenever I was drunk. I hoped I wasn’t annoying Luc and tried to get the laughing fit under control.
“What is so funny?” he asked as he burst into laughter. I realized then that Luc was drunk too.
He kept his arm squeezed tightly around my shoulders as we crossed the bridge that led us back over to Place St. Michel. In my drunken state, Luc’s arm around me suddenly made me sad. It made me think of Jeff and how this easily could’ve been my first night in Paris with him—strolling down the Seine, his strong arm around me, gazing out at the city lights glistening along the river and getting ready
to start our adventure in Paris together. But we weren’t together anymore. Jeff didn’t love me anymore.
And maybe he never really had.
A few salty tears escaped and rolled down my cheeks.
Luc turned to me, shocked. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing.” I wiped the tears away. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this.”
“What happened? Why are you sorry? I do not understand,” he replied, looking a little scared. After all, he had just met me, and we had spent a great evening together. Poor guy. I was sure he was looking for a little action—not a drunk, sobbing American girl.
“It’s just that I . . .” I tried to regain composure. “I miss home.” I thought about stopping there, but the alcohol got the best of me. “The truth is, my fiancé left me. Well, I left him. But he deserved it . . . that bastard,” I howled. “He was cheating on me, and we were supposed to move to Paris together, but I just found out about it . . . so I came alone.”
“Come here, sit down with me.” Luc held on to me and led me over to a bench facing the river. “Zis just happened?”
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled.
Luc hugged me tightly and held on for a while. He let me cry on his shoulder while he stroked my hair.
“That is horrible. I am so sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
“Thank you.” I hiccupped again and tried my best to stifle the tears.
After the embarrassing cry session which Luc handled extraordinarily well seeing as how he had only known me for five hours, he led me back to the metro station, and we took the train home together. I don’t remember much of the ride or the walk back to our dorm, (I think I was fading in and out of consciousness), but I do remember that Luc kept his arm around me the entire way home. By the time we made it back to my room, I’d calmed down. I was still really drunk though.
“Thank you so much Luc . . . I’m really sorry. I had so much fun with you tonight,” I blabbered.
Just as Luc was starting to say something back, I leaned in and kissed him like a crazy woman right there in front of my door. Despite my puffy, swollen eyes which, no doubt, had streaks of mascara pouring out of them and my bright red, irritated nose, he kissed me back. I had no idea what made me do that. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Lexi’s words about French lovers, maybe it was the way he’d taken care of me that night, or maybe it was because I felt totally and utterly desperate. Whatever it was, before I knew it, I had unlocked my door and was making out with Luc inside my little dorm room.
Five
mardi, le 28 septembre
Jet-lag + Broken engagement + Cute French guy + Five glasses of wine = Disaster
All thoughts of Jeff flew out the window and all that existed was Luc pushing me up against the wall and kissing my neck. Then my mouth. Then my shoulders. His hands were all over me, roaming over my hips, my thighs and my waist. We made our way two feet over from the door to my sorry excuse for a bed which was draped in a cheap, white sheet, and Luc pulled me down on top of him. Within seconds, our shirts were off, and even in our drunken state, we both knew where this was headed.
But then, as soon as it had begun, it was over. Luc sat up all of a sudden and looked at me.
“We cannot do this, Charlotte. You are sad . . . you are drunk. It is not right.”
I wanted him so badly in that moment. All of this build-up for nothing! All of the tears, all of the crap from Jeff, the trip to Paris, this great night out, and then Luc was going to leave me here alone in this forsaken bed with no covers!
Luc must’ve noticed the look on my face, and probably out of fear that I would start crying again, he lay back down with me. But then, instead of making some lame excuse to flee the scene like most guys would’ve done after the way I had acted, he wrapped his arms around me, kissed me on the cheek, and stroked my hair.
His hand was so soothing that within minutes, I passed out like a baby.
***
I woke up in a cold sweat in pitch darkness and realized that someone else’s sweaty arms were wrapped around my bare chest. Oh dear. What had I done?
I checked for my pants. Still on. Whew. At least I didn’t sleep with him. I tried to recall the events of the previous night as my head pounded. I remembered drinking wine (clearly I had surpassed my limit), meeting Benoît and Lexi, and then crying. Oh God, that’s right, I had cried in front of Luc. I had cried really, really hard in front of Luc. In public! What a disaster I was becoming.
The scene of me attacking him at my apartment door flashed through my mind. Well, we’d already covered several major stages of a relationship in one night: seeing each other half-naked in the shower, meeting his friends, crying over a past event, hooking up, and spending the night together. I just couldn’t believe he was still here. I was certain I wouldn’t be hearing from him after he woke up and bolted back to his room.
I tried to fall back asleep, not wanting to wake Luc after the night I had put him through, but my head was pounding something fierce. I wondered what time it was. I needed to take something for this headache and put a shirt on. I lifted Luc’s arm up off of my chest, set it ever so gently on the bed and tried to climb over him without bumping him or making any noise. I successfully took a couple of steps until, a few feet from the bed, I tripped over my gargantuan suitcase. Damn.
Luc began to stir. “What time is it?” he groaned. I found my watch on the nightstand. It was only five a.m.
“It’s early. Sorry to wake you . . . I have a headache.”
“Are you okay?” he asked. Jeez, does this guy ever stop being nice?
“Yes, yes, go back to sleep. I’m fine,” I murmured as I groped around in the darkness for my bra, a t-shirt, anything.
Luc got up, put his shirt on, and walked over to me just as I managed to find my tank top from last night curled up in a ball on the floor.
“I think I should go to my bed now to sleep,” he said as he let out a big yawn.
Good idea. “Thank you for everything last night. Go get some sleep, okay?” I urged as I threw on my tank top.
Luc gave me a kiss on the cheek and left. I fumbled to turn the light on and grimaced from the brightness. I quickly found my trusty bottle of Aleve buried in my purse, took one for my splitting headache, and switched the light back off. I lay back down on my bed and cringed again as I thought about how I’d behaved the night before.
What was wrong with me?
I remembered then that it was only eleven p.m. in DC. I needed to talk to someone from home—someone who could remind me who I used to be before my life was flipped upside down. I reached for the phone and dialed Katie’s number.
“Hey,” I croaked into the receiver.
“Charlotte!” she practically screamed. “How are you? How’s Paris? I miss you!”
“Well, things started off with quite a bang . . . Luc, my French neighbor, just left my room, and I’m pretty sure he won’t be coming back anytime soon.”
“What? What time is it there? Isn’t it like really early in the morning?”
“Yeah, it’s five a.m. here.”
Katie laughed. “What is going on? You just got there! Who in the hell is Luc?”
I proceeded to give Katie the whole Luc story, being careful not to miss the half-naked shower encounter, the embarrassing drunken cry and the near-sex disaster.
“Is he cute?”
“Yeah, he’s definitely a looker. But, now that I’ve made a complete fool out of myself, I doubt we’ll be spending any more time together . . . well, not that it matters anyway.”
“You did just break up with Jeff a couple of days ago. I’m glad you found someone to distract you, but you might want to give yourself some time to get over things, you know?”
“I know, I know. I was a total, drunken disaster. I really hope I don’t run into him again in the shower or something.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a terrible week. I think you need to get some rest and maybe take thi
ngs a little slower from here on out.”
“Katie, what am I doing here? Do you think I made the right choice? Moving to Paris by myself? I miss you, and . . . I miss Jeff. I miss him so much. Do you think I should've at least tried to work things out with him?”
“After what he did to you, he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Of course you miss him, everything happened so fast. But give it some time. You’ll be starting school soon, you’ll make friends and things will get better. And in the meantime, I’m always here to talk. And if, after a little while, you don’t like it over there, you can always come back home.”
“Thanks, Katie.”
“Of course. You're going to get through this. It's just going to take time. So, when do you meet with your advisor?”
“Oh, shoot. I’m meeting with her at eight o’clock this morning. I’m glad you reminded me—that’s in three hours.”
“This is the woman who will potentially help you get a teaching job in Paris after the program ends, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Well, good luck and let me know how it goes. I hate to run, but I have to be at the hospital at four a.m. tomorrow, so I need to get to bed. I’m so glad you called though. I miss you already!”
“I know. I miss you too. I’ll call again soon. Bye, Kate.”
“Bye, Charlotte.”
I felt a little better after talking to Katie, but it also made me realize how badly I wanted to talk to Jeff. I wanted to hear his voice, hear him tell me that he was sorry and that he was coming to Paris to get me. That he’d given Brooke a big fat kick to the curb and that she was a huge mistake. But even if he wanted to call me here, he’d have no way of getting my number. Katie sure as hell wouldn’t give it to him.
I thought about calling him. I could tell him that I was having a wonderful time in Paris and that I already had a new guy in my life. He’d be so jealous. Or I could tell him the truth. That I missed him and loved him and that my heart was totally and utterly broken.
Sleeping with Paris Page 4