French Kissing (Restless Hearts)

by Keane, Hunter J.

  “Ha.” He quickly asked, “Why don’t you come?”

  “To your practice? Why?”

  “So that you can see me, of course.” He sighed like he was annoyed that he even had to explain it. “You play tennis, don’t you?”

  I started to understand what he was really asking. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not playing tennis with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are the number one professional tennis player in the world, and I’m ranked second on a mediocre college team. If I wanted to feel bad about myself, I would spend the day with a group of French models.”

  “Please. Stop being silly.” He said, “I’m sending you the address. See you in an hour.”

  Before I knew what was happening, the phone went dead.

  Reluctantly, I headed home to change into something athletic and took a cab to the address he sent me. I was certain it was a terrible idea, but I did want to see Jake, even if it meant making a fool out of myself.

  When I stepped out of the cab, I hesitated across the street from the Athletic Club, taking a few deep breaths and catching a whiff of flowers from the floral shop to my left. Shoulders back, I crossed the street and entered the club.

  Jake was waiting for me just inside the door, wearing hot pink shorts and a big smile. “I thought you were going to chicken out.”

  “Me? Never.” I made big eyes at him. “Nice shorts. They let you get away with that here?”

  “I’m their prized customer. I can wear whatever I want.” He nodded down the hall. “You ready to do this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Jake made a quick stop to borrow a women’s racquet and then he was leading me onto a private court.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” I teased.

  My first hit was clumsy, my swing uneven. The ball went flying over Jace’s head. He ignored it, calmly reaching into his pocket for another ball. My second swing was better- not awesome, but decent.

  Within a couple of minutes, I had loosened up completely and was performing like the mediocre college tennis player I so proudly strived to be.

  “Not bad, Ace,” Jake yelled as I slammed a winner past him.

  “For a girl, you mean?” I used the side of my foot against the racquet to scoop up a ball without bending down. Feeling flirty, I asked, “So you are impressed by my stroke?”

  “I was talking about your legs, actually. Not bad.” He gave me a pointed look. “Your stroke isn’t bad either, from what I can see.”

  We were rudely interrupted by the door to the court swinging open. A tall man appeared, not looking the slightest bit sorry for the intrusion.

  “Wellington. Put down the racquet and let’s go get pissed!” He froze, spotting me for the first time. “Well, hello.”

  “Hi.” I squinted, trying to place where I had seen the man. “Merrick Cohen?”

  “My reputation precedes me, I see.” He turned back to Jake. “What did you tell her about me?”

  Jake approached the net. “Nothing. I prefer not to talk about you at all as I have a very weak constitution when it comes to vile things.”

  “Hilarious.” Merrick’s eyes hardened. “I wasn’t aware that you were on a date. Should I count you out for drinks?”

  Jake started to say yes, but I stopped him.

  “We’d love a drink.”

  Okay, I was being obnoxious. It was pretty clear that Jake didn’t want to go, and it was even clearer that Merrick didn’t want me to go. But Merrick Cohen was the most infamous tennis player in the world. He was constantly in the tabloids for his affairs with actresses, drunken tirades in LA nightclubs, and his childish and volatile antics on the court. He was utterly fascinating and I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to spend time with him firsthand.

  “Alright then,” he said with a resigned nod of his head. “Let’s hit the pub.”

  Merrick wasn’t actually British, but he liked to speak with an accent and use British slang anyway.

  At first I had found it amusing, if not a little cute. But that probably had a lot to do with his lush blond curls and baby blue eyes. But after an hour and two beers, I had less patience for his sloppy accent.

  “It was total rubbish,” he said, ending his rant about his most recent French Open loss. I had watched it on television- it was brutal.

  “Where are you from, Merrick?” I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Hartford.”

  “Connecticut?” It was too much. “What’s with the accent?”

  His eyes narrowed threateningly. “What’s with the hair?”

  Instinctively, I ran a hand over my dark locks. Nothing seemed out of place. I assumed that he was just being a jerk.

  “Merrick is a worldly sort of chap, right mate?” Jace’s words dripped with sarcasm.

  “You looked rough on the court today, Wellington,” Merrick said, choosing to ignore it. “I shouldn’t have any trouble beating you next weekend.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have a lot of trouble just making it to the match next weekend.” Jake didn’t smile or otherwise hint that he might be kidding.

  “We’ll see.”

  The two men stared at each other, looking so angry I wasn’t sure why they had even bothered with the drinks. If they were enemies, why did Merrick invite Jake for drinks in the first place?

  “What’s with the attitude?” I asked Jake when Merrick had gone to the restroom.

  “Merrick is a tool,” he replied easily. “He gets off on being a jerk.”

  “Then why pretend otherwise? What are we doing here?”

  Jake huffed. “You signed us up for this, remember? I was planning to say no.”

  “Fair enough.” It still didn’t explain their twisted friendship though. “You don’t usually get so annoyed. Merrick might be a tool, but what did he ever do to you? Did he steal your girlfriend or something?”

  “Yes, actually.” Jace’s face hardened. “Last year.”

  “Oh.”

  Now I felt like a complete fool. It was bad enough that I had put my foot in my mouth in a big way, but I had also injected myself into Jace’s personal life.

  “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s in the past.”

  “Who was she?” I had to admit, I was intrigued.

  “You know Katrina?”

  “Katrina Vellova?” I gasped. She was only the best female tennis player, and a successful model. Nearly all of my guy friends back home were obsessed with her.

  Jake didn’t seem as impressed. “That’s the one. We started dating after last year’s U.S. Open. Three months later, I found out she was screwing Merrick.”

  “She’s an idiot,” I said spontaneously. It didn’t take a genius to see that Jake was definitely the better man. By a long shot.

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t seem to care. Trina is all about doing what she wants with little regard to the consequences.”

  “You still talk to her?” I told myself that I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t.

  “I see her at the tournaments. We keep up a civil façade.” He smiled tightly. “Same with Merrick.”

  Now it made sense. “You don’t want to give the tabloids anything to print.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that I was never in love with Trina. We had a little fun, but that was it. I moved on pretty quickly.”

  “Heart of stone?” I asked lightly.

  “Something like that.” He pointed to my empty glass. “How would you feel about bailing while Merrick is in the bathroom?”

  I laughed. “Only if we also stick him with the bill.”

  “Deal.”

  We were still laughing a few blocks up the street. That was when I realized why I was so struck by Jake- I enjoyed the person I became with him.

  “We should’ve ordered a bunch of stuff before we left,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

  “Next time.” Jake had been quicker to compose himself and he was busy reading a message on his phone. “
So I know the art thing didn’t work out so great last time, but any interest in stopping by my friend’s gallery later? I sort promised I’d make an appearance.”

  “Art?” I wrinkled my nose. “Naked art?”

  He laughed. “I’m not sure, but you probably need to start appreciating naked art considering who you are dating.”

  “Not dating,” I corrected. “Have dated. One time. And a half. One and a half times.”

  “Half?” He frowned. “How is that even possible?”

  “Ended early.” I didn’t really feel like getting into the details. Especially when I still didn’t understand what the details meant. “What time is the art thing?”

  He checked the time on his phone. “We can go now. It’s just up the street.”

  “Now?” I looked down at my sweatpants and sneakers. “Like this?”

  “Sure. It’s one of those trendy, contemporary places. No one will even notice what we are wearing.” He had at least changed out of the pink shorts back at the club. But his black track pants were still quite casual.

  “I don’t know…” The French culture was so different that I found it hard to believe that we could show up in athletic gear and no one would notice.

  Jake waved away my concerns and within five minutes, we were in the gallery lobby. One look around proved that he had been right. The other patrons were dressed in trendy and even wild apparel. I saw short shorts, ripped jeans, and even a Mohawk.

  “What is this place?” I muttered, looking around in bewilderment. It looked more like a hipster neighborhood in Chicago rather than an art gallery in Paris.

  “This place is kind of underground on the art scene. They host artists that get turned away from the bigger places. A lot of contemporary artists got their start here.” He shot me a quick glance. “Including your boyfriend.”

  I glared back.

  “I’m going to see if my friend is in the back. You should go check out some of the work. It’s pretty interesting.”

  Interesting was putting it mildly. The art inside was definitely on the contemporary side. I found a pile of trash that was on display and a group in front of it, dressed all in black, muttering seriously as they studied it. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I had a good idea that it wasn’t the same thoughts that were running through my head.

  I left the first room, with its artistically styled pile of trash, and headed to the second room. The room held about thirty people, all of whom seemed excited by whatever was on display.

  A woman to my right was talking to her friend in English and I listened in when I heard Evan’s name.

  “This is part of Evan Carter’s newest collection. I’m not really a fan of his work, but he is certainly talented.”

  Evan’s work was in this gallery?

  I hurried to the nearest piece and was surprised to see my own face staring back at me. Well not staring, exactly, since in the photo my eyes were closed.

  It had been taken from a close range, so close that you could see every curve and angle of my face. It was unsettling.

  But it only got worse. Much worse.

  When I saw the second photo, I knew exactly when it had been taken. The morning I had woken up at Evan’s and caught him with a camera. The pictures he had sworn to destroy. Now they were blown up and on display for everyone to see.

  I was on display for everyone to see.

  Slowly, I circled the room in shock. The photos stopped short of showing me completely naked, but they also left nothing to the imagination. My face flushed hotly, my heart beat furiously. I was angry and horrified and embarrassed and upset all at the same time.

  Whatever my confusion had been about Evan, my mind was made up now.

  “Cam. I want you to meet my friend-”

  Jake stopped abruptly when I turned to face him. One look at my face told him that something was horribly wrong. But when he looked over my shoulder, eyes immediately finding the problem, I became even more horrified.

  I couldn’t face him, so I ran.

  Through the gallery and outside, I ran without looking back. I was sure that once Jake put the pieces together, he would come after me. But I couldn’t handle that, so I ran down the street until I spotted a cab.

  Breathlessly, I huffed out my address and then sank into the leather seat, wishing I could disappear. And as mad as I was at Evan, as much as I wanted to punch him or kick him in the crotch, I was even more mad at myself.

  Jake called three times before I even got home. He left messages each time, but I didn’t listen to them. Whatever he said, I was sure it was going to make me feel even worse. There was nothing anyone could say right now that would take away the sting of what had just happened.

  It took me three day to even be able to leave my apartment. Even then, it was only to get some food. Since I had been doing nothing but sitting at home, eating my feelings, I’d gone through every item in the fridge and pantry.

  Jake called a dozen times every day until I finally sent him a text saying that I didn’t want to talk, text, or see him. It ended up being phrased much harsher than I intended, but it did the trick. He left me alone.

  Jen called just as I got home from the store. She had no idea what had happened, only that I sounded like crap when I answered the phone.

  “Are you sick?” She instantly sounded like a concerned mom.

  “Sick of everything,” I muttered.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Jen was a worrier by nature, and even more so when it came to her little sister.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I had a… thing happen to me.” I still wasn’t sure whether I should tell her the full story. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me.

  “A thing?” Her voice shot up three octaves.

  Now I had to tell her. Whatever she was imaging was probably worse than reality.

  I told Jen everything, starting at the very beginning, the night when I met Jake and Evan. While she did sigh disapprovingly when I mentioned spending the night at Evan’s, she huffed much louder at the part about him taking my picture.

  “He’s a scumbag, Cammy. How could you be so oblivious?”

  “He’s a photographer! His profession is taking pictures of people.” I tried to make it sound like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but Jen wasn’t stupid.

  “He didn’t take a picture of you in front of the Eiffel Tower. He took naked photos of you, while you were sleeping, without your permission. Scumbag.”

  In Jen’s world, everything was that simple. I had always thought she was narrow-minded for seeing the world only in black and white, but maybe that type of singular morality would’ve kept me out of my current predicament.

  “If you think he’s a scumbag already, you’re going to really hate him when you hear the rest of the story.”

  At the end of the story, Jen said nothing. Silence meant that she was furious. After a few minutes of silence, I started to worry.

  “Say something, Jen.”

  “Come home.” She sounded like she had been crying. “Pack up your stuff and come home.”

  “What?” It wasn’t something I had considered, even at my lowest moments. “I can’t come home, Jen.”

  She said anxiously, “Yes, you can. Not only that, you should.”

  “There’s nothing for me at home anyway. Not anymore.”

  It was low of me to throw that in her face. She had agonized for months before moving in with her boyfriend.

  “You’re an adult now, Camryn. I can’t give up my life just because you need me to pick up the pieces of yours.”

  Even though her words were harsh, I knew that she was right. I had been selfishly treating her like my mother for years.

  “I’m not coming home, Jen. I can’t just run away from this.” It was then that I realized I had already been running away from it.

  “Okay.” She sighed. “Do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Get your head out of your ass and give
that Jake guy a chance.”

  It wasn’t what I had been expecting her to say at all. For one thing, Jen was never that graphic. For another, I hadn’t even realized that Jake had been part of the story.

  “I can’t do that, Jen. I don’t want to see him. I’m mortified.”

  Just remembering the look on his face when he realized it was me in the picture on the wall made me blush.

  “This isn’t that big of a deal,” she said. “It’s just a few art shots. It’s not like someone released a sex tape of you.”

  Now I knew that she was trying to make me feel better. And it was working.

  “You’ve done way more embarrassing things than this. Like that time you fell of the stage in your third grade Christmas show. Or the time you got drunk and threw up on Mom’s boyfriend.”

  “This isn’t helping,” I said through my laughter. “You’re just making me feel terrible about everything else in my life, too.”

  “Look. You do silly things sometimes. You jump into things before thinking it out. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean you should be embarrassed when things don’t work out. It means you’re human. And it’s what makes you so awesome.”

  Jen was the perfect big sister. She always knew how to say exactly the thing I needed to hear. She loved me unconditionally and accepted me even with all of my faults.

  “I love you, sissy,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Go fix your life.” She paused. “I love you, too.”

  Feeling slightly better after talking to Jen, I put away the box of cookies I had almost finished off during our call and hit the shower. With clean hair, scrubbed skin, and fresh clothes, my mood improved enough that I tried calling Jake.

  I got his voicemail.

  Hearing his voice asking me to leave a message so that he could get back to me made me freeze. I ended up hanging up without saying anything.

  I started to think more about my conversation with Jen and realized that she hadn’t been completely wrong in telling me that I might as well just go home. I had come to Paris with the sole purpose of launching my career, and so far that had been the last thing on my mind. That needed to change.

  My pencils and sketchpad had been sitting on the desk, untouched, for weeks. It was time to put an end to the dry spell.