French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

  Despite his family’s money, George didn’t have the same easy confidence and attitude that flowed here. He was a little nerdy like me, more comfortable staying in on weekends and playing video games than dropping thousands of pounds at a nightclub.

  For a school that boasted one of the most culturally diverse student bodies you could imagine, it was ironic how many common threads you found. And money was the ultimate unifying factor.

  “How was class?” he asked, not taking his gaze off the game.

  I dropped into the seat next to him, grabbing the spare controller while he finished up his mission and switched over to multiplayer.

  “Horrible.”

  “Project finance, right? I thought you were excited for that one.”

  “Yeah, I was. He assigned us partners for our group project.”

  I took the remainder of my pent-up frustration out on the tiny avatar on screen.

  “By the way you just killed that guy on our team, I’m assuming you aren’t pleased with your assignment?” George asked, his tone dry.

  I hesitated for a beat. We were guys. It wasn’t like we’d had a big discussion about his breakup with Fleur. I knew he’d been really into her—although in all fairness, what guy wasn’t?—and she’d broken things off after five months of dating. It had been almost six months since they’d broken up, but what if I was poking at something by mentioning her name? I wasn’t sure I could handle some deep emotional discussion; blowing virtual shit up seemed like a much better idea.

  “Who is it?” he asked, jabbing at the controls as he took out a convoy.

  I sighed. The school was too small for him to not find out anyway. “Fleur.”

  I expected tense silence and got laughter instead.

  “You and Fleur are going to work together?”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Apparently.”

  George snorted. “Dude, she’s going to eat you alive. She hates you.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

  “No, I don’t think you get it. I mean, she really hates you.”

  I glared at him. “Got it, thanks.” Fleur could be difficult most days, but she did seem to have a special crevice of loathing in her heart with my name on it. “I don’t get why,” I complained.

  George gaped at me, setting his controller down for a minute. “Seriously? You don’t remember?”

  I was fairly certain I remembered every single one of my interactions with Fleur in vivid detail, and still, nothing came to mind.

  “No, I don’t.” I gestured for him to keep playing, needing the distraction. I could only handle Fleur if I didn’t give her my full attention. She was like Medusa: looking at her could turn you to stone. Fine, maybe not stone. But full-on she was overpowering, and frustrating, and she definitely made things hard.

  “How do you know why she hates me?”

  “She told me when we were dating. I asked her why she had such a problem with you. I don’t think it’s a big secret or anything; she was fairly upfront about it. You haven’t ever asked her?”

  Impatience filled me, and for the millionth time, I tried to pretend I didn’t care that she looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Yes, because we spend so much time talking about our feelings and shit.”

  I watched in annoyance as my avatar got taken out in a firefight. Not my day.

  “You walked into that one,” George commented.

  I grunted in response, waiting to re-spawn.

  Finally, he put me out of my misery. “She’s pissed about the nickname.”

  Or not.

  I blanked. “What nickname?”

  He shot me an incredulous look. “You seriously don’t remember?”

  “I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “She’s pissed because you gave her the Ice Queen nickname. Mortally pissed. Hates-you-with-the-fire-of-a-thousand-suns pissed.”

  He had to be joking. “Everyone calls her the Ice Queen.”

  “According to her, everyone started calling her that after you did.”

  I struggled to remember, tried to think of anyone who would have heard me use it. I was pretty much at the bottom rung of the International School social world, a complete and total nonentity. I’d never considered that anyone knew, or cared, what I thought. Least of all someone in Fleur’s circle.

  Fuck.

  “Who the hell does she think I shared it with? I can count the number of friends I have at this school on one hand, and you’re among them. Did you spread the nickname?”

  “Like I had a death wish.”

  “Besides, what was that, freshman year?” It had to have been. I’d spent sophomore year doing a study abroad in China and Fleur definitely already hated me last year when she started dating George. This was unreal. Only at a school as small and cliquey as the International School would something like that stick. I’d say it was high school all over again, but my high school hadn’t been this bad.

  “Who carries a grudge like that for three years? And over a nickname? Besides, why the hell does she care what I think, anyway?”

  George shrugged. “Beats me. We didn’t exactly have an in-depth conversation on the topic. I asked her, and she told me, and that was pretty much it. But if you’re going to have to work with her, you’re probably going to want to apologize or something. I don’t know. She’s big on grand gestures. Maybe lie down in traffic for her,” he joked.

  I winced. This was going nowhere good. Knowing Fleur, she’d probably let me get run over a few times.

  ###

  Fleur

  My next meeting with Max didn’t go much better.

  “You’re late,” he grunted, not bothering to look up from his desk in the library.

  Rude.

  I’d meant to be on time, I really had. But then I’d taken a nap after class and had forgotten to set an alarm. I didn’t wear a watch—it took up unnecessary accessory space—but at most, I was a few minutes late.

  I sank down into the seat across from Max, waiting for him to look up and acknowledge me. If we couldn’t get through a thirty-minute meeting without biting each other’s head off, then I wasn’t sure how we were supposed to do this for a full semester.

  I struggled with my temper, trying not to let him get under my skin. I wasn’t sure what I was more pissed about: him snapping at me or him ignoring me.

  Okay, that was a lie. This was our typical banter; we pissed each other off and ruffled each other’s feathers. Last year, we’d fought constantly while I’d been dating George, and it had become our natural rhythm. Max ignoring me wasn’t even kind of okay.

  “So what do you want to do today?” I asked, determined to overcome his mood and get him to notice me. I leaned in closer, inches between us, my voice friendly, bordering on flirty. “Should we divide up duties or something?”

  I may have also flipped my hair. Whatever.

  His head jerked up and caught me midflip, and I was pinned by the weight of his gaze as I realized I’d outplayed my hand. Flirting was my go-to. I could turn it on and off with ease, and I’d learned early on that a smile and a hair flip could go a long way. It worked when I needed an extension on my paper, when I wanted a guy to notice me, when I didn’t want to wait in a queue at a club. It always worked.

  Not with Max.

  Apparently, he was impervious to both, and even worse, he looked at me like he’d figured out the giant secret I’d always known: I was definitely more trouble than I was worth. On one hand, his assessment elevated him in my estimation. It was hard to respect guys who fell for it all. I wanted to scream, It’s a freaking push-up bra, bronzer, and lash-enhancing mascara! Control yourself! On the other hand, I had limited tools in my arsenal, and he’d just rebuffed my best one.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.

  Max’s eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head, his lips tightening in a harsh line that should have made him ugly, but only made me want
to put my mouth on his and tease the line away.

  Merde.

  The look he gave me was nothing short of icy. “You’re thirty minutes late.”

  Inwardly, I winced. Apparently I’d napped longer than I’d thought.

  “Maybe you don’t take this seriously, but I do,” he continued. “So, no, I don’t want to divide up duties. Not when you’re clearly blowing this off. I’m going to go to Schrader if you don’t pull your weight. Coasting on your looks while I do the work isn’t going to happen.”

  My cheeks reddened as his words hit their mark. He’d just cut through layers of bullshit and pretense to get to the heart of everything. I’d been judged and found wanting, and that pissed me off. He was right, and somehow, that only made things worse.

  I glared at him, not sure if I was angrier with him for calling me out or myself for how small he made me feel.

  “Fuck you.”

  He rolled his eyes, clearly bored. “Is that just your standard go-to? Do you have anything more clever to throw at me?”

  No, that was the problem. I really didn’t. Pretty, yes. Clever, no.

  In my mind, I hurled insults at him in French and English. Outwardly, I struggled to keep my temper in check. I think he liked getting a rise out of me, liked seeing that I had a reaction to him poking me. Maybe I wasn’t a genius like he was, but if I had anything, I had my pride, and I clung to it now like a life raft.

  The old me would have given into the explosion. Not anymore. I was trying to be someone else . . . someone better.

  I took a deep breath instead, then pasted a fake smile on my face. “So sorry I was late.”

  My tone made it clear I didn’t mean a word, but at least I’d beaten down the pain and awkward temper swirling inside me. Bitchy was an excellent security blanket. Lately, though, even that had been failing me.

  I was such a mess.

  Max scowled, and a glimmer of satisfaction flitted through me. It was totally childish, but he brought out the absolute worst in me, and it was impossible to resist the urge to mess with him. At least now I felt in control. Somewhat.

  “So what’s on the agenda, fearless leader?”

  He just stared, his gaze hooded. Annoyance flooded his voice. “How old are you? Five?”

  “We can’t all be as serious as you are, Max.” I barely resisted the urge to reach out and rumple his hair. Maybe flirting wasn’t working, but teasing seemed to be getting under his skin.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as if uttering a quick prayer. When he opened them again, his gaze pinned me.

  “Can you please just shut down the bitchiness for the next thirty minutes? I can’t afford to fail this class, and believe me, I get how much you don’t like working together. I feel the same way. But we don’t have a choice, so I need this to go quickly and painlessly. Can you do that?”

  I bristled at the bossiness in his tone, but I couldn’t ignore his point. I doubted this grade was as important to him as it was to me. I wouldn’t graduate if I failed this class. And if we couldn’t work together, or if Max told Professor Schrader I wasn’t doing my part, I didn’t doubt that I would fail. I told myself this wasn’t surrender, only a stalemate. One I desperately needed.

  I nodded. “Fine. Thirty-minute break on hating each other.”

  His eyes closed again. “Thank you.”

  ###

  Max

  We worked in silence, dividing up the packet Professor Schrader had given us, taking notes we could compare later.

  Luckily, I’d gotten most of my work done before she arrived, because once she did, I alternated between wanting to kiss her and strangle her.

  That this somehow turned me on was seriously fucked up, and beyond distracting. Everything about Fleur was distracting.

  She couldn’t sit still while she worked. Her pen was constantly in motion—between her lips, twirling around her fingers. She must have crossed and recrossed her legs ten times in thirty minutes. And the hair flipping was killing me. Every single time she did it, I wondered if her hair was as silky soft as it looked, and then the scent of her shampoo would hit me, and I’d think about fisting my hands in her hair, pulling her toward me . . .

  “Max!”

  My head jerked up, and then I was staring into Fleur’s big brown eyes.

  “What?”

  She shot me a strange look. “I wanted to know when you wanted to meet up again.”

  It took me a few seconds to answer her. “Well, he wants to see a proposal soon, so maybe in a couple of days.”

  Fleur nodded, her expression intent, and I wondered if she really was going to start taking this seriously. I’d been surprised when she’d started working and the fight in her disappeared. Even more surprised when she’d offered to read a large section of the packet.

  “I can e-mail you my notes,” she offered, a hesitant expression on her face. “They’re probably not great, but I tried to get what I thought were the important points on the assignment.”

  I studied her for a moment, unable to resist the temptation to look my fill while she sat in front of me. It seemed like all of my interactions with her had been furtive glances and stolen moments. Maybe that was why I was greedy now. I didn’t want to look at her, and yet I couldn’t look away.

  “Or if you would rather not rely on my notes, I understand,” Fleur added.

  I focused on the words coming out of her mouth, realizing I’d never answered her. I waited for the snide remark or angry flash of brown eyes, but I was met with uncertainty instead, and a pang of guilt hit me. I only teased her about her intelligence because that was what we did. We gave each other shit. I’d never imagined she would care, but strangely enough, it looked like she did.

  “No, your notes should be fine.” I hoped I was right. “Thanks for doing that.”

  Fleur nodded, her gaze hooded, and I wondered if I’d imagined the vulnerability I’d seen a minute ago.

  She confused the hell out of me. I never knew what I’d get with her, and today was no exception. She’d started off prickly and difficult, but once she’d settled in, she’d loosened up, softened. The girl who sat in front of me now actually seemed interested in the project, and I didn’t know what had precipitated the change.

  I wasn’t sure which one was the act, either: this girl who looked like she cared or the girl who had stomped in here full of attitude that kept the world at bay.

  They were both dangerous. And in a weird way, they both made me want more.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fleur

  “I’m having a crisis.”

  My friend Mya rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, someone showed up wearing the same outfit.”

  I flipped her off. “This dress is Cavalli, and there was a wait list, so no. But nice try.”

  Maggie sighed from her spot at the table. “Is it effed up that I’ve actually missed this?”

  I had, too. The three of us sat in the cafeteria for family dinner. My family had never been big on eating meals together. Hell, half the time my parents weren’t even in the same country, and my mother barely liked to eat. So this was kind of a big deal for me. People came and went, but Maggie, Mya, and I were the heart of family dinner. They weren’t just my roommates, they were my best friends. And honestly, after everything we’d been through the last two years, more than anything, they were my family.

  Mya and I had known each other for years but hadn’t really become friends until my sophomore year at the International School. Tall and lean, with gorgeous dark hair and skin, Mya was the kind of girl you’d expect to be intimidating but was really one of the nicest people you’d ever meet. She’d had a rough time with her parents’ divorce last year, but she seemed to be doing better now. Her father worked at the Nigerian Embassy in London, and Mya split her time between her mother’s home in Lagos and her father’s flat in London.

  Maggie and I had been roommates my sophomore year, but we didn’t become friends until Mya took Maggie under her wing and brought h
er into our social circle. At first, I hadn’t been a fan of Maggie’s. She’d been an outsider, and I wasn’t big on letting new people in. I’d had enough people I’d cared about stab me in the back without having to voluntarily add to that list. But little by little, we’d learned to trust each other, and while the trust had been shaken a bit when I found out she’d been fooling around with Samir in secret, she was there for me when it counted, and I made a point of doing the same for her.

  Right now, I needed advice, and as much as I hated it, I knew it was good for me, like carrots or spinach—maybe even some tough love.

  “Can we focus on me for a second?”

  Maggie grinned. “Dude, don’t we always?”

  Mya snorted.

  “What’s the problem?” Maggie asked.

  I looked around the cafeteria for a minute, checking to see if anyone was paying attention. Gossip spread around this place like wildfire, and I’d had enough rumors about me to last a lifetime. I’d locked everything down pretty tight lately.

  I used the voice I saved for my juiciest gossip. After all, presentation and delivery were everything.

  “Schrader paired me with Max for our semester project in Project Finance.”

  That got their attention.

  “Like George’s Max?” Maggie asked.

  Like George, my rebound after Costa annihilated my heart and the ex-boyfriend whose heart I’d broken’s best friend Max.

  “The one and the same.”

  Maggie winced. “Well, on the bright side, he’s really, really smart. George told me Max spent his sophomore year in China learning about their currency or banking system or something. He’s supposed to be a genius.”

  I made a face at that, remembering the rest of our first meeting in the café. “He asked me if I knew how to read.”

  Mya let out a shout of laughter. “Excuse me?”