French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

“Be mine.”

  The second I said the words, it vaguely registered that I’d just broken every piece of advice I’d ever given anyone about dating and playing hard to get, and I didn’t care.

  For a moment, he didn’t answer me, and then the moment stretched into a minute. But I wasn’t nervous. It took him a minute to say the words, but the emotion in his eyes, swirling around us, had answered for him before I’d even asked the question.

  “I always was.”

  And then we were kissing again, until Maggie and Mya came home and found me fully clothed, making out with my boyfriend.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Max

  A foot slid up my leg, moving past my knee. I struggled to concentrate on my Derivatives reading. The foot slid higher.

  I groaned, tearing my attention away from the book in front of me. Fleur’s foot moved up until it settled in my lap under the table.

  “Stop distracting me.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tongue swept across her bottom lip and Derivatives flew out the window.

  “We’re studying, remember?”

  It was Friday night, and Fleur sat across from me in the library, books spread out around her. We’d finished going over stuff for our class project and were now catching up on work. I was prepping for my next round of interviews, and she was doing her reading for the week. She’d been into it for the first two hours, but by the foot currently caressing me, I could tell she was starting to get restless.

  She made a face, her foot stilling. “How can I forget?”

  I grinned, trying to fend off the aching arousal. “You need a break?”

  “God, yes.”

  I gestured toward her books. “Which class are you reading for?”

  “Marketing.”

  We had different majors; I was studying finance, and she was studying fashion marketing. We’d had a couple classes overlap last year and Project Finance this semester, but that was it.

  “How’s it going?”

  She shrugged. “Okay, I guess. At least it’s the least mathy out of my classes this semester.”

  I laughed. “Mathy?”

  That teased a smile out of her. “Don’t give me a hard time. English isn’t my first language.”

  Her English was perfect and we both knew it.

  “Have you given any more thought to interning next semester?” I asked her.

  One of the benefits of the International School was its amazing internship program. They had international opportunities like the one I’d done sophomore year in China and London-based ones, as well. With how big the fashion industry was in London, there were a ton of possibilities for Fleur.

  “My advisor thinks it’s a good idea. We’re meeting later this week to talk about it.”

  Her tone clued me in. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  She sighed. “I do. I know I have to do something after graduation. And I do like fashion.”

  I knew she wasn’t crazy about school, and yet it was still strange to see her like this. Insecurity didn’t fit on Fleur.

  “But?”

  “I just don’t think I have a chance. My résumé is basically blank. I’ve never even made one. Never had a job. I’m so out of my element here.”

  “You’ve modeled.”

  “I don’t know how impressive that’s going to be. I had my picture taken and walked a runway. How is that going to look against people who interned at fashion houses and worked with designers?”

  “It shows that you know the industry,” I countered. “That plus your degree might be enough.”

  That same uneasy look filled her eyes as she bit her lower lip. “Maybe.”

  “I know you think you aren’t ready, but trust me, you aren’t the only one who feels that way. The nerves are normal. I still feel like I’m going to throw up every time I go into an interview. You just have to remember why you’re doing this. You might have to work your way up, but once you do the internship, your résumé won’t be blank anymore.”

  Her look was skeptical at best. “Do you really see this working out for me? I mean, does anything about me scream model employee? It’s different with you, you’ve been working for this for a long time.”

  I waited a beat before answering because the look in her eyes told me just how important my answer was. The last thing I wanted to do was let her down. Enough people had already done that.

  “If you’d asked me that question last year, I don’t know what I would have told you. But now? You’re not the girl you used to be. You didn’t care before, and that made all the difference. Bottom line, you’re smart and you have style. Fashion is your art. So yeah, I think you’ll be great at this. But honestly, it doesn’t really matter what I think. More than anything, you have to believe it.”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide. “How did I end up with you? You’re a really good guy, aren’t you? I mean a really, really good guy.”

  I didn’t know about that, but I did know I’d do anything to keep that look in her eyes. She seemed happy and settled, and as much as I hated that she’d never had that before, I couldn’t help but be glad that I was able to give it to her. Maybe I couldn’t shower her in diamonds or designer outfits, but at least I could make her feel safe.

  “I like making you smile,” I confessed. “I like seeing you happy. You light up the room when you’re happy.”

  She leaned across the table, closing the distance between us, putting her mouth on mine. It was a quick kiss, and a sweet one, and I knew her well enough by now to know that while she didn’t always say what she felt, she always showed it. This kiss was thanks for making her smile. I could have told her the smile was enough.

  Fleur pulled back. “Will you help me with my résumé?”

  I grinned. “Absolutely.”

  ###

  Fleur

  I gnawed on my lower lip, waiting for the door to open. In three years at the International School, I’d visited my advisor once and that had been when I’d finally been unable to keep ignoring the letters from the university telling me it was time to declare my major. I’d had a few classes with her, but I wasn’t one to make a positive impression in the classroom.

  I clutched the paper in my hand, staring at the bits of black and the sea of white. Max and I had spent an hour last night working on my résumé, trying to figure out a way to take my pathetic lack of experience and make it seem like more.

  The final result wasn’t going to get me an internship at Gucci, but I hoped it was enough to open doors for me somewhere.

  The door opened, and my advisor, Professor Green, greeted me with a smile.

  “It’s nice to see you, Fleur. Come in.”

  I followed her into the small office, my attention momentarily diverted by her black peep toe pumps. She had excellent taste in shoes for a professor, although I figured that came with the territory.

  “Sit.” She gestured toward the empty chair in front of her desk. “Nice dress.”

  Her gaze ran over me with professional scrutiny. In this, at least, I wasn’t nervous. I might not know much, but I knew fashion.

  “Thanks.”

  She leaned back in her chair studying me over the rim of her eyeglasses. “So, have you given more thought to doing an internship next semester?” she asked.

  I nodded, willing the tremor in my hand to stop as I slid my résumé onto her desk.

  “It’s not much,” I offered lamely, “but that’s all of my educational and fashion experience.”

  I held my breath as her gaze skimmed over the flimsy piece of paper, and I said a little prayer that Max had done a good job spinning things.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you think I might be able to find something next semester?” Nausea rolled around in my stomach. “I know my grades aren’t great, but I was hoping I could find an internship that would be willing to overlook that.”

  She set my résumé on her desk, her gaze softening. “I
think this is a wonderful start, Fleur. We’ll enter it into our internship database so prospective companies can see if you match what they’re looking for. I can also make a few phone calls. I’m friends with some designers—not Sarah Burton or anyone like that, but up-and-coming talent. That would be an excellent way for you to get a start.”

  The kind of excitement that had previously been reserved for getting bumped up on the Birkin wait list filled me.

  “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” She smiled. “I know school isn’t always the most exciting thing in the world. And here in London?” She laughed. “Let’s just say, the professors aren’t oblivious to the many distractions in a city like this. I’ve looked at your transcript, and I can tell that you’ve had a hard time finding something you’re passionate about. But that doesn’t mean that you should write yourself off. You have an eye for fashion and a sense of style that can’t be taught. And I know I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but there’s so much more to having a career than what we teach you in the classroom. An internship will give you valuable skills that will set you up for a career in fashion when you graduate.

  “You can do this. And remember, I’m always here to chat during office hours.”

  I was speechless. The professors had always intimidated me a bit. Okay, maybe a lot. They saw the work I did in class, gave me grades that barely squeaked by as passing. I figured if anyone knew I was an airhead, it was the teaching staff. And yet, here I was, sitting with the head of my department, planning an internship.

  “I really appreciate you giving me a chance,” I answered, wondering if she knew how much this meant to me, that she was one of the only people to really made me believe I had a shot at something other than looking pretty.

  Besides Max.

  ###

  Max

  Fleur stood outside my classroom, grinning from ear to ear.

  I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her forehead, the same excitement I always got at the sight of her filling me before I pulled back. “So, how did it go?”

  She beamed at me. “It went well. Really, really well. She had some internship suggestions, and she thought I had a shot at getting one of them.”

  Relief flooded me. “That’s awesome.”

  Fleur nodded. “I still can’t believe it.”

  I loved the excitement in her voice and the hope in her eyes. She’d been so nervous about this meeting, so sure that an internship was out of her reach. It was the best feeling to see her realize she could do more.

  “We need to celebrate,” I decided, taking a cue from her book. “Go out for drinks or dinner or something. Maybe get dressed up and make a night of it.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” she replied.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I’ve been dying to go to my favorite restaurant,” she answered. “It’s really romantic and the food is incredible. You’d love it.”

  I could definitely do that, anything to keep the smile on her face and to show her how special she was. There wasn’t a lot of room for romance on a college student budget, but at least I could splurge once in a while.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Fleur’s smile deepened. “Okay. Don’t get mad.”

  “Why would I get mad?”

  “I sort of already made plans for us to go there. I figured you wouldn’t care, and I wanted to take you to my favorite place.” She looked hesitant, and I immediately wanted to make sure the smile returned. “We normally do a big trip for fall break, but Maggie has plans with Samir and Mya talked about visiting her mom in Nigeria. I know you have interviews then, too, so I figured a fall-break trip is out. But I thought we could get away for a bit. Just a few hours. Nine hours to be exact.”

  I still didn’t get it. “I thought you wanted to go to dinner? What dinner takes nine hours?” Was this some fancy new restaurant or something? I had no clue what the mega-rich found normal, although nine-hour meals seemed ridiculously excessive. But what the hell did I know?

  “I want to go to Paris for dinner,” she answered.

  I was convinced I’d misheard her.

  “Paris?”

  “I got us really cheap, student Eurostar tickets, and it’s a fast train ride,” Fleur added. “We can spend a few hours in the city and then be back late tonight so you can still make your eight a.m. class tomorrow morning.”

  “You want to go to Paris for dinner? As in France?” I figured if I said it enough it would sink in.

  There was that smile again, the one that stole my heart. “It’ll be an adventure. Are you in?”

  So far, I wasn’t ever sure I was climbing out.

  Apparently I was going to dinner in Paris.

  ###

  The whole night was surreal—the city, the food, the girl. Most of all, the girl. I’d been to Paris before, done the touristy stuff, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame. It was a great city, and I’d always enjoyed my time there. Seeing it with Fleur took things to a whole other level.

  We sat huddled together at a little café, her body tucked against mine. Dinner had been amazing. Fleur had ordered in French for both of us, and there was something about listening to the words roll off her tongue—even if she was saying things like fromage and poisson—that sounded sexy as hell.

  She was so exotic, so different from anyone I’d ever known before. She made every day an adventure. Only Fleur would think of going to dinner in another country just for the hell of it. There was a passion to her that was irresistible, and as much as it was sometimes that same attitude that drove me nuts, it might have been the thing I loved most about her.

  She was a roller coaster, and it was the best ride I’d ever been on.

  The dinner was amazing. I’d expected her to want to go somewhere fancy, but instead, she took me to a small restaurant in the Latin Quarter.

  We sat at a table in the corner, getting drunk on wine and feasting on the different courses Fleur had ordered. I didn’t recognize half the dishes, but they were all delicious.

  I even tried the escargot at Fleur’s urging, and as unappealing as the idea of eating snails was, it was surprisingly good.

  We finished the meal off with a selection of cheeses and coffee.

  “This was a great idea,” I admitted, taking a sip of my drink, my free arm wrapped around her body, pulling her closer to me. Her hair tickled my face, the scent of her shampoo teasing my nostrils.

  She grinned. “I’ve been homesick for good French food.”

  “Why don’t you come home during the semester? It’s an easy enough trip for the weekend.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not close to my parents. I love Paris, but sometimes I need the space. London’s close enough without being too close.”

  “Do you think you’ll come back to Paris for work?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. We’d never talked about her plans after graduation. I didn’t know much about fashion, but even I knew Paris was a big deal. She could easily find a dream job here. As much as I hated the idea of her being far away, two hours wasn’t terrible. Worst case, we could see each other on weekends. It would be hard for me to take vacation in the beginning, but we could work something out.

  Fleur was silent for a moment, and I knew she heard the question behind my question.

  Do we have a future?

  “I love Paris,” she repeated, her voice careful, as if each word she uttered mattered. “But I’ve lived in London for so long now that it feels like home, too. Samir’s there, and Maggie, and Mya. They’re my family in a way that my parents never have been.”

  My heart raced, but I had to know. “And me?”

  She shifted slightly so we faced each other, our lips nearly touching. There was a chill in the air around us, and I could feel the warmth from her cappuccino between us. I wanted her mouth on mine, but I wanted her answer more than I wanted her kiss.

  She flushed slightly. “I like you. A lot.”

/>   I love you.

  “I like you, too.” I reached out, linking our fingers together. “This isn’t casual for me. Or temporary.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Same.”

  “So we’re doing this.”

  Her lips curved slightly. “We’re doing this.”

  I wanted to tell her the rest. Wanted to tell her I’d fallen for her. But there was something about Fleur . . . We hadn’t even had sex yet, and I still sensed that there were parts of herself she wasn’t ready to give me, parts she wasn’t ready to share. It wasn’t just her body; it was like there were orange cones surrounding her, keeping the rest of the world at bay. On one hand, she’d let me in more than anyone else—with the exception of Maggie and Samir, maybe—but I still wanted more. I tried to tell myself to be patient. She wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was I.

  “Do you want to walk around for a bit?” Fleur asked.

  We had another hour left before we had to catch the Eurostar back to London.

  We left the restaurant, our hands linked, heading toward the Seine. Fleur was bundled up in her coat, her nose and cheeks pink from the chill in the air.

  “So what do you think of Paris?” she asked, pride evident in her voice.

  I grinned. “It’s gorgeous. I’ve been before, but not gonna lie, it’s different seeing Paris with you. I feel like I’m getting the complete French experience.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Not quite.” She moved into my arms effortlessly, raising her face up to meet my lips. We kissed by the river, strands of a saxophone playing somewhere in the background. She tasted like coffee, and adventure, and a desire I didn’t think I’d ever get enough of.

  She pulled back, her lips rosy, mischief all over her face. “There. Now, you’ve had the complete French experience.”

  I groaned, pulling her tighter against me, burying my face in her hair. I didn’t think she realized how badly I wanted the complete Fleur experience.

  I loved her. Completely.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN