French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

  “Kind of? We have a chef who can help out, but I figured he wouldn’t know traditional American recipes. I want to make sure we get it right. I figured you could help. Maybe Mya.” Mya probably knew as much about cooking as I did, but surely we could muddle our way through it. “We could go for a night or two.”

  She just kept staring at me with that look, like I’d finally lost it.

  “What?”

  Maggie shook her head, a soft smile playing at her lips. “Does Max know you love him?”

  I froze. Considering I’d just started getting used to it myself, that was a huge negative.

  “No.”

  Maggie gave me her most no-nonsense face. “But you know it, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Is this your way of telling him?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s just Thanksgiving.” I shrugged, trying to keep the embarrassment out of my voice. “He said he was homesick, and I wanted to do something to make him feel better.”

  “You really love him.”

  “I do.”

  Maggie sank down onto the bed across from mine. “Have you talked to him about everything?”

  “No.”

  “Fleur.”

  I groaned. “Look, I don’t want to do this. I know I have to tell him eventually. But right now, we’re just enjoying spending time together. It’s only been a few months, and it’s nice not having to deal with drama. I don’t want to dump all of my problems into his lap. Not yet. We haven’t even had sex yet.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened slightly. “What’s the deal with that?”

  I sighed. I’d been doing such a good job of avoiding this conversation, and now I wasn’t sure if I was grateful to have someone to talk to or if I wished I could put it off longer.

  “We both agreed to take things slow.” I hesitated. “I think he wanted to make sure things weren’t just physical between us. He’s a really, really good guy, and I think he was worried that if we jumped into bed together then we wouldn’t get to know each other or give ourselves a chance at a real relationship. Especially since we started out in such a weird place.”

  “For the record, I love Max,” Maggie added with a grin.

  “Me, too,” I whispered.

  “Are you worried it’s just physical?” Maggie asked. “’Cause I gotta tell you, the idea of you cooking Thanksgiving dinner for him makes it pretty clear to me that this isn’t even kind of just physical.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I figured that out somewhere between the first time we kissed and looking up recipes for green beans an hour ago.”

  “Green bean casserole. Definitely green bean casserole.”

  I grinned. “Well, that’s one thing down. So are you guys in? I want this to be a surprise for Max. I want it to be special.”

  Maggie nodded. “We’re in. You do know Samir’s going to give you so much shit for this, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. He’s one to talk. He’s so whipped it isn’t even funny.”

  She laughed. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said that.” The smile changed, her eyes suddenly serious. “He’s happy for you, you know. We all are. I think he was originally worried about Max. He didn’t get it, but you’re so much happier lately. It’s good to see you smile. Good to know that he makes you smile. That’s all we ever wanted for you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Then listen to me. You had a front-row seat to my relationship with Samir. You saw how much time we wasted playing games, afraid to tell each other how we really felt. You have the biggest balls of anyone I’ve ever met. Don’t chicken out with Max. He’s not with you because you’re hot, or because he gives a shit about how much money you have, or what VIP list you’re on.”

  All of them.

  “He cares about you because he’s a genuinely good guy. He’s kind of shy.”

  I had to laugh at that one. “Trust me, Max definitely isn’t shy.”

  Maggie shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “You don’t get it, do you? Max is quiet. Max is shy. He’s spent three years blending into the background. Max isn’t shy around you. He trusts you in a way I’ve only ever seen him trust George. He lets you in, and he doesn’t let a lot of people in. Don’t fuck that up, Fleur. You need to trust him.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do. You get it. You know how I know you get it? Because you’re the same way. Maybe you don’t hide in the background, maybe you’re hiding on that fucking pedestal you and everyone else put yourself on, but you’re hiding just the same. You’re brave when it doesn’t matter. You don’t let anyone put you in your place. But you’re scared in a way that makes it impossible to let anyone in. If you don’t get over that, you’ll lose Max the way I almost lost Samir. And trust me . . . nothing hurt as much as it did the morning Samir walked out of here and left me behind.”

  She was right. I couldn’t imagine losing Max.

  ###

  Max

  I walked into Fleur’s family’s apartment in Paris and froze in shock.

  Arms wrapped around my neck.

  “Surprise,” she whispered.

  Maggie, Samir, Mya, Michael, George, and Amy—George’s new girlfriend—sat at an enormous table beneath a huge, glittering chandelier. The table was covered in expensive-looking dishes and glasses, and candles flickered against the setting Paris sun as it shone through the big windows lining the room’s back wall. I blinked. A giant turkey sat in the middle of the table. Next to a bowl of mashed potatoes. And a bowl of cranberries. And . . . was that a green bean casserole?

  I turned away from the food and stared down at Fleur. She beamed back at me.

  “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  I blinked again, momentarily stunned and unable to process what was going on.

  “You . . . you gave me Thanksgiving.”

  She nodded. “You said you were homesick. Maggie helped with the menu. I wanted it to be a surprise. Henri, our chef, helped me cook.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m not sure about the sweet potatoes, to be honest. I made them, and they seemed a little lumpy, but Maggie said that—”

  I wrapped my arms around her, not caring about the fact that six pairs of eyes were staring at us. My mouth found hers, her lips immediately opening beneath mine, and then I was inside, desperate for more, needing it all. I kissed her with the smell of Thanksgiving around us, with the sound of laughter, and eventually clapping, and whistles, and catcalls in our ears. Fleur pulled back first, her lips swollen, her eyes sparkling.

  “Do you like your surprise?”

  I shook my head, my voice hoarse. “Love. Love my surprise, babe.”

  Her eyes shone, and even though I hadn’t imagined it could be possible, I fell more in love with her right then and there.

  “Are we going to eat or what?” Michael called out.

  Fleur answered back in French, something that had Samir and Mya laughing and me hardening against her.

  An answering smile spread across her lips that she only directed at me. Her voice lowered slightly. “So the French thing works for you?”

  I groaned, shifting so I blocked us from the rest of the group. I needed the moment to get my body under control. It was a little embarrassing to have a visible boner in front of your girlfriend’s cousin and friends. Although, in all fairness, given the intense kiss I’d interrupted between Maggie and Samir last year when we’d gone bowling, I figured he’d understand.

  “You have no idea how much the French thing works for me.”

  Fleur’s gaze turned sly as she shifted her body against mine. “I think I have some idea.”

  “You’re killing me. You know that, right?”

  She laughed. “I have to keep you on your toes.”

  “Done.”

  ###

  It was, hands down, the best Thanksgiving of my life.

  Fleur had been right about the sweet potatoes, but the rest was perfection. The girl at my side was even bette
r.

  I hadn’t spent a lot of time around Fleur’s friends, but it was surprisingly easy to slip into the rhythm of their interactions. They were a funny group, and as much as I had been prepared not to like him, I even found myself enjoying Samir’s company. He wasn’t the guy I’d seen hanging around with Costa freshman year, looking down on the rest of the student body like we weren’t good enough to breathe the same air. I wasn’t sure if it was Maggie or what, but the guy who sat across from me at the table wasn’t a dick. Maybe not a ringing endorsement, but I didn’t think we’d ever be best friends. He was still a bit much, but he wasn’t the asshole I’d imagined he was.

  And I couldn’t believe Fleur had invited George and Amy. The fact that she cared enough to have my best friend and his girlfriend here despite the awkwardness that could have come up made me love her even more.

  And surprisingly, there wasn’t anything awkward about it.

  George looked like he was genuinely having a good time, and Fleur definitely made an effort to make sure he was enjoying himself.

  We’d been together for two months now, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt as much like I was hers, like we were a couple, than I did at that moment.

  I was building a future with Fleur.

  After dinner, the group broke up a bit. George and Amy weren’t staying the night; they were heading back to London. Mya and Michael decided to go see a French movie I’d never heard of about some fashion designer I’d never heard of, either. Maggie and Samir went out for drinks with a friend of Samir’s.

  “Alone at last,” I teased, sinking down next to Fleur on the couch in her parents’ living room—probably a fancier thing than a living room considering how much crystal and gold was everywhere. I tried to ignore the paintings that looked like they should be in museums. I’d gotten to the point where I’d pretty much accepted that insane wealth was just a part of her. I could have been dazzled by it, intimidated by it, could have used it as an excuse, or proof of yet another reason she was probably out of my reach.

  I didn’t.

  I’d wanted her for forever. Now I had her. Nothing else mattered.

  Fleur snuggled into the curve of my arm. Luckiest guy in the world.

  Her gaze tipped up to meet mine. “Good day?”

  “Best day ever,” I answered with a smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Fleur

  I wasn’t sure if it was all the food I’d eaten, or the turkey, or the way he looked at me with those languid, naughty eyes, but an almost sleepy, postorgasmic haze filled me.

  I’d never been more aware of anyone than I was of Max sitting next to me, his large body dominating the small couch. He was close enough that I could just barely smell his cologne—an earthy scent that was so male, so him.

  I leaned forward a bit and sniffed, inhaling his scent like a drug. I vaguely remembered reading something about pheromones and attraction in last month’s Cosmo. Whatever it was, my pheromones wanted to jump his pheromones, like, yesterday.

  Max’s head whipped to the side, nearly colliding with my face. His lips quirked.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded, as though I hadn’t just been trying to smell him. I was officially losing my mind.

  “Did you just sniff me?”

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  “You sure about that? Because it sort of seemed like you were trying to smell me.”

  “I was not trying to smell you.”

  He grinned, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me tighter. “It’s okay if you were, babe. A little weird, but mostly cute.”

  I elbowed him in the side.

  He laughed, holding me even closer. God, he did smell amazing. Fuck it.

  “Okay, fine. What kind of cologne do you wear?”

  “I don’t. It’s Old Spice.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  He smiled again, and I got the sense that he wasn’t laughing at me as much as he actually thought I was cute. “I’m not surprised. They don’t sell it at Harrods,” he joked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you always going to give me shit for being high maintenance?”

  His dimple popped out. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I like that you’re high maintenance.” His tone was wry. “And as much as I definitely shouldn’t admit this, part of me kind of gets off when you’re high maintenance.” He leaned in, and his lips caressed my ear. “It’s a little sexy, in a fiery, passionate, tiger-in-bed sort of way,” he teased.

  I blinked. “Are you crazy?”

  “You in a temper is hot, babe.”

  My eyes narrowed playfully. “You didn’t seem to think it was hot before.”

  “You weren’t mine before.”

  I stilled—at least on the outside. On the inside, a flutter started in my belly and spread through my body, a million flutters beating as one.

  “Babe . . .”

  His hands drifted to my waist, resting on my hips, holding me in place, anchoring my body with his.

  I wanted him. But I wasn’t ready.

  I didn’t want him to think I was leading him on or that I was trying to be confusing. I just wasn’t at a point where I trusted myself. Not entirely. I was nervous and scared. Scared that all I was to a guy was sex. In the rational part of my head, I knew that wasn’t true. I knew Max wasn’t Costa and that he looked at me in a way Costa never had. But I’d been burned enough to question my own instincts.

  “I need more time.”

  Max was quiet, and I waited for the argument, waited for him to try to convince me that I was wrong. Instead, he nodded.

  “Okay.”

  I waited.

  “Okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Relief flooded me.

  “Are you really this good of a guy?”

  He laughed at the disbelief in my voice. “I don’t know, Fleur. I’m a guy. I’m hard as a fucking rock sitting next to you right now. I spent half of dinner thinking about how I wanted you for dessert.”

  I died.

  “I spent the other half thinking about how amazing you are. What you did tonight? Not just the dinner and the surprise of it, but inviting George and Amy, making my best friend feel welcome despite the weirdness between you guys? That means so much more to me than whatever my body wants. I’ll do anything to make this work. So if that means we keep taking things slow, then okay.” He grinned. “And to be honest, it’s not that altruistic, because your slow is better than every other girl’s supersonic.”

  The last word was swallowed between our mouths as I closed the distance between us, kissing him until we were both breathless with it.

  “Do you want to do something totally cheesy and touristy?” I asked when the kiss ended.

  “If it means I get to spend the evening with you, yes.”

  I stood up, holding my hand out. “Come on.”

  ###

  Max

  Fleur took me to the river, our hands linked.

  “What’s the plan?”

  She pointed toward a dock and a large boat. “We’re going for a ride on a Bateaux Mouche.”

  “What?”

  She repeated the words a little more slowly this time.

  “We’re going on a boat cruise of Paris.” She flushed a bit, and I was momentarily surprised at the fact that she seemed embarrassed. “It’s really touristy. They play ‘La Vie en Rose’ like twenty times, and it’s always packed, but it’s a cool view of the city.”

  I blinked. “You’ve been on it before?”

  Somehow this didn’t jive with my view of the perpetually cool Fleur.

  She turned a pretty shade of pink. “Yeah.”

  I waited for the rest of it. Waited for her to give me more of herself.

  “Sometimes I need to think. It’s the kind of place where you can disappear in the crowd. No one looks at you or cares. It’s best at night. The city is beautiful, and there’s something about being on the water, the wind in your hair. You
can forget yourself for a while.” She turned an even deeper shade of pink. “And it’s totally a clichéd song, but I kind of like ‘La Vie en Rose.’”

  “Why?”

  “The words.” She fumbled for a bit, and I let her, because in a few minutes she’d painted another picture of herself, so different from the one I’d had. “It’s romantic.” She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

  “Stop. It’s not stupid.”

  Her gaze lifted, met mine and held, and something vibrated between us. Her eyes gave me all the answers I needed.

  She wanted—no, needed—romance.

  It was surprising, and at the same time, I felt like a complete idiot for not realizing it sooner. The thing about Fleur was that her persona was predicated on the idea that she didn’t care what anyone thought. It made her seem like she had a hard shell. But I realized now how wrong I’d been.

  There was a softness to her—one you had to crack through layers to get to. It was so deeply protected that it was easy to miss it. But wasn’t that the point?

  For all that she acted like things didn’t matter, like she was all flash and no substance, she kept the most important parts of herself hidden away. She made you work for it in a way that had nothing to do with expensive presents or fancy dates.

  Of course she wanted romance, because what was romance, really, if not showing someone else that you cared?

  She needed to know someone cared about her, and given the way Costa had treated her, and the relationship she’d described with her parents, I doubted she’d ever had that.

  I wanted to give it to her more than anything.

  ###

  Fleur

  Somewhere between the Place de la Concorde and the Eiffel Tower, I knew I’d go to bed with Max tonight.

  He held me the entire boat cruise. They played “La Vie en Rose” so many times the words ran through my head on a never-ending loop, and still, each time I heard the music and Max squeezed me tighter, I felt like a champagne bottle had exploded inside me.

  When he kissed me, I saw fireworks.