by Meg Ripley
All at once, Nora cries out and her body flexes around me as if it can’t stand for me to leave it. I drive into her hard and fast, thrusting deep inside her body as she screams my name and starts to come for me. I hold onto her hips, kissing her hungrily, and hit my peak right along with her. We both keep moving together until we can’t anymore, and then I carefully wrap my arms around her and hold her body pressed against mine.
She lets out a small laugh, smiling as she wipes the beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re not this intimate with other women you give tattoos to, are you?”
I laugh at Nora’s question. “No, definitely not.”
I kiss her lazily and hold her for a little while longer. I know I should leave soon to make it in time for practice, but the more time we spend like this together, the harder it’s getting to leave her side.
Chapter TWELVE
Nora
“I can’t believe I’ve been in Rouen for two months already,” I say, shaking my head as it dawns on me.
Jess, one of my expat friends, laughs. “Have you reached the point yet where you’re not sure if you’re speaking French or English?”
I nod in response to her question; it’s actually more involved than that. When I’m talking to someone, even one of my English-speaking friends in Rouen, the English and French words jumble up in my head. Sometimes, in the middle of an English sentence, the next word I think of is in French; I’ll even catch myself slipping English into my French sentences, too.
“Yeah, definitely. I’m also noticing that my vocabulary’s getting better as time goes on,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up with a blush. A lot of my vocabulary comes from regular meetings with Jacques, who’s taught me a slew of words related to sex, in particular.
“Vocabulary is good,” Jess says with a little grin. “Is that hot tattoo artist helping you learn?”
Jess has met Jacques a few times, when she’s come to get me to go out for drinks or coffee, or when we’ve run into her while having dinner out. She’s always been of the opinion that Jacques will convince me to stay longer than the one year I’ve settled on.
“He’s very helpful,” I say, smiling coyly.
“Oh, the men of Rouen are very, very helpful when you ask them for things the right way,” Jess agrees. “What’s the situation between the two of you?”
“We’ve been hanging out a lot,” I say. “We have sex a few times a week, sometimes we’ll go grab a coffee or a beer or a glass of wine. Every so often, he’ll go with me to get groceries.”
“So, he’s your boyfriend,” Jess says.
I grimace.
“We haven’t really nailed down any kind of label like that,” I admit. “I mean, we don’t actually talk about it.”
“After what, two months? Don’t you think you should?”
I look down into my still half-full coffee and press my lips together. I haven’t told Jess about what drove me to France: finding out that my boyfriend of years had been cheating on me for most of the time we’d been together. I knew the quickest way for me to get over the past would be for me to not rehash the whole ordeal. The less I mentioned Ethan’s name or dwelled on the fucked-up things he did to me, the better. I’d told her about the pact I’d made with myself, but not the reason for it.
And as for Jacques, it doesn’t seem like he’s in any real hurry to define what’s going on between us, anyway.
“I mean, if we’re both happy with it, why ruin a good thing?” I sip my coffee and try to act as relaxed and nonchalant as possible.
“Are you actually happy with the way things are, though?”
“Yeah, I am,” I say. “I get sex, someone to hang out with when I’m bored and none of the commitment bullshit.” I set my coffee cup down. “If I want to hook up with someone else, I can.”
“Yeah, but do you?” Jess raises an eyebrow. “I mean, if you’re interested in hooking up with as many guys as you can, that’s one thing, but I haven’t heard you mentioning other guys you’re bringing home or going out with.”
“Jacques fulfills my needs for the time being,” I say. “Besides, who needs a label?”
“That annoying guy at the bar who always hits on you would probably leave you alone if you told him you have a boyfriend,” Jess points out.
“I could just say that, anyway,” I counter.
“Yeah, but it would come across a lot more powerfully if big, tough Jacques was standing there next to you,” Jess insists.
“Whatever. The conversation will happen when it’s the right time,” I say. “Besides, I don’t hear you telling me that you and Charles have made it official.”
“That’s because Charles and I are both still screwing around with other people,” Jess says.
“Well, I think things are fine between me and Jacques,” I say firmly. “Oh, my friend Claire is going to be visiting me when she gets a break between semesters; did I tell you that?”
I’m more than happy to change the subject, since I don’t want to think too much about the situation between me and Jacques and whether or not it’s serious. It’s not that easy, of course; even though Jess and I talk about people coming to visit us for another thirty minutes, my mind is full of the issue of whether Jacques and I are indeed a couple or not.
By the time Jess and I say our goodbyes and I start walking back in the direction of my apartment, I can’t stand it anymore; I need to talk to Jacques, which is why I find myself stepping around the corner instead of going straight, cutting through the alley to go to his place. I tell myself that he’s probably either working or rehearsing for the band’s next show in a few days, that he won’t be home, but my heart is beating a thousand times a minute by the time I press the button to ring his buzzer upstairs.
If he’s not home, then just...go get groceries or something, and wait for him to be available, I tell myself. But a second later, Jacques’ voice comes over the intercom.
“Oui?”
“C’est moi,” I say it’s me, and my heart pounds even harder in my chest.
Jacques buzzes me in and I open the door to his building. I find myself questioning whether or not this is a good idea, all the while having no clue exactly how I’m going to broach the subject. But if I run away now, I’m just going to spend the rest of the day torturing myself with the questions on my mind, and on top of that, Jacques would know that I ran away and want to know what the hell was going on. I might as well get it over with.
I ride the elevator up to Jacques’ floor and take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Worst case scenario, if he’s not interested in being your boyfriend, you haven’t invested much in this, I think as the elevator stops and unlocks to let me out. It’s one of the really old ones, with two doors, small enough that Jacques and I can barely both fit in it at the same time. I step out of the elevator and start down the hall towards Jacques’ door, and I once again consider the possibility of just running away. But doing that won’t solve any of my problems.
I take a deep breath and exhale sharply, and then knock on Jacques’ door. Almost as soon as the door is open, Jacques has me wrapped in his giant, firm arms, and for a few moments, I forget all about why I came here in the first place. I feel his hands slip under my blouse, moving to cup my breasts and I force myself to pull back before he can seduce me into forgetting everything but what pleasure he can give me.
“Nous devons nous parler,” I say quickly. We need to talk. Jacques looks at me in startled confusion, blinking. I’m not sure if it implies the same thing in French as it does in English, but it’s interrupted the flood of heat flowing between us.
“You need to speak about something?” After two months in Rouen, my mind has started translating on its own now—so automatically, that I don’t even think about it most of the time, unless I run into a word I don’t already know.
“Yes,” I reply. I take a quick, deep breath, and it occurs to me that I don’t really know how to have this conversation in French�
�at least, not the way I would have it in English.
“What are we?”
Jacques’ look of confusion deepens.
“What are we?”
He shakes his head, underscoring his confusion.
“What I’m trying to ask is are we still just friends with benefits, or is there more to this?”
I swallow against the tight feeling in my throat. Why should I feel so nervous? If Jacques doesn’t want more, then I’m still doing fine, aren’t I? I wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about getting into an actual relationship for months.
“Oh!” Jacques’ eyes widen first in understanding, and then, in surprise. “Are you asking if I want to take things to the next level?”
I was hoping he would at least give me a straight answer, and after the situation with Ethan, I can’t help but suspect that a question like this means that Jacques doesn’t want anything more; he’s just avoiding saying it outright.
“I don’t know,” I say, putting the ball back in his metaphorical court. “I just was thinking…we’ve been having sex so much and seeing each other most days of the week...do you think that there is more here?”
“Of course, I do.”
“I feel the same way,” I tell him. I take a quick, deep breath. I try not to feel nervous, but that only makes me feel worse.
“Do you feel like you’re ready to be my girlfriend?”
I’m about to tell him to forget about it; that obviously, things aren’t going to work between us, but before I can, he speaks again.
“I only ask because, when we first met, you told me you’d made a pact with yourself, saying you weren’t going to date anyone for six months. Right?”
The fact that Jacques remembers this—two months later, no less—is a really good sign.
“I did say that,” I admit. “I certainly wasn’t planning on getting serious with anyone anytime soon, but I...I think that I already feel like we’re committed, in a way; we just aren’t saying anything about it.”
Jacques considers that for a moment and then chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Do you remember? I don’t think you will, but when you got your tattoo, Julienne mentioned me paying her.”
“Yeah, I remember that.”
“I told you that it was about a bet,” Jacques says.
“Okay,” I say, nodding again, gesturing for him to get to the point.
“The bet was that I would end up dating you,” Jacques tells me. He grins. “It’s a good thing I’ve been putting aside a little bit of money every week in case I need to pay her off.”
“Have you been avoiding asking me to be your girlfriend because you’re going to have to pay up to Julienne?”
Jacques shakes his head and laughs. “Not a chance. I just didn’t think that you were ready,” he says. “But I was hoping.”
“For how long?”
Just then, Jacques cupped my face in his enormous, powerful hands and locked his eyes with mine. “Nora, I knew I had to have you all to myself since that first morning we were together. I would’ve asked you to be my girl sooner, but I knew you wanted your space. Trust me, I can respect that. The last thing I’d want to do is push you into something you weren’t ready for. I want you, Nora, and I’m willing to wait for you, no matter how long it takes for you to come around,” Jacques says.
I shake my head, astonished at the turn of events.
“So, will you be my girlfriend?”
“Yes,” I say, finally, as a smile begins to spread across my face. “I’d love to, Jacques.”
Chapter ThIRTEEN
Jacques
I take the money out of my wallet and hand it to Julienne.
“It’s about time,” she says, taking it with a grin as she begins to count the stack of euros in her hand.
I shrug off her self-satisfied pleasure and put my wallet back in my pocket. “Well, Boss, as usual, you were right. We just became official the other day,” I tell her.
“Everyone knew it before you did,” Julienne says. She puts the money in her wallet before stowing it in her purse. “I almost feel guilty taking your money. How would you like the chance to win your money back?”
“Oh Julienne, you always find a way to bust my balls. What do you propose this time?” I’m intrigued, but I know that look in Julienne’s eyes. She’s going to make a bet that will just make me irritably aware of my feelings.
“Let’s have some fun and really up the ante. I bet you a thousand euros that you two love birds will be engaged to by the time her visa expires,” Julienne replies, holding my gaze confidently.
“Enh. You could easily do something to sway the outcome in your favor,” I counter. “Like sabotage her birth control or something.”
“C’mon, Jacques! Give me some credit. After all these years working together, you should know better than that. I would never stoop that low just to win a thousand euros from you.”
I smile. “Either that or you’d put it in her head to propose to me so that she can stay here longer,” I counter.
“You’d still be the one who has to say yes, and deep down, you know as well as I do that you would jump at the chance,” Julienne insists. “You’re more than halfway there already and it’s only been two months.”
“We only just now made it official,” I say. “I’m not ready to be engaged to anyone just yet.”
“You say that now,” Julienne says. “But in another six months, I promise, you’ll change your tune.”
“Six months isn’t going to change that,” I insist.
Julienne raises an eyebrow. “Fine, tough guy. If you’re so confident, then be a man and let’s make a wager,” she says.
I hold her gaze for a few long moments, deliberating this. I have to assume I know myself better than Julienne does, and that I know Nora well enough to know she probably won’t want to get engaged just yet—not even in the next eight months, which is when her visa will have to be renewed. But I had been just as certain that nothing would happen between Nora and I in the first place. Come on, Jacques. You know better. You haven’t been engaged to anyone in your life. Hell, you’ve never even come close.
“You have a deal, but I want to wager something other than money, and more importantly I’ll be damned if I cheapen what I have with Nora,” I suggest. “A thousand euros is a hell of a lot for both of us anyway.”
“Only for the loser,” Julienne counters.
“Look, I don’t want to take a thousand from you,” I say flatly. “So, let’s wager something else.”
“What do you have in mind?” Julienne crosses her arms over her chest.
“A tattoo,” I suggest. “Still high stakes, but no actual money.”
Julienne considers this for a moment.
“How about one of Nora’s designs,” she suggests. “That would be apt, wouldn’t it? Let’s face it, that’s a win-win for both of us. Her designs are gorgeous.”
“Yup. You read my mind, Boss,” I agree. I extend my hand to her and we shake on it.
“And considering that if you get engaged, it would only be appropriate for you to have one of her tattoos on your body as a tribute to her. That’s pretty poetic,” Julienne adds, once we’ve sealed the deal.
“And if we don’t get engaged, having one of her designs on you will be a reminder to never to bet against me again,” I tell her.
I wonder if I should mention this wager to Nora and decide against it—at least, not right away. Of course, if I tell her that Julienne and I wagered about my chance of getting engaged to Nora, I’m pretty sure she’d break up with me on the spot, and that would result in me winning by default. But there’s no way in hell that I want her to break up with me, even if I currently have no plans to get engaged in the next eight months.
I leave the shop and get ready to get my gear together for the show the band and I are playing that night. Crazy Hélène is going to be there, and so is Nora, so I’m a bit on edge; Julienne’s prediction abo
ut Hélène switching her attention back onto me once she saw I was involved with someone has proved to be as accurate as her wager that I’d end up dating Nora in the first place. I have to hope that Hélène will get over it within the next few months and go back to fawning over Pascal before she has the chance to try and get into Nora’s head and mess up my life.
The worst possibility I can think of is that Hélène might try to actually harm Nora in some way—whether in a minor way by cutting her hair off or playing some prank on her, or a major way by trying to fight her—or that she’ll file a false report to the police that Nora stole from her, and get the woman I care about deported from the country and her visa canceled. I keep trying to tell myself that not even Hélène is that extreme, but I know better.
I talked to Yann, Sam, and Pascal about the possibility of asking that Hélène be barred from our future shows, but we don’t want to create any friction with the bars that let us play there. She hasn’t really done anything that would justify us talking to the police, but we don’t want to give her the opportunity to, either.
I start getting my gear together and decide to just deal with Hélène when I see her. Hopefully, I can just tell her to get lost and it’ll be okay.
The intercom shrieks just as I’m getting the last of my gear set up at the door to take down. I pick it up, wondering if maybe one of my band mates has come to help me get my guitars and amp into the car. “Yo!”
“It’s me,” I hear Nora’s voice say.
“Oh, hey, babe! Come on up,” I tell her, pressing the button to unlock the door. Thinking about the bet I only just made with Julienne, my heart beats faster. There’s no way that Nora will want to get engaged anytime in the year she’s staying in France, is there? It’s ridiculous. She didn’t even want to date for six months, until things had happened spontaneously between us.