WE’RE SITTING at a small metal table in front of an equally small café, not far from the opera house, each of us eating a crepe filled with Nutella and strawberries. Carolina tried to deny she wanted one, and even suggested sharing one, but I told her no way. I wanted my own, and after she just came so hard, I knew she’d polish one off too.
“This is the most touristy thing I think I’ve ever done,” she mutters as she takes a dainty bite of her crepe. “Buying crepes off the street.”
“Pretty fucking good, am I right?” I might be as snobbish as she is, but I’m famished. And I didn’t even come like she did.
Reaching between my legs, I readjust the front of my shorts, grateful my erection finally died down, though I still have a solid case of blue balls going on. They ache with the need to find release, but no way am I going to get serviced tonight by the richest girl in all of France.
That’s okay though. Even though I was petrified I’d drop her, I’m pretty sure half the reason she got off is because she was hanging over the edge of the balcony. This girl likes danger.
She also seems to get off on pain.
Interesting.
“It’s delicious,” she finally admits, taking a bigger bite and getting a dollop of Nutella on her lip. She doesn’t lick it off so I do the noble thing.
“You’ve got something.” I point at her mouth. “On your lip.”
“Oh.” She touches the corner of her lips and I shake my head, leaning in close. “Where is it?”
“Here.” I brush my thumb against her lower lip and show her the remnants of hazelnut spread there, and she darts out her tongue, licking it clean.
Fuck. This girl is going to kill me, I swear to God.
We’ve kept up a steady stream of conversation since we sat at this table. She tells me about her upcoming performance. I tell her about my trip and where we plan on going next. I’m with my friends, but I failed to mention our parents are with us too. I also lied to her.
I haven’t graduated high school. Not yet. I’m starting my senior year in August, just like she is.
Too bad she’s not going to Lancaster Prep. We could probably have fun together. Or she’d reject me outright and we’d be in a power struggle the entire school year, trying to prove who’s the true leader of the senior class.
She could win just because of her name, which isn’t a real win at all if you ask me. At least I’ve earned my position.
“You’re salty,” she says after she’s licked my thumb.
“Only because you are,” I point out, considering it’s the same thumb that was just pressed against her swollen clit only a few minutes ago.
Carolina flushes about a hundred shades of pink, her eyes downcast as if she’s embarrassed. “I forgot that you …”
“Made you come with that hand?” I take a big bite out of my crepe, enjoying her discomfort like a sadistic motherfucker.
“Yes,” she whispers, her knees knocking against mine beneath the tiny table while she glances around. “You don’t have to say it so loud.”
“No one is listening to us,” I reassure her. “You can spill all of your secrets to me.”
Her expression shifts into closed off, just like that. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“I’ve noticed when someone denies that they have secrets, it usually means they have some big ones.” Her gaze is full of guilt, I swear. “How about I share a secret with you first and then you can share one with me?”
“Okay.” She stretches the word out, sounding unsure.
My brain scrambles as I try to come up with something when it hits me.
“I don’t want to take over my family’s business,” I admit, fighting the shame that always comes when I think about it. “I’m an only child and my father fully expects me to run it someday, but that’s the last thing I want to do.”
“What do you want to do?” Carolina asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Anything but that.”
I don’t mention what the business is. No need to draw attention to who I am. I like being somewhat anonymous tonight.
“Your turn,” I encourage when she still hasn’t said anything.
“I’m not normal. I never have been. I don’t fit in with anyone,” she admits. “I’ve always felt awkward and … unwanted around other people. Even my family. I don’t really have any friends. Not any real ones at least.”
“Why?”
“I’ve always pushed everyone away from me. I don’t want anyone to get too close. It makes me uncomfortable. People make me feel uncomfortable. Their emotions are just too much. They’re messy and ugly and I don’t understand them.”
“You let me get close,” I point out. “And you definitely felt some strong emotions about me throughout the night.” When she frowns, I give her a list. “You hated me. Pretty sure I disgusted you. And then I started to intrigue you. Until I finally—”
She interrupts me. “You’re an exception.”
“Why is that?” I feel the same way. She’s an exception to everyone else. I don’t quite understand why I’m drawn to her, but it’s there. The attraction. The chemistry.
Looks like she feels it too and is just as confused.
“I’m not sure why.” She drops her gaze, like it’s too much, looking at me. “Maybe because I know I’ll never see you again, so I can be whoever I want when I’m with you.”
“And who are you when you’re with me?”
Her head lifts, those brilliant blue eyes locking with mine. “I’m not so rigid. Not so—contained. Being with you makes me feel … free. Safe.”
The last word is a whisper, as if it were hard for her to confess, and I wonder how chaotic her life has been that no one has ever made her feel safe.
Until me.
“And I never feel that way with anyone,” she continues. “Except for you.”
We’re quiet for a moment, as if we need the words and their meaning to sink in and really take hold.
“I like that,” I admit, my voice low. “I’m glad I can make you feel something.”
She squirms in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. “It’s really late, huh.”
I check my phone to see it’s already close to midnight. “When do you need to get back?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, but I can tell by the way her eyes skitter to the side that she has some sort of curfew. “Soon.”
“You have an early practice tomorrow?”
“I do. Always.” She nods, finishing off her crepe with one last big bite, horror dawning in her eyes after she swallows. “I can’t believe I ate all of that. So much sugar and carbs.”
“I don’t think it’ll matter much.” My gaze wanders over her lithe body. She’s so thin and lean, her muscles as hard as mine. She’s strong, the way she gripped me out on the balcony, not giving an inch.
“I’ll probably throw it all up later anyway.” Her gaze flies to mine, panic in her eyes. “I don’t have an eating disorder, but I do keep my diet clean, so when I eat garbage, it tends to make me … sick.”
I stare at her, wanting to believe she doesn’t have an eating disorder. I have no idea what goes on at a dance academy or whatever the fuck it’s called, but I can’t imagine it’s an easygoing atmosphere. I assume it’s cutthroat and tough as hell, the days filled with constant dance classes and practices, everyone striving to be the same thing.
On top. Number one.
I can relate. I get off on that. My father has always pushed me to be the best. Considering I’m his oldest son, he has expectations that I’m determined to meet.
Always.
“It can’t be easy,” I finally say.
“Lots of rigorous training, especially lately. We didn’t have a lot of time to learn the dance we’re performing this weekend,” she admits. “It’s a lot in a short amount of time.”
“Too bad I can’t see it.”
“I’m glad you can’t watch it.” Her laughter is genuine when she sees my shocked expression. “Sometimes I don’t like performing for people I know.”
“But you don’t know me. Remember?”
We stare at each other for a beat and then she’s leaping to her feet, pushing her chair close to the table, the metal scraping on the sidewalk. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her go to the man taking the crepe orders, and she turns on the charm. Speaking in that rapid-fire French that I can’t deny is pretty fucking sexy, batting her eyelashes at the guy who’s probably in his late forties or even fifties, judging from the silver strands strewn through his otherwise dark hair. She smooths her hair away from her face, those stray pieces that fell out earlier, thrusting her chest out, showing off those tiny nipples I wish I would’ve sucked.
My thoughts aren’t helping my blue-balls situation whatsoever.
Moments later and she’s gliding back toward the table, a lit cigarette clutched between her fingers. She settles into the chair across from mine, a pleased look on her face.
“Bummed a smoke and a light off that guy?” I raise my brows, waiting for her to deny it. I heard enough snippets of her conversation with him to know that’s exactly what she did.
She nods, sucking on the end of the cigarette before she blows the smoke to the side, and I appreciate her consideration compared to earlier, when she blew it straight into my face.
“Something else too.” She produces a pen seemingly out of thin air, setting it on the table. It starts to roll, headed straight to the edge, and I grab it before it can fall onto the sidewalk. “I need your phone number.”
I frown at her, thinking about what she said earlier, about it only being one night. How we’ll never run into each other again, and we don’t know each other. “You think that’s such a good idea?”
Those big blue eyes seem to eat me up the longer she watches me. She finally shakes her head, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re right.”
“Keeps it simple, you know?” I raise my brows. “We don’t need any complications between us.”
I get the sense her life is complicated enough.
She nods, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. “I suppose. Though I wouldn’t mind leaving something behind so you’ll remember me.”
“Trust me, Carolina.” Reaching out, I tap the end of the pen against her hand. “I will never forget you. Or this night.”
Her face flushes a deeper red and she ducks her head, a tiny smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Give me your hand.”
I do as she commands and she turns it so it’s palm up, snatching the pen from me before she begins to draw on the inside of my wrist. The pen tickles my skin, making me twitch and she sends me a stern look.
“Don’t move.”
I keep as still as possible, watching as she scribbles on my skin. The ink is black, and at first, I can’t tell what she’s drawing, but eventually, it transforms into a ballet skirt.
“I have to get this just right,” she murmurs. “The skirt is made of layers and layers of tulle that stick straight out.”
Wait a second … “Are you drawing a ballet dancer on my arm?”
“I’m drawing my costume that I’m wearing for the performance on your arm. Or at least I’m trying. This is the bodice.” She taps my skin with the pen, then adds tiny dots all over the bodice, like they’re sparkles. When she’s done, she leans away, contemplating her work.
“Not too bad.” She tilts her head to the side, crinkling her nose. “It’s much prettier in person.”
My gaze lingers on the drawing. It’s small, right in the dead center of the inside of my wrist, and I turn my arm this way and that, admiring the drawing. “I like it.”
“I’m not really an artist.”
Actually, she is.
“I can imagine you in this outfit.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, and swear to God, they’re glowing. “Really?”
“I can imagine you wearing lots of things,” I admit. “Or nothing at all.”
Her eyes close and she angles her head toward the sky, taking a deep breath, her eyes popping open. “You must know I don’t normally act like that.”
“I don’t either.”
Her head drops, her gaze steady. “So you don’t normally finger girls in the Palais Garnier?”
I slowly shake my head. “Never.”
A laugh escapes her and she covers it up with her fingers, staring at me as if I’m the best thing she’s ever seen. I can’t help but sit up straighter, my expression turning serious.
“I’m never going to forget you.”
“I won’t forget you either,” I tell her, meaning every damn word I say.
Later, after we’ve finished our crepes and the traffic starts to lighten, we head back to the small hotel she’s staying at with the rest of her dance company.
“I’m sure your friend is worried about you,” I say, my hands in my pockets, so I don’t reach out and grab her.
I can feel the invisible wall she’s erected between us. It was there the moment we started walking. She’s withdrawing now that the evening is coming to a close, reverting back to the quiet, snotty girl she was when I first approached her.
“Gideon? Probably. I don’t have my phone with me so …” She shrugs.
That’s fucking crazy. What person our age doesn’t take their phone with them? And what if I was some sort of creeper who tried to hurt her? Rape her?
Fuck, did she think I pushed myself on her at the opera house? It all happened so fast, and I didn’t think of asking for her consent because …
Yeah. Because I’m a dick who just does what he wants, damn the consequences, though I was getting the same vibe from her too.
“Where’s your phone?”
“In my hotel room.”
“That’s really dangerous, you know. Going out in a city you’re not from without your phone while hanging out with a guy you don’t know.”
“Okay, Dad.” She sends me a look. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”
I clamp my lips shut.
Never in my life have I met a girl like this. One who’s so reckless and rude and charming and sexy. She’s unlike any person I’ve ever known and I already feel so close to her.
Yet I don’t know much about her either. Why is she so reckless? Why doesn’t she ever go back to the States and spend time with her family? She’s fiercely independent and physically strong, yet seemed responsive to my demands.
Oh, and the pain part. She definitely got off on it.
She’s a mystery wrapped in a riddle, and I don’t fucking get her.
But I want to.
Maybe I’m making it too complex. She admitted she never feels like she fits in, so that’s most likely why she acted so reckless and wild tonight. Maybe that’s why she stays away from her family too. She’d rather be at peace alone than put herself into a horrible situation with people she doesn’t like or understand.
What’s that like, living your life feeling as if you don’t belong?
I can’t imagine.
We walk in silence until she eventually turns on me, stepping directly in my path and stopping me in my tracks. “I can make the rest of the walk to the hotel on my own.”
“You sure?”
“It’s just right there.” She points to a tall building a couple of blocks away.
“I’ll watch you until you walk into the building.” Nothing is going to happen to her on my watch.
She nods, rising up on her tiptoes and brushing my mouth with hers in a far too brief kiss. “Thank you for a memorable night.”
Before she can pull away, I place my hands on her hips, gently pulling her to me, kissing her again. A little deeper this time, sweeping my tongue in her mouth before I slowly pull away. Her hands somehow find the front of my shirt, her fingers clutching the fabric. “Don’t forget me.”
Her eyes slowly open, the look on her face dreamy. “There’s no way that I could.”
I kiss her cheek, breathing in her cool ocean scent one last time. “I won’t forget you either.”
Carolina pulls away from me, regret etched all over her face as she slowly shakes her head. “I don’t like goodbyes. Just—you should walk away, okay? And I’ll walk away too.”
I stare at her, wanting to say more, tempted to ask for her number so we can keep in touch, despite my telling her earlier we shouldn’t. If I wanted, I could reach out to her. I know exactly who she is, can find her on any social media site, slide into her DMs and say, “hey, remember me?”
But I won’t. Maybe it’s better this way. Leaving her on an empty sidewalk in the middle of Paris with no false promises made.
“Okay,” I finally say to her, my hands falling away from her hips.
Hers let go of my shirt.
Her eyes are shiny, as if she might cry, and before I can let that get to me, she turns away and starts walking, her steps brisk as she moves further and further away from me. I keep watch just as I promised, my gaze fixed on her blonde head, the swing of her ponytail, her posture ramrod straight. Those long, long legs eating up the sidewalk.
I quickly glance down at the ballet costume she drew on my left arm, brushing my thumb across it. When I return my attention to her, she’s even further. Like a tiny blonde speck in the distance.
Look at me, I think. Just one last time, Carolina. Do it.
As if she could hear my mental command, her steps slow and she turns her head, those big blue eyes finding me despite the distance between us. Triumph surges through me and I stare at her, just as she stares at me. She turns around fully to face me, the two of us just standing there. Close, yet so far away.
She raises her hand, wiggles her fingers in a semblance of a wave and then she turns away.
And bolts.
