French kiss (7 page)

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Your parents. They're making you keep the cell on you at all times."

Holly shook her head, annoyed at how off the mark Jess's guess was. Her parents
had
been checking in every day, but surprisingly, they'd been pretty mellow. "We're sure Coach Graham is keeping you busy," her dad had said when he'd called on Sunday night. "So we won't bug you." Clearly, Holly's parents found the idea of a school-supervised trip reassuring -- and she hoped they
would
keep to their word. She hadn't yet called to tell them about her ankle, because she knew they'd freak.

"Okay, then ... are you waiting for someone to call?" Meghan offered, pouring herself more ale.

Holly tried not to roll her eyes.
Pulling teeth.
"It's Tyler," she burst out in frustration. "On the way to the airport on Friday, we had this -- this thing happen It was pretty intense...."

"Ooh, you were making out?" Meghan teased, wiggling her eyebrows at Holly. The gesture used to crack Holly up when they were freshmen, but now, she was not in the mood.

"We were about to have sex," she replied flatly.

"Oh," Meghan said, her eyebrows going still and her cheeks coloring.

"Ew, on the way to the
airport?"
Jess asked, looking

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flat-out disgusted. "Like, in his car or something?" She shook her head, her tight bun not budging an inch. "You told us last month that you guys had this whole perfect moment planned or whatever --"

"Well, we
didn't --
you know --
finish
what we started," Holly managed to reply, her face growing warm. She hated how the subject of sex instantly made her uncomfortable. And Meghan and Jess were clearly so unable to imagine the situation Holly was describing that she wondered if it was even worth elaborating.

"It's probably for the best," Meghan said consolingly, patting Holly's shoulder. "You shouldn't let him pressure you into doing anything you don't want to --"

"Actually," Holly cut in, feeling a flash of irritation. "It was ... the other way around." She bit her lip and glanced down at her hands as she heard Meghan let out a small gasp.

"Wait....
Holly, you
initiated it?" Jess asked, sounding bewildered. "That's that's so not like you."

Maybe you don't know me that well anymore,
Holly thought, caught off guard by her own sentiment. Holly didn't doubt that her friends understood her -- but just maybe not the her that had a boyfriend.

Instead of getting into all that, Holly simply shrugged, still studying her lap. "I just... really wanted to right then," she offered, unsure how else to explain.

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"But," Meghan began, her voice low and uncertain, "aren't you ... you know ...
scared?"

Holly tilted her head to one side, considering this notion.
Scared
wasn't quite the right word. Whenever she thought about sex, Holly experienced a mixture of nervousness and excitement and curiosity that felt like a distant cousin of fear -- only somehow more pleasant.

"Of course, a little bit," Holly replied, choosing her words carefully. She traced a circle on the dewy pitcher of ale, thinking of how at ease Tyler put her. "But with Tyler, it feels -- or at least it
felt
-- right." Then she lifted her eyes to meet her friends' gazes. They were regarding her with blank expressions, as if she were a three-headed alien who had materialized at their table.

God, I wish Alexa were here.
The thought sprang into Holly's mind, surprising her. Yes, Alexa was a big part of Holly's conflicted feelings toward Tyler. But that was also why Alexa would get where Holly was coming from -- and could probably provide some helpful insight. She had
dated
Tyler, after all. If anyone had vast reserves of boy experience to draw from, it was the bold, adventurous Alexa St. Laurent. Holly knew, from the week they had spent together in South Beach, that Alexa didn't think
anything
was scary.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," Holly muttered. She accepted her cell phone from a shaky-looking Meghan

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and rolled her eyes. "Let's talk about something... else."
Like sports or school or
American Idol
or whatever it is we usually talk about,
she added silently. Holly was aware that the vibe she was giving off might be a little condescending -- a first for her -- but she couldn't help her aggravation toward her friends.

"We're just trying to help," Meghan insisted, putting one arm around Holly. "Keep going about Tyler -- we want to know."

"But she doesn't think we
can
help," Jess observed accurately, frowning at Holly across the table. "Because, you forget,
we
don't have boyfriends, Meghan. We wouldn't
understand."

"I never said that," Holly protested weakly, unable to meet Jess's laser-beam stare. "But it
is
kind of different.... You guys will see...." Holly trailed off, practically visualizing the hole she was digging for herself.

"Thanks a lot, H," Jess snapped, huffily taking a sip of ale. "Way to make us feel good about ourselves."

Holly felt her chest clench. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean it that way." The last thing Holly wanted to do was argue with her friends. But she also didn't think she could remain with them a second longer. Between Jess's glare, Meghan's arm around her shoulder, the laughing Guinness boys, the groping couples

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at the bar, and the close, sweaty quarters of the noisy pub, she felt like she was choking.

"I'm gonna get some air," Holly announced, shifting away from Meghan and swinging her legs over the side of the bench. She stood carefully, testing her ankle. It was a little tender, but not too achy. Still, she knew she'd never be able to convince her coach to let her run tomorrow.

"We have to head back to the hostel soon," Meghan pointed out, looking up at Holly.

Holly checked the time on her cell phone. Curfew was nine sharp, and it was now eight forty-five. Coach Graham was already at the hostel, no doubt waiting in the dank lobby with a checklist of names. Since the girls had to be up and at 'em at five every morning, going to bed super early made sense.

But sucked.

"Meet me outside and we'll walk back together," Holly sighed, lifting her tote. She was sick of all the boot camp rules, the way Coach Graham treated them like infants. Didn't Holly get enough of that at home? What was the point of spring break if not to have at least a
little
fun?

Holly elbowed her way through the crowd, cell phone in hand. She was so focused on making it to the door that she skidded on a puddle of beer and, losing

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her footing, tumbled forward in an oh-so-graceful repeat performance of that morning. Gasping, she threw out her hands and grabbed on to the nearest solid object the arm of the Prince William lookalike.

He turned slowly, a smile lighting up his chiseled, aristocratic face.

Holly froze, forgetting about her ankle.
Wait.
Was it... could it be? There were no bodyguards around ... no photographers ... it seemed impossible ... but that
face ...

She might have to apologize to Meghan later.

"All right, there?" the possible-prince asked in a smooth, sexy British accent.

"Urn, me? I'm, um, I'm awesome," Holly stammered. Her face flaming, she righted herself and gave him a quick thumbs-up sign. The boy nodded, flashed her another royally gorgeous grin, and turned back to his friends at the bar.

Oh my God,
Holly realized in horror, her Adidas glued to the floor.
Did I just give the thumbs-up sign to the future king of England?
It seemed that her list of embarrassing moments was growing by leaps and bounds.
I really
am
a mess,
Holly thought, making her way outside.

Rain was falling in slow, heavy drops, like tears. Shivering, Holly zipped up her hoodie and gazed down the Broadway, Wimbledon's main drag.
Ugh.

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Despite the pubs, restaurants, and quaint little "shoppes," the area still felt kind of lackluster to Holly. She'd dreamed of traveling abroad her whole life, but so far, England had let her down. She wondered if another country', another city, might suit her better.

And that was when Holly's cell phone rang.

Glancing down at the T-Mobile in her hand, her heart thrummed with hope. Could it be Tyler? Was he finally, finally calling to say that the car-tastrophe didn't matter, that he adored her, and that he couldn't wait to jump her the minute she got back? Holly squinted at the weird number flashing on the small screen: a plus sign followed by a series of digits.
Huh?
New Jersey was five hours behind England; maybe Tyler had been driving home from volunteering and, in a fit of passion, pulled over to a pay phone. Who else could it be?

"Tyler?" Holly finally answered, her teeth chattering. "Where are you calling from?"

There was a moment of buzzing silence, and then, like a dim echo from very far away, Holly heard the distinct sound of sobbing.

Her throat tightened in horror. Tyler was
crying?
Did he really feel that bad about what had happened? Or was something else wrong? "Tyler?" Holly demanded once more. "Are you okay?"

"It's it's not Tyler," a girl finally sobbed on the other end, startling Holly. The line crackled angrily.

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Holly felt shivers all down her spine. Despite the heinous reception, she recognized that voice. Of course. She'd known it since she was seven years old.

"Alexa?" Holly whispered.

"It's me," Alexa confirmed, sniffling.

Holly felt a stab of worry. Back on Thursday, she'd told Alexa to call her, but considering her friend's blasé response in the cafeteria. Holly hadn't expected to hear from her. And since Paris was one hour ahead of London, it was about ten o'clock over there. Why would Alexa be calling so late on a random Monday night -- in tears, no less?

"Alexa, what's going on?" Holly asked, almost too frightened to hear the answer. She looked over her shoulder and saw Meghan and Jess emerging from the pub.

"Hoi, I need you," Alexa sobbed. "Can you talk? I'm in really, really big trouble...."

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chapter five

Au Revoir

I can't believe I'm here,
Alexa fumed as she rose up through the star-sprinkled night sky. It was eight o'clock on Monday, and she and Diego were squeezed into a tiny, glassed-in elevator that was gliding toward the very tip-top of the Eiffel Tower.

Over the past two days, Alexa had tried to remain firm. But whether they were holding hands in the Jardin du Luxembourg or strolling across the wide Pont des Arts, Diego had sulked and sighed and whined about the Eiffel Tower until Alexa wanted to go up there just so she could push her broken-record boyfriend
off
it.

That morning, at the Louvre, she'd finally surrendered for real. Standing on her tiptoes in her Lanvin zebra-print pumps, Alexa had peered through the

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hordes at the serenely smiling Mona Lisa. Even though Alexa had seen the painting in person about fifty-seven times, she still secretly loved it. There was something so mysterious and independent about the Italian
grande dame
that it never failed to give Alexa shivers.

"Careful," Diego teased, squeezing her waist. "Someone might mistake you for a tourist."

Alexa laughed, turning to stick her tongue out at him. "Never."

"Speaking of which ..." Diego began, clearly about to launch into another Eiffel Tower soliloquy, but Alexa shut him up by placing her hand over his mouth. Maybe it was being in the huge sun-drenched gallery, surrounded by so many incredible works of art, but she suddenly felt light and airy and gracious. What would Mona Lisa do?

"I'll go," Alexa whispered.

So here she was in her new Zac Posen golden flapper dress and sparkly white Cesare Paciotti mules, her pale golden hair rippling down her back. In an attempt to make the best of this little visit, Alexa had dressed to outdo the tower itself, which though lit up all night shimmered from top to bottom for ten minutes on the hour, every hour, like a long-necked jewel.

Stepping out of the elevator, her fingers laced through Diego's, Alexa suddenly regretted wearing

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the flimsy Zac Posen confection it was bitterly cold on the third level. The wind gusting through the tall wire barrier rattled Alexa's topaz teardrop earrings. Trembling, she let go of Diego's hand so she could wrap her arms around her slender frame. She wished Diego would get a clue and slip his J. Lindeberg suit jacket around her bare shoulders, but he was clearly too distracted by the dizzying view.

"Wow," he whispered, stepping closer to the edge, his long-lashed black eyes shining. "Alexa, come see -- it really
is
the City of Light."

Alexa rolled her eyes as she teetered over in her spiky heels. Hadn't her boyfriend -- whom she'd always considered worldly -- ever seen a nighttime panorama before? Granted, Alexa realized as she joined Diego, that view from last year's South Beach rooftop hadn't been anything quite like this. In spite of herself, she caught her breath as she scanned the dazzling cityscape. A thousand feet below, the whole of Paris sprawled, elegant and glittery as a strand of emerald-cut diamonds. Alexa had been to the top of the tower before, but never at night. She rested one hand on the wire netting, drinking in the spectacular sight and feeling -- okay, yeah -- grateful that Diego had dragged her up here. She wished she'd brought her camera but it hadn't fit into the Miu Miu clutch she was carrying.