Sleeping With Paris (13 page)

“Keep me posted on how it goes. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I’ll try to give you a call next week so we can catch up again. I just got to the hospital, so I have to run. I want to hear all about how you’re doing though, so let’s talk soon.”

“Definitely. Good luck in the ICU.”

“Yeah, I’ll need it. Bye!”

In an effort to distract myself from the feelings of loneliness that had been creeping up on me every night this week, I logged into my blog. Since my last post on Monday night, I had tons more hits and several enthusiastic comments. This gave me hope. At least we were all in this mess together. A lot of the comments were from women asking what was going on with Half-Naked French Hottie. I hadn’t seen him around in the dorm (or the showers), and I hadn’t heard from him at all since we’d first slept together on Monday night. The old, desperate me was threatening to scratch her way to the surface and ask all of those scary questions, like why hasn’t he called? Wasn’t the sex good for him too? It was definitely some of the best I’d ever had—I mean what man feeds you chocolate in bed
after
giving you two orgasms? But, maybe I didn’t do enough to reciprocate. Was he angry about the text message from Frédéric?

But, then I remembered my purpose here in France. To have fun. To like being single. To not care if I ever heard from him again. As I sat alone in my room that night though, it seemed like this whole not caring thing may end up being more difficult than I’d expected.

Eleven

vendredi, le 8 octobre

Dating multiple men at once keeps life interesting.

The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and alive again. Yes, lonely nights in my little dorm room weren’t the most fun, (especially when I knew there was a gorgeous man just two doors down who
wasn’t
calling me!), but I had class at the Sorbonne in less than an hour, plus a busy weekend ahead of me, so all was not lost.

As I exited the train at the Luxembourg stop, my stomach growled at the tempting aroma of croissants and coffee emanating from the Brioche Dorée café across the street. The Brioche Dorée is one of the closest things the French have to a fast food restaurant, except instead of hamburgers and fries, they carry tasty pastries, sandwiches and salads. I couldn’t resist as I walked past, so I stopped and grabbed a croissant to go. I smiled as I took my first scrumptious bite. How did the French stay so thin? I could easily eat ten of these a day.

As I approached the Sorbonne, I took the last bite of my buttery pastry before grabbing my new student ID and presenting it to the gun-wielding French police officers. I expected them to at least show
some
appreciation that I’d finally obtained the proper identification to enter the building, but the corners of their mouths didn’t so much as move an inch. After I passed through the giant doors, I gazed down and noticed a pool of croissant flakes covering my chest. I laughed to myself as I realized that even
that
hadn’t made them smile.

I spotted Fiona immediately upon entering the large classroom. No more than a minute after I’d sat down, our tiny professor began her lecture on French teaching methodology. As I scribbled down notes, I thought about the glorious fact that we’d had an entire week of class, but not one single assignment. Instead of assigning weekly homework like the professors did back in the States, our Sorbonne instructors required us to complete one final paper, presentation, or exam, which constituted our entire grade. Granted, I had to make sure to perform well on my finals since those were my only grades for each class—and
especially
since I would be handing them in to Madame Rousseau—but it was so nice not to have much work to do during the semester. More time for going out and doing research for my blog!

After class, Fiona and I peeked into all of the colorful boutique windows as we walked up to boulevard St. Germain and took a seat outside at a
brasserie
. I ordered my first
croque-monsieur
since I’d been in Paris and a glass of
vin rosé
while Fiona ordered a bowl of
soupe à l’oignon
and a glass of
vin rouge
.

“So, have you heard from Jeff at all this week?” Fiona asked while she struggled to bite the long strings of cheese dangling from her spoon.

“No, I haven’t heard from him . . .” I hesitated as I took my first bite of the soft, fluffy bread and melted emmental cheese.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell Fiona about the callous email I had sent on Monday night. She didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would do something like that. Then again, she
had
gone through a tough break-up, so what the hell. “But, I did get in touch with
him
actually.”

“You did?”

“Well, I sent him an email on Monday night . . . a nasty email,” I snickered.

“Really? What did you say?” 

I hadn’t told Fiona about Luc yet because I was worried about her reaction, but I figured if we were going to be friends, now was as good a time as any.

“I told him that I had another guy in my bed who was better than he ever was. Basically I wanted to make him feel as awful as he made me feel.”

“So you just made up a story to get him back?” she asked innocently.

“Well . . . not exactly. There really was a guy in my bed.” I held my breath in anticipation of her response.

Fiona’s eyes widened. “Whoa, seriously? Who? Are you seeing someone here?” Fiona was clearly surprised at this revelation, but she seemed interested, so I kept talking.

“His name is Luc, and he lives in my dorm—on my floor actually. I met him my first night here, and he’s
so
cute. But, we’re not dating. He just spent the night that one time. And I have to admit, it felt really good to throw it back in Jeff’s face.”

“I bet. Did he write you back?”

“Nope, nothing. But I can’t really expect him to want to talk to me after that, I guess. It
was
a tad bit immature.”

“Maybe . . . but he started it in the first place—not you.” Fiona seemed to identify with the situation and wasn’t judgmental at all. I was relieved.

“You’re right, he did. He deserves it then.”

“That’s right.” Fiona grinned in agreement.

We clinked our wine glasses to that and kept on chatting.

 “Do you have any plans tonight?” Fiona asked, still struggling to eat the massive amount of melted cheese topping her French onion soup.

“Yeah, actually I do. I’m going on a date.”

“With Luc?”

“No, Frédéric. I met him out at a bar last weekend with Lexi.”

“You’re not wasting any time here, are you? I guess I need to start going out with you!” She giggled and took a sip of her wine.

“I know, I just need things, or guys really, to take my mind off of Jeff, you know?”

“Oh, I completely understand. School has been my main distraction, not that it’s the most fun distraction, but it’s something.” She paused to take another bite. “Well, you’ll have to let me know how your date goes tonight.”

“Definitely. Oh, I wanted to ask if you’d be up for going out with me and Lexi tomorrow night?”

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, shooting me an apprehensive glance.

“We’ll probably just go to a bar, have some drinks, and meet some boys. You know, the usual.”

Fiona’s wavering smile told me she was unsure.

“Come on, you were just saying that you needed to get out more. We’re going to have so much fun.” I wasn’t sure how Lexi and Fiona would get along, but if they were both going to be my friends, then I figured there was no harm in giving it a shot.

“I know, you’re right. Okay, I’m in. Where do you think we’ll go?”

“I don’t know all of the good bars around here yet, but I’m sure Lexi will have something fabulous in mind. She’s lived here a little while, and she goes out a lot. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she said, sounding only a tad more convinced.

After Fiona and I took off in separate directions to go home, a wave of fatigue hit me. I hadn’t really slept that well the night before, so I headed home, changed into a pair of comfy shorts and a loose t-shirt and laid down for a nice afternoon nap. That was one good thing about being single—I could do whatever I wanted when I wanted. Not too shabby.

I jolted awake to the sound of techno music blaring from the room next to me. The walls here were a little too thin. I rubbed my eyes and peered over at the clock—it was already six p.m. Whoa, I’d slept for a whopping three hours. I needed to get a move on it if I wanted to be ready in time for my date with Frédéric.

I rinsed my face off in my mini-sink, brushed a bit of powder and blush onto my cheeks, then peeked inside my little closet to pick out an outfit. It was still nice and warm outside, so I threw on a denim skirt, a dark violet tank top and a pair of flip-flops before heading out the door.

As I was crossing the street to go to the RER stop, I spotted Luc walking a few steps ahead of me on his cell phone. Of course I hadn’t heard from him all week, and then he would magically appear while I was on my way to a date. It figured. I trailed close enough behind him so I could catch part of his conversation without him seeing me. Yes, I was being nosy.

“
Je t’aime, Adeline. À demain
,” he said sweetly into his phone.

I
knew
there was another woman. After telling this Adeline girl that he loved her and would see her tomorrow, he snapped his phone shut. I slowed my pace, hoping he wouldn’t see me, but no such luck.

“Charlotte,” he called, flashing his charming smile in my direction.

“
Salut, Luc
,” I said, not sure how I felt about this little run in. I had just confirmed my suspicion that not only was he seeing at least one other woman, but he was in love with her. At least I didn’t need to feel bad about being on my way to a date.  

Luc leaned in to give me bisous, and we continued walking toward the metro together.

“So, where are you going tonight?” he asked.

None of your business, dude with a girlfriend who just slept with me on Monday night.

“Oh, just meeting up with a friend at Odéon. You?”

“Me too. I’m meeting Benoît there for a drink.
C’est parfait
. We can take the train together.”

Damn. Why did I have to tell him where I was going?

A few minutes later, we squeezed onto the packed, smelly train. Apparently the entire world had decided to travel into the city that night. Luc’s body was smashed up against mine, which, despite the fact that I had just heard him tell another woman that he loved her over the phone, wasn’t all that uncomfortable.

With his face about an inch from mine, Luc said, “You and your friend can come for a drink with us if you want.”

“Um, well, thanks for the invite, but I’m not really sure.”

“Why not? It will be fun.”

“That’s really sweet, but maybe another time.”

“Oh, okay,” Luc said as he lowered his eyes to the floor.

We rode along in silence, pressed up against each other in the smoldering train car, and without even realizing it, I found myself wondering what it would be like if Luc was my boyfriend. If I could just take his hand, rest my head on his shoulder and make the whole world disappear.

The train jolted to an abrupt stop and jerked me back to reality. Luc’s woman situation seemed like a mess, and it was a mess I did not need to be jumping into. Jumping into bed with him was a different story. That was acceptable in my new dating like a man plan. But thinking about him as potential boyfriend material was so not in the plan.

 As we exited the train together at the Odéon stop, my stomach tightened. How was I supposed to find Frédéric with Luc in tow? I gazed up to the top of the stairs and spotted Frédéric waiting for me. Or was that him? I suddenly realized that I didn’t really remember what he looked like. All I could remember was that he had short, blond hair and that he was cute. Or at least in my drunken state, I had thought he was cute. The guy at the top of the stairs had short, blond hair and was kind of attractive.

I made eye contact with the mystery man to test the waters. He grinned slyly in my direction. Okay, I was pretty sure it was him. As we walked closer, his grin spread wider across his face. Definitely him.

“I think I see my friend there, so have fun with Benoît, and I’ll see you around.” I tried to bolt from Luc without making a scene, but he didn’t get the hint and instead stayed right by my side as I approached Frédéric.

But, just as I was about to say hello to the guy I
thought
was my date, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around to see a familiar face. It was Frédéric. Shit.

Note to self: Don’t get so drunk that I can’t remember what a guy looks like after I’ve made out with him in a bar. Maybe a better rule of thumb would be to not make out with guys in bars in the first place.

I beamed at him in an attempt to make up for the mistake. “
Salut, Frédéric
,” I said as I noticed Luc still attached to my side, his expression turning from one of confusion to confrontation.