Authors: Xavier Neal
I slide my phone back into my pocket and watch the display reverse back into its hidden world without any effort from me. Wondering why it’s on a timer, and a short one at that, I begin walking out of the room, giving the lone desk one more glance. Once I gently shut the door, I head back to the sounds of French that are filling the air.
“La dame est belle, quand peux-je passer du temps avec elle?” The words roll off Nick’s tongue as he twirls his hat around on his fingertips.
Strolling by, knowing I need just a small peek in his parents’ room, I ask, “What exactly did he just say?”
“He said, ‘The lady is beautiful,’ and when can he spend time with you,” Arnett translates for me. After a scratch of his facial hair, he sighs, “Elle est belle, mais la beauté du genre peut être dangereuse.”
Unsure of what everything else meant, but swearing I heard the word dangerous, I glance at Nick and ask, “What did he say? Did he call me dangerous?”
With a smile, Nick nods, “More or less. What are you doing?”
With my phone in hand, I merely crack the door open, place it down on the dresser swiftly, and glance over my shoulder, “Just wanted to take a glimpse of the décor in this room. It’s beautiful everywhere else. I just wanted to see if this fits with the rest.”
“Apprendre à être la persienne à sa beauté et apprend ses actions,” Arnett mumbles, closing his briefcase.
“I will,” Nick sighs. “Lesson over?”
“Almost,” Arnett rises to his feet.
I slide my phone back through my fingertips and nonchalantly into my pocket, seconds before Arnett can make his way over. Shutting the door, I head over to the edge of the couch. I park myself and admire the way he’s admiring me. It’s a familiar look.
“Peyton, why don’t you become a part of class today?” Arnett places his hand on the knob, securing the door I’d just left.
“Sure,” I shrug and lean back. “I don’t speak French, though.”
“It’s all right,” Arnett waves a hand at me and strolls in front of the fireplace, studying me in a way that makes me slightly uncomfortable. “Nick needs to practice speaking the language like it’s a barrier. Barriers are meant to be broken, however, so I will act as the translator, you will act as the American tourist, and he will be the French native.”
Doing my best to keep my cool demeanor, I bring my feet up to the couch and lean on the armrest, “Sounds fun.”
“Oui,” Nick agrees.
“That means yes,” I coo back.
“Oui.”
Arnett clears his throat to grab our attention. “Introduce yourselves.”
I extend my hand, “My name is Peyton.”
“Quel beau nom! Je suis Nick.”
“He said your name is beautiful,” Arnett informs.
“Nice to meet you, Nick. Have you lived in Paris all of your life?”
“Pour pourvu que je peux me souvenir de. Visiter sur le plaisir ou les affaires?” he leans forward, licks his lips, and smiles softly.
“He said he’s lived here for as long as he can remember. Asked if you are here on business or…”
“Le plaisir,” the response is quick as I slowly fall into Nick’s eyes. “That means pleasure, oui?”
With an intrigued smirk, Nick nods, “Oui. Vous apprenez rapide.”
“Oui,” I nod slowly and look at Arnett. “He mentioned the word rapide. That sounds like rapid, which is quick. He said I learn quickly.”
“Very good,” Arnett admires me. “You are quick. A few more sentences and let’s see if you can continue to destroy the barrier.”
“I have never been here before. Do you mind showing me around?”
“J’aimerais vous montrer environ. Nous permettre d’abandonner le traducteur et se promène.”
Arnett shoots him a dirty look, which causes me to react accordingly, “Sure. He won’t mind.”
Folding his arms, Arnett raises his eyebrows at me, not willing to translate, but leaving it to me figure it out. I’m pretty sure I heard abandon and a funny version of translator.
“Alors beau puisque nous sommes venus consentir, classer est maintenant sur. Au revoir, Arnett.” Nick rises to his feet, extends his hand to me, and winks at Arnett.
“Fine, go,” Arnett waves his hands at us.
Nick places his hat back on his head, tips it down, and says, “Toujours un plaisir.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Arnett clears his throat before Nick and I exit his penthouse and head to the elevator.
Smiling, I hum, “That was interesting.”
“That was Arnett being protective. He prefers I not have many friends or meet new people. Hates the idea of me falling in with the wrong crowd, people who only want me for my money.” The elevator dings open.
“I can understand,” I whisper. “You never know who you can trust sometimes.”
After a pause, he declares, “You don’t strike me as the kind who is just after my money, so ...”
“Maybe I’m after something else?”
“Like what? That perfume?” The jokes makes me giggle and wink.
The two of us laugh together, Nick assuming that his joke is just that, me laughing because it’s nice to be on the other end of an assumption—you know, where I’m not the one who’s going to get an ass made out of me.
Nick and I spend the next several hours visiting local museums, where we take several pictures together with his phone, stopping at the mom-and-pop shops since I prefer to avoid the five-star lavish lifestyle, where he buys me cool, touristy shirts, key chains, shorts, anything and everything I desire before having lunch on the boardwalk.
I listen to him educate me on the differences in the major interior decorators Vaughn and Vee, while he listens to me passionately ramble on about Sous Clef, the painting that indeed changed my life, even if that part of my story has to stay under lock and key.
Approaching a group of active teens hanging out, I notice a face that I saw yesterday. The shirtless gentleman with the sandy, blond, buzz-cut hair jogs over to us with a wide grin on his face.
“Nick,” Dubs greets him with a small handshake and embrace.
“Dubs,” Nicks greets him in return. “What’s going on here?”
“Volleyball,” Dubs’s body swivels back toward a group of girls who are waving at him. “Bikini volleyball.”
“I see that,” Nick answers before being interrupted.
“Hi, Nick,” the girls call out.
“Ladies,” he tips his hat at him. Turning his attention to Dubs, he smiles, “Enjoying yourself?”
“When am I not?” Dubs chuckles and wraps an arm around Nick’s shoulder. After tilting his head to stare at one of the girls, who’s bending over to pick up something, he sighs, “By the way, Barbie is looking for you.”
“When is she not?” Nick mumbles under his breath.
“Good question,” Dubs laughs again. “Hey, can I borrow a few bucks? Left my wallet back at your place. Need to keep the ladies happy.”
He reaches in his back pocket right as I ask, “Have you heard from Belle?”
Paranoid, he looks over his shoulder, “Is she here?”
Unsure if he’s got Peter’s cheating guilt or if there is another reason for his discomfort, I adjust the shopping bags in my hand and reply, “No. Just asking. I saw the way you two looked at each other yesterday.”
“Yeah,” he trails off a moment. “She really is incredible. I actually saw her a couple hours ago. We went to lunch, and sadly, she had to bail early. Promised me she’d text me soon. I’m waiting to hear from her.”
The money lands in Dubs’s hands as Nick shakes his head, “Wow. Dubs on a short leash? This is something that I better put on YouTube.”
I chuckle under my breath as I spot a sight that I wasn’t expecting to see. Catching my eye, Justin strolls away from a similar group of ladies as Dubs was talking to and over to me. Right as Dubs slides the money into his pocket, Justin pops up beside him.
“Well, hello there,” he greets me, eyes admiring my attire.
“Hello,” I acknowledge him, unsure of how he wants to play this.
Nick tips his fedora up, which is when it hits me that Justin doesn’t have his. Nick slides one hand in his pocket, the other around my waist, and says, “Aren’t you a friend of Peyton’s?”
“Actually of her friend Belle’s,” Justin corrects him. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with Peyton, however.” With a soft hum and bite of his bottom lip, he adds, “Or more.”
I feel my face flush as Dubs beefs up, “And who are you?”
“Justin,” he extends his hand to Dubs.
“Dubs,” Dubs shakes in return. “I haven’t heard Belle mention you.”
“Really?” Justin questions, causing Dubs to nod, “Well, I haven’t heard Belle mention you.”
The words sting, and Dubs’s bottom lip slides down, as if fishing for a response in the air, hoping a clever comeback will fly in his mouth for him to spit out—or at least buy him enough time to conjure up the nerve to pretend he isn’t hurt by the comment.
After a cocky smirk, Justin diverts his attention back to me, “Peyton, I was wondering if you have dinner plans.”
“Um, I,” the words trail off, “I don’t believe so.”
“She means not yet,” Nick speaks up for me.
“Dinner?” Justin’s invite causes Nick to clutch me tighter.
“I said that as in I had plans on taking her to dinner,” Nick’s voice stands up strong.
“And I asked before you made those plans public,” Justin’s snip causes Nick to let go of me and fold his arms. “You know what? Nick, I understand where you’re coming from, so how about I play you a game? Whoever wins can take Peyton out tonight.”
“Sounds like she’s gonna be somebody’s trophy,” Dubs intrudes on the conversation.
“She’s not a prize,” Justin licks his lips, “but her time is valuable.”
“What’s the game?” Nick says in a low growl.
“Volleyball.”
“One on one? Nah.”
“Of course not. My team versus yours.”
“And where are the teams coming from?”
“Well, I’ve been talking to those exquisite women, and Dubs has been talking to those less-fortunate ones. Girls against girls, with one guy on each side. Sound fair?” The proposition sounds sticky if you know anything about Justin.
“Nick’s not really dressed,” I try to step in before the situation gets messy.
“It’s OK,” Nick shrugs. “It seems we both want something tonight, and this seems like a fair way. Are you OK with this deal?”
Justin’s eyes meet mine as if telling me that this is one of many steps leading to a bigger game plan. Softly, I sigh, “Sure.”
Nick nods, “You’re on, then. Dubs, go tell the girls.”
He nods as Nick begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing the same delicious body I saw yesterday. His hands seem to enter slow-motion mode as he begins undoing his pants. The sunlight glistens on his hands, and the faint trail of man hair leading from his belly button downward, like a yellow brick road of sorts, makes my eyes follow until Justin clears his throat disapprovingly. To my surprise, instead of seeing his boxers, I see his swim trucks.
“Always prepared?” I raise my eyebrows.
“I’m a beach child, of course,” he folds his pants as well as his shirt.
“Find a seat,” Justin recommends in a voice that indicates there’s a bit of jealousy in the air. Once Nick heads to his team, Justin turns back to me and whispers, “It’s gonna be a good show.”
Rolling my eyes, unsure of what to expect, I make my way over to where Dubs has propped himself up on a towel with a very sour scowl on his face. Uneasy, I sit beside him just in time to hear him mumble, “I don’t like him.”
“I don’t know,” I adjust my bags beside me. “I find him slightly charming.”
“I find him to have a certain D-bag quality to him,” he slides over his phone showing a text from Belle, which draws his attention away from the game in front of him.
Following in his footsteps, I pull out of my phone and text Belle that I am right beside Dubs. After I hear two beeps, Dubs begins collecting his items from around me, including his keys, all indicators he’s not staying.