Sleeping With Paris (5 page)

As I left my room, I spotted a guy locking his apartment door two doors down from mine. As he turned around, he caught my eye and grinned. It was the shower guy. I almost didn’t recognize him with clothes on.

“
Bonsoir, Mademoiselle
,” he said politely.

“
Bonsoir
,” I responded as I blushed from head to toe.

I could hear the French hottie walking toward me as I pushed the down button and waited for the elevator.

“
Vous êtes française
?” he asked with a bold grin on his face.

“
Non, je suis américaine
,” I answered, excited that my hint of an American accent hadn’t seeped through and that he had actually thought I was French.

“Oh, you are American. You look very French to me. My name is Luc,” he said in an adorable accent. “And you?”

“I'm Charlotte,” I said, letting a smile slide across my lips.

He leaned in for the obligatory greeting kisses on both cheeks—the
bisous
or
bises
as the French call them. His little bit of stubble brushed up against my cheeks as he kissed me. Jeff never had stubble. He always shaved, every morning, no matter what. He had to be perfect and clean cut every day. No spontaneity. I had liked it at the time, but today, as I thought about it, it infuriated me. I was glad that Luc had some stubble. I could use some spontaneity in my life. Plus, I loved the kisses. Well, I especially loved them when I was meeting a nice-looking French guy.

“I am sorry about earlier, in the shower. I hope I did not scare you.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m not used to showering in a communal shower like that and seeing other naked . . . um . . . I mean, guys wrapped in towels . . . you know what I mean,” I bumbled.

He laughed. “Yes, I can imagine. You must be new here. Did you come to Paris today?”

I caught him checking me out from top to bottom. Guys, especially French guys, had no shame. But, it did make me feel better after the embarrassing shower incident.

“Yeah, I flew in this morning and slept all day. I'm feeling a little more energetic now though. So, have you lived here a while?”

“Euh,” he hesitated, “No, not long. Only two months. You will like it here. Zee  . . .  how do you say, people zat live here?” he asked, as he pointed to the other doors in the corridor.

“Neighbors?” I suggested.

“Yes, zee neighbors are very nice. You will like them. You are staying for a long time?”

“Yeah, I'm planning on staying for at least a year, but we'll see.”

“You are here alone?”

Bad question.

“Mmhmm, just me!” I said, running my hand through my hair, trying to sound happy about it, but sounding desperate in the process. 

Thankfully the elevator came just then because I really didn't feel like getting into all of the depressing reasons why I was here alone. We crammed into the rickety 1950's elevator that shook all the way down as it transported us to the ground floor. I tried not to stare, but the more I looked, the more I noticed that Luc was exceptionally cute. His hair was about an inch long and was tossed around on his head as if he had just run his hands through it. His chestnut eyes and charming smile were much warmer than Jeff's, and he had a nice summer tan going on. As most French guys are, he was thin, but he wasn’t like those guys that are so skinny they make you feel fat just standing next to them. His white T-shirt showed off the right amount of lean muscles, and his almost baggy jeans and brown euro sneakers were just plain sexy. He looked like a soccer player. Most of the guys I had met in France had played
le foot
. I bet Luc was a kick ass
foot
player. Mmmm.

“So, Charlotte, what are your plans for your first night in Paris?”

“I'm not really sure, actually. I was going to grab a glass of wine and some dinner maybe. What about you? Where are you headed for the night?”
Please, please ask me out
. I realized that I really did not want to be alone. All I would do was think about Jeff and how much I hated him . . . and how much I missed him.

Come on Luc
.

“Well . . .” he started, “I am going to meet friends at a bar to have a drink . . .” He paused and looked bashfully at his feet.

Oh come on . . . just ask me!
I’ve already seen you in a towel for God’s sake!

He gazed back up into my eyes and smiled. “Would you like to come?”

Thank God!

“Sure, I'd love to come!” Whoa, that definitely sounded desperate. Oh well, I
was
desperate. Who cares?

“Okay, zat’s great. You will like my friends. They are very nice,” he said as he continued to smile in my direction.

“So, where are we headed?” I asked as we stepped outside into the warm night air. 

“We take zee RER train to Saint Michel by Notre Dame. Then we are going to a boat, a bar boat . . . a bar . . . on a boat. Excuse me, I do not speak zee . . . euh . . . English very often.” His cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. 

“Don’t worry, your English is great. We can speak French if you want actually. I’m a French teacher back home in DC, so I do speak the language.”

“Maybe next time. I need to practice my English, and what better way zan to practice with a teacher from zee United States?”

“Very true.” I smiled at my new-found French cutie. “Thanks for bringing me along . . . it’s nice not to be alone on my first night here.”

“Well . . .” he paused for a few seconds and then looked me intently in the eye. “A woman as
beauteeful
as you should not be alone in your apartment tonight.”

Luc was so handsome and sweet that I didn’t mind hearing the typical French man “you are so beautiful” comments so soon after we met. I needed a nice guy, who was nothing like Jeff, to dote on me that night. And what better way to get my research started for my blog than to go out with a cute French guy?

Which reminded me, under
no
circumstances was I allowed to fall for this guy just because he was hot, charming and happened to live two doors down from me.

After buying me a ticket and running with me to catch the train, Luc pushed through the car to get me the only seat left and shielded me from all of the greasy men, who, if he hadn't been there with me, would've undoubtedly been bursting through their tight, tapered pants while trying to catch shameless glimpses of my cleavage. I definitely caught Luc gazing down there a few times, but oh well. I just wished Jeff could've been there to see another guy checking me out. Humph.

Only a few short stops later, I followed Luc through the underground labyrinth of the Notre Dame metro stop, and we emerged to the bustling Place St. Michel.

The sweet aroma of hot Nutella crêpes wafted past me and made my stomach growl as I took in my surroundings. Bright yellow awnings of
Gibert Jeune
bookstores lined the busy square which held the towering St. Michel fountain at its center. The elegant sound of the French language flowed from the sidewalk cafés as Parisians sipped red wine and laughed with their friends. Chatty groups of tourists speaking every language possible weaved in and out of the cobblestone streets toward the Seine.

The excitement was contagious, and before I knew it, I found myself thinking that there was no other place in the world that could possibly be as thrilling or as beautiful as this.

This
was the Paris I’d remembered.

How had I managed to stay away for so long? And what reason would I ever have to go back to the States?

Luc placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me across the scooter-filled streets to the Seine. We strolled along the deep blue, sparkling river together in a comfortable silence until Luc led me down a flight of stairs to the river bank. Adjacent to the gothic Notre Dame cathedral, a dinner boat floated calmly on the quiet waters. We climbed on board, and, with his warm hand still firmly pressed into my back, Luc took me to the rear of the boat where a couple was sitting, their arms and legs draped all over each other, seductive whispers passing back and forth between them.

“Zose are my friends,” he said, pointing in their direction.

He introduced me to Benoît, one of his close friends, and Lexi, Benoît’s date. Benoît was taller and thinner than Luc, but strikingly handsome. Likewise, Lexi was absolutely gorgeous. Taller than me, she had perfect, thin legs, long, wavy black hair, iridescent amber eyes with neatly waxed eyebrows, a naturally dark complexion, and enormous breasts. I mean enormous. The two of them—Benoît and Lexi that is—were quite a sight. They could’ve easily been a pair of sexy models on some high fashion Parisian billboard.

Bisous were exchanged around the table, and before I knew it, I was enjoying a tall glass of Merlot and was chatting up a storm with Luc’s friends.

“So how do all of you know each other?” I asked the group.

“Luc and I grew up in Paris together, and then studied finance together in college. And Lexi and I just met about a month ago,” Benoît said in a perfect American accent.

“Wow, your English is really good. Did you study in the States?” I asked him.

“Yes, actually, I lived in New York City for a year, right after college.”

“You are saying that Benoît speaks zee English better zan me?” Luc asked as he aimed his flirty eyes at mine.

“No, not at all. I could tell that maybe he’d spent some time in the U.S., that’s all.” I giggled as I took another swig of my wine.

“Sure,” he said as he tapped my foot with his underneath the table.

Just then, Luc’s cell phone rang. His eyebrows furrowed inward as he looked at the name on the caller ID. “
Pardon,
” he said as he shot up from the table, gave Benoît a knowing glance and jetted toward the door.

“I’m going to have another beer. Do you ladies want another drink?” Benoît asked.

“I’ll take a dirty martini, and get this girl another glass of red wine. We need to show Charlotte a good time on her first night in Paris,” Lexi said as she gave Benoît a sexy wink.

We both watched as Benoît walked over to Luc, who was talking on the phone near the door. Luc lowered his phone, then leaned toward Benoît to tell him something. Both of their expressions darkened before Luc got back on the phone and Benoît headed over to the bar.

“What do you think that’s all about?” I asked Lexi.

“Damned if I know. This is the first time I’ve met Luc. And all I know about Benoît is that he’s
amazing
in bed.”

I grinned. I liked this girl already. “Do you think Luc has a girlfriend or something?”

“Oh girl, all the men over here have girlfriends, fiancés, wives, lovers—you name it. That’s why you have to play the field and not take any of it too seriously.”

“Cheers to that,” I said as I clinked my glass with hers. “So, what brings you to Paris? You’re American, right?”

“Yeah, born and raised in New York City, but my family spent every summer in Paris in our little
pied-à-terre
, and I just fell in love with it, you know? So, I moved here three years ago, right out of college, and I haven’t looked back.”

“So you don’t think you’ll ever move back to New York?”

“Not really. I mean, I travel back and forth a lot, so I still get to see my friends and all of my New York boys, but Paris is . . . well, it’s Paris. What more can I say? New York doesn’t even hold a candle to this city.”

“What about the men here? Do you like French men better?”

“Oh, honey, you have so much to learn. The men here are cheesy, yes. But, wait until you get one in bed. They are the most incredible lovers on this planet. Take Benoît for example. Too thin? Yes. Pants a little too tight? Absolutely. But I’ll take a bony ass and tight jeans any day when I know that once I get those tight little babies off of him, he’s going to keep me up all night begging for more.”

I felt a flush creep over my cheeks as I laughed at Lexi’s candor. “Wow. I had no idea. I had a boyfriend back home when I was studying abroad in France before, so I didn’t get to experience any of this firsthand.”

“Well, you’ve got a hot one taking you home tonight,” she said as she nodded her head toward Luc who was walking back to the table. “Don’t be afraid to test the waters.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Lexi was exactly the kind of girl I needed to be hanging out with to make me forget about my low-life, scum of the earth ex-fiancé back home, and to advance my research . . . so to speak.

After Luc and Benoît made it back to the table with our drinks, Luc didn’t mention anything about his mysterious phone call, and I didn’t ask. He was probably seeing lots of other women, but I was here to play that game too, so what did I care?

At about one-thirty in the morning, after five glasses of wine, several uncontrollable fits of laughter, and endless drunken conversation in franglais with my new friends, we decided it was time to head home. Lexi and I exchanged numbers, and she promised to call me later in the week so that we could have a girls’ night out.

Once Luc brought me out into the refreshing night air which had cooled considerably, I realized just how drunk I was. I had forgotten how easy it was to get drunk on French wine—it goes down so smoothly that you don’t realize how much you’ve had. Luc placed his arm around me as I stumbled up the stairs and strolled with him along the river, its dark waters now shimmering underneath the moonlight.