“Hold on. I didn’t say that. As long as it happens between two consenting adults, it’s not my definition of wrong. It’s about knowing yourself, sweetie, and being true to that.” She finished her glass of wine and placed it on the coffee table. “Stop looking at me like I’m going to pounce on you. I forgot how sexually uptight you are.”
“I’m not uptight.” It wasn’t her offer that had me wound up. Meeting Mauricio had left me nervous, excited, my stomach fluttering in a good way. The freedom of having a friend like Cecile was that I could be myself. No pretense. No guilt. I sat forward with a smile. “Honestly, I was a little jealous when I thought Mauricio was Felix. I work in a man’s field. I’m surrounded by men all day long. I don’t usually get all tongue-tied and goofy. I hear what you’re saying about Mauricio being a player. If I were home and he was working across the hall from me, I wouldn’t even consider calling him. But . . . a part of me thinks . . . what happens in Paris stays in Paris, right?”
Cecile hooted with laughter. “Look at you—this guy really revved your engines, didn’t he?”
My smile was huge and unapologetic. “He did.”
She gave me a long look. “If Felix were here, I’d ask him more about Mauricio. I know they’ve been friends for a long time. They ran wild together all over Europe for a few years. Felix has a lot of respect for him. Does that make him a safe Paris fling for you? I don’t know. Definitely use condoms.”
My jaw dropped, and I threw a pillow at her. “I’m a little old for the sex talk, don’t you think?”
“I saw you with him. When an attraction is that strong, even someone as practical as you might get impulsive and slip up. Remember, if you’re not comfortable enough with a man to ask him to put on a raincoat, you have no business fucking him.”
Female wisdom by Cecile. I could make a T-shirt empire based solely on her one-liners.
I took the napkin out of my pocket and looked at it. “I might call him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with him. Do you know how many dates I’ve been on that have gone nowhere?” I didn’t remember how a single one of those men kissed, but there’d been a heat to Mauricio’s kiss I wouldn’t soon forget.
A heat I wanted to experience again.
Cecile stood. “I’m going to change out of this wet bathing suit. What do you want to do tonight?”
I was exhausted from the flight over, but also excited to be in a city I’d always dreamed of visiting. “I don’t have the energy for a club, but would you be up for a walk? The room I rented is on Rue Washington.”
“Right off the Champs-Élysées. Touristy, but there are nice hotels in the area. Sure, let’s walk around, and I’ll choose a place near where you’re staying. What do you have?”
“A one bedroom I found online.”
She nodded. Being with Cecile again reminded me of why we’d remained friends for as long as we had. I didn’t need to check into the Four Seasons to impress her, and she didn’t need to explain why she wanted to. Some people thought their friends had to be identical to them—in politics, religions, world views. I disagreed. What a boring world it would be if we were all the same. “Do you think you’ll be moved over early? Tomorrow I thought I’d start with a . . .”
“Don’t say hop-on hop-off bus.”
I stuck out my tongue at her. “You are here all the time, Cecile. I’ve never been. I want to do touristy things. Come on. How bad could it be?”
“Wren, I will walk your ass all over this town if you want me to, but there is no way in hell I’m riding a bus with you.”
I waved the napkin at her. “Oh, really? Well, then, I’ll just ask someone else.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “You think he’d go with you? He might agree to meet you, but tour the city in a bus with headphones, snapping photos with you? Not his scene.”
I stood and posed, putting my hands first on my hips, then in my hair. “You’re underestimating my charm.” Then I snorted.
And she laughed. “I just might be.” Her expression sobered. “You do need to be careful, but now you’ve piqued my curiosity. He was interested, but enough for a hop-on hop-off bus? That’s a good test of how far he’s willing to go to fuck you.”
“I don’t test my dates.” I rolled my eyes. “And is everything about sex with you?”
Her grin was the same back in college, and I loved it. “In Paris it is.”
Also smiling, I waved toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Go change. I want to find some tacky souvenirs to take back to my coworkers. Like an Eiffel Tower keychain. Or those pens where the person is dressed until you tip the pen and then they’re naked. Do you know where they sell those?”
“This is going to be a long week,” Cecile joked as she headed down the hall.
Once alone, I smoothed out the napkin and traced the numbers written on it. I could tour Paris on my own. I didn’t need to call him. In fact, it might be better if I didn’t. If I went back home without seeing him again, he would be a harmless, flirty memory I had from my first night in Paris.
If I asked him to spend the day playing tourist with me and he wasn’t interested, it would be a disappointing start to the first vacation I’d taken in years.
On the other hand, if he said yes . . .
Cecile had called me practical, and that was essentially how I saw myself. I didn’t make rash decisions. When given two paths, I chose the more responsible one.
But I was on vacation—in Paris.
The city of love.
Twenty-seven years of making good choices, of being the person others could rely on . . . hadn’t I earned a little vacation from that as well? That was all this would be.
Cecile was back, dressed in flats, a loose off-white sweater, and dark slacks. Simple yet eye-catching.
“Ready?” she asked.
I stuffed Mauricio’s phone number in the front pocket of my jeans. “Let’s go.”
A short time later, arm in arm, Cecile and I were strolling down the busy Champs-Élysées. We window-shopped at stores I didn’t need to go into to know I couldn’t afford anything from. That didn’t take away from my euphoria. Traffic flew by us. The sidewalks were packed with other people who were clearly as new to the city as I was. There was an energy in the air that was electric.
Not to mention how giddy it made me that everywhere I looked there was another architectural marvel. The Arc de Triomphe was stunning architecturally. People disappeared down and emerged from the Métro steps. They were from all over the world, and I would have liked to hear the stories of what had brought each of them to Paris.
The street was lit, as were the canopies of several restaurants. An expensive car pulled over and someone emerged, but almost no one stopped to see who. The crowd was more engrossed in a male street performer playing a guitar and singing a ballad with a voice that belonged on the radio.
I paused, tugging on Cecile’s arm. “Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I am in love with this city already.”
She paused. At first I thought she was taking a moment to appreciate the lighting along the street, but then I sensed a sadness, a weariness I didn’t associate with my larger-than-life friend. “I’ve missed seeing the world through your eyes, Wren. No, I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t put much stock in the idea of love at all. Perhaps that’s why Felix is perfect for me.”