Free Frenched by Melanie Harlow Page B

of a woman nearby. She nodded and smiled, and I handed her my camera.
    It seemed sort of awkward and military to stand side by side, arms down, so I moved closer to Lucas, hoping he’d put an arm around me. He didn’t, so I moved in front of him.
    “You have to stop moving so she can take the picture,” he said.
    “Quiet. Just try to look happy, so I can lie and tell my friends I charmed a French man.”
    “OK,” said the woman. “Un, deux, trois.”
    I smiled as Lucas whispered in my ear, “You won’t have to lie.”

 
    Lucas wanted a chance to clean up before dinner, and jet lag was starting to catch up with me, so I figured I could use a rest. After we exited the tower, he pointed me in the direction of a less pricey shopping area that was between Notre Dame and the Plaza Athénée and gave me specific directions for getting back. Then he gave me a quick hug and said he’d come for me at eight. I crossed the Seine in the opposite direction from him and found the rue de Rivoli without a problem, but instead of shopping I spent the next hour and a half wandering down the street in a complete daze, unable to take my mind off Lucas and the night ahead.
    By this time, my wine buzz had worn off and I was getting a little anxious. Was this a date or not? Were things going to get romantic—or at least a little sexy—between us? I was ready to admit that I wanted them to—he was the complete opposite of my usual type, but there was something about him that appealed to me. I wanted to know what it was like to be with him…that way. But was he attracted to me like I was to him? Maybe he still just felt sorry for me. Biting my thumbnail, I decided to skip shopping and just walk back to my hotel.
    I also needed to give some consideration to my own motives. Yesterday I’d been heartbroken over my aborted nuptials. As recently as last night, I’d compared Tucker’s looks to Lucas’s, unfavorably. Was I on the rebound already? Just looking for a warm body to show me some proper attention?
    Because Hook Up With Scruffy Half-French Musician/Bartender was so not on the Paris list.
    But did I even have to care if it was just a rebound fling? Would Lucas? We were two consenting adults. We were allowed to have some fun, right?
    Finally, I dropped my hand to my side and sighed.
    Jesus, Mia, stop thinking so much. No need to overanalyze. If something happens tonight, let it happen, and if it doesn’t—no big deal. You met a new friend who gave you the courage to do something on your own you never would have done. Now stop trying to fucking plan everything. Just go with the flow.
    When I got up to my room, the message light was blinking on my phone.
    Dreading the sound of my mother’s nervous tittering, I played the message, but it turned out to be Coco. A smile took over my face at the sound of her low, smoky voice.
    “Hi, honey! Just checking in with you to see how things are going. We’re thinking about you all the time and dying to know what you’re up to. How’s the wine? The food, the shopping, the men? We can’t wait to hear all about it and we hope you’re misbehaving just enough. Love you, babe.”
    I thought about calling her back, but decided I’d wait one more day—perhaps I’d have something more exciting to tell her after my maybe-date with Lucas.
    There was a second message, which was indeed my mother, fussing nonstop for three entire minutes about my physical and mental well-being. Holding the phone away from my ear, I rolled my eyes and hung it up before she even finished. No way was I calling her back. This day had turned out to be a lot of fun, with the promise of more to come. The last thing I wanted was to let my mother’s nerves bring me down.
    Flopping facedown into the pillow, I fell sound asleep inside a minute.
    #
    I woke up in a little puddle of drool with my shoes still on, feet hanging off the bed, totally panicked. Had I overslept? Frantic, I checked the bedside clock, which assured me