Free Amanda's Guide to Love by Alix Nichols

penguin—it’s revolting.”
    “A penguin,” he echoed, bunching
his eyebrows. “Really?”
    She wrinkled her face and gave him
a pleading look. “Got any tissues?”
    He shook his head. “But I’ll do you
one better.”
    “What, a tuft of grass?”
    He gave her a sly smile, pulled off
his T-shirt, and wiped her leg with it.
    She kept her gaze down.
    “Voilà.” He surveyed his handiwork.
“As good as new. By the way, bird poop brings good luck.”
    “Says who?”
    “Gypsies.”
    “Must be true, then.”
    He bundled the T-shirt, folding the
clean edges over the dirty middle.
    “I’ll wash it for you,” she
offered.
    “Don’t bother—I’ll just throw it in
the trash. It was worn-out, anyway.”
    She nodded absently, her eyes
darting to his bared torso. This was worse than at the pool. As if his
eight-pack wasn’t impressive enough, his chest was smooth and broad, and his
pectorals were well defined. To say nothing of his muscled arms and his
graceful shoulders.
    He was too close, too appealing . . .
    She turned away sharply. “There are
too many birds in this city.”
    “Look at the positive side.”
    “There isn’t any.”
    “If an army of zombies besieged
Paris and the population ran out of food, we could start hunting them with
slingshots.”
    Amanda considered the scenario. “I
guess we could. The pigeons are so fat and lazy and totally unafraid of people
it shouldn’t be too difficult to shoot a few down for dinner.”
    “I’m sure they taste better than
that plastic supermarket chicken Parisians are used to.”
    “And when Parisians are well fed,
they’re capable of great things.” She winked at him. “Including kicking some
zombie ass.”
    He grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
    “I need your advice,” she said,
surprising herself.
    “Sure.”
    “I’m having trouble finding a job
that wouldn’t be a huge step down from the previous one . . . And
my savings are drying up.”
    “You should’ve told me earlier.
I’ll be happy to lend—”
    “That’s not what I meant! I said advice ,
not help .”
    He cocked his head. “OK. Go on.”
    “It’s my apartment. I bought it only
a year ago, and I love it. But it confines my job search to Paris. And there’s
the small matter of the mortgage.” She hesitated. “The bottom line is I won’t
be able to keep the apartment unless I find a job soon.”
    “I’m not sure what kind of advice
you expect from me.”
    “A friend of mine offered me a
waitressing job. It sounds wild, but I fear it’s that or a secretary position.”
    “You could sell your apartment.”
    “I could, even though I’d probably
lose money by selling so soon. And I’d have to move in with my mother.”
    “There’s a fourth option.” He gave
her a crooked smile. “You could move in with me.”
    And share your bed . . .
Yes, please. “No
way.”
    His smile slipped. “Take the
waitressing job.”
    “Really?”
    “Judging by the way your face
contorted when you said ‘secretary’ and ‘my mother,’ waitressing would be the
least evil for you.”
    She stood up. “Thanks for your
advice. I’m not sure I’ll take it, but I’ll consider it.”
    “Anytime.” He stood, too. “Ready to
jog back?”
    She was—provided he
stayed outside of her peripheral vision.
     
    * * *
     
    That night, Amanda went to La
Bohème. She had warmed up to the idea of waitressing even though she hadn’t
made up her mind yet. Kes’s insight had helped, but she needed additional
arguments and a little more persuasion from Jeanne. And, most of all, she
needed it to look like she was the one doing her friend a favor, and not the
other way around.
    Even if both knew what the real
state of affairs was.
    “Have you hired anyone yet?” Amanda
asked as soon as Jeanne returned to her table with a glass of Amanda’s favorite
wine and a beer for herself.
    “Nope. I’ve been too busy to
advertise.”
    Amanda nodded.
    “Come on, woman,” Jeanne said.
“Show some