Page 77 of One Week in Paris
“He better.”
I hop off the edge of the tub and quickly gather Mark’s things; surprisingly lots of toiletries for a man. His toiletries bag is practically the size of a briefcase — he’s obviously a vain man.
I hurry out and give Matt the bag. “Thanks for everything,” I tell him. “For handling everything.”
“No problem,” he says. “Good job, by the way. We work well together.”
I bring a finger to my mouth, a sign for him to shut the hell up. I really don’t want my mom to know I played a role in this whole mess. I’ll tell her myself when the time is right.
As soon as Matt leaves, I text Oscar.
I’m going to stay with my mom tonight. Can you take Corrie home?
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Sure. Is your mom okay?
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She’ll be fine.
—
But I do want to finish what we started… ;)
Visions of our time together in the library fill my brain; my leg hiked up over his shoulder, his head between my thighs, that impish sinfully sexy grin of his.
Me too.
I suddenly wonder about Sophie.
What happened to Sophie?
I watch the dots dance as I impatiently wait for his reply. I desperately want to know what the deal is between him and Sophie.
She was going on about how this was probably all your mom’s fault. And that she was a flaky American. That Mark was such a catch: handsome, rich and so charming. We had a fight, and I offered her a ride home, but she stormed off. I don’t particularly want to see her again.
I can’t lie… his reply makes me very, very happy.
Sweet dreams!I reply.
Sweet dreams to you too. Dream about me, will ya. I know I’ll be dreaming of you.
My heart swells.So sweet.
You and me later… 69? xo,he writes.
I laugh and roll my eyes.
Why did you have to ruin it, Oscar? Your last message was so sweet…
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What? Since when do you not like the 69?
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That’s not the point.
