Page 15 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
“So what if I do? What’s wrong with being organized and planning ahead? I’m good at that.” I’d always thought of my well-preparedness as an asset, so why were my cheeks so hot?
“Nothing’s wrong with it at all, princess.” He took my elbow to pull me up a side street, and I tugged it from his grasp.
“Stop calling me that. I’m not a princess.”
“Says the girl staying at the Plaza Athenee.”
“I’m not paying for it, remember? The ex-fiance?”
Lucas paused. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about him.”
“I wish I could forget about him.”
“You can. You will.” He tossed his arm over my shoulder and squeezed for just a moment, surprising me. “I’m sorry I teased you.”
We walked slowly up the Champs, stopping occasionally so I could ooh and ahh over the merchandise in store windows lining the avenue. I entered a few shops, but he chose to wait outside each time, never telling me to hurry up or complaining that he hadn’t had his coffee yet, like Tucker would have. Tucker didn’t get the point of window shopping—if he liked something he saw, he bought it.
I did see some pretty things I’d have liked to get for myself or for my girlfriends, but my credit card couldn’t handle the price tags. And although I had Tucker’s card and even his permission to use it, I just didn’t feel right about it.
“Not even a souvenir t-shirt?” Lucas asked when I came out of yet another store empty-handed.
I shook my head. “Even the t-shirts are a little steep for me.”
“Yeah, these places jack up their prices because it’s prime real estate. But I know some better shopping areas, less touristy ones. I’ll tell you where to go.”
“Thanks. I’d like that.”
At the end of the avenue stood the Arc de Triomphe, massive and solid and majestic, way bigger than I’d imagined it to be. As we got closer I stopped walking and stared, open-mouthed. “Oh my God, it’s so huge!”
“I hear that a lot.”
I made a face at him. “Hahaha. Just be quiet and let me enjoy this stuff, OK? That’s your only job today.”
He saluted me.
“So can we climb it?”
“You can climb it.”
“Why only me?”
He shrugged. “I’m not fond of heights.”
I looked at the Roman arch again. It was pretty high at the top. “You’ve never been up there?”
“I have. The view’s incredible.”
“Well, I’ll go by myself then.”
“No problem. I’ll wait for you here.” We’d reached the end of the block, where a café with a huge red awning and lots of tiny outdoor tables sat kitty corner from the arch. Lucas chose an empty table and sat down. “Aren’t you going now?”
“I guess so.” But I stood there a moment longer, feeling strangely let down that he wouldn’t accompany me. “You sure you won’t go with me?”
“I’m sure. Go on.” He waved me toward a metro station sign. “The easiest way is to go underground and take the walkway.”
I followed his instructions and used my Paris Museum Pass to enter. I actually had two passes—I’d ordered them ahead of time for Tucker and me. As I climbed the hundreds of steps to get to the top of the arch, I thought of maybe giving the other one to Lucas. I wonder if he likes art. I knew he must like music since he majored in it along with psych, but other than that and his job, I knew almost nothing about him, not even his last name.
My leg muscles were burning after a few dozen stairs, but it felt good, and the physical exertion lifted my mood. When I get down, I’ll ask more about him, and I’ll be open-minded and even pleasant, dammit. I won’t compare him unfavorably to Fucker, I’ll stop judging his hair, facial or otherwise, and I’ll even thank him for spending the day with me.
