Page 37 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
Although I didn’t feel slutty. In general, I’m not judgmental about sex, and even in the light of morning, my behavior with Lucas didn’t strike me as promiscuous. We’d been careful. It’s just that I didn’t have a habit of being so spontaneous, and I’d come to Paris expecting one thing and experiencing the total opposite.
“Hello?”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Mia!” Coco’s croaky voice held a note of worry. “What time is it? Are you OK?”
“I’m better than OK.” A shiver pulsed through my body. “I’m fucking ecstatic.”
Coco sucked in her breath. “What? Oh my God, what’s going on over there?”
“You’re not going to believe this. I can barely believe it.”
“Go on.”
I licked my lips. “I met someone.”
Her squeal was so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “And?”
“And I had three orgasms last night.”
Silence.
“Coco?”
“I’m sorry, I was in shock. Did you say three?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“Who is this wizard of O’s?”
“His name is Lucas. He’s a professor in New York, but he’s half-French and living here for the summer.”
“Omigod. I’m dying. How old is he?”
“I don’t know, actually. We didn’t really talk
about that.” Which was kind of funny and also kind of crazy—I’d never, never slept with someone without knowing their age. Or their shirt size, middle name, car make and model. “I’d guess he’s about our age, though. Maybe a little older.”
“What does he look like?”
Ha. She was going to love this. “You won’t believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t either. He’s got messy dark hair and scruff. And he isn’t tall.”
“What? What do you mean, messy hair?”
I closed my eyes and pictured it, recalled the feel of it in my hands. “Kind of scraggly. Thick and wavy.”
“And scruff?”
“Scruff,” I confirmed. “Oh, and he plays the guitar.”
“Next you’re going to tell me he has tattoos.”
I giggled. “Not that I noticed. Yet.”
