Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Maybe I should’ve anticipated he’d feel the weight of my attention, yet I’m still shocked when his eyes flicker open, and he turns to face me.
‘Ça va bien?’ I find myself stuttering. Are you well?
‘Bof,’ comes his deep reply, accompanied by a small smile and an even smaller shrug.
I’m unprepared for this response as an answer. Ça va bien or ça va mal; good and not so good, I wouldn’t be staring at him like this because what the hell is bof? I know what boffing is—sex—but that didn’t seem like a suggestion or an offer.
Which kind of seems like a shame.
‘This is awkward, right?’ I glance across at him when he flashes me the kind of smile that speaks of bedrooms and sighs and unspoken promises, almost as though he’d plucked the thoughts right out of my head. With a jolt, I tear my gaze from his, realising it’s only awkward when I remember how long it’s been since I last had sex. I’m suddenly very aware of the part of my body just south of my belt.
‘This is . . . not good,’ I find myself whispering. I slide Remy another look, noting how his eyes rise slowly from where I appear to be flashing a little thigh.
‘Pardon,’ he murmurs, though his gaze bears no hint of that apology.
I am so not sure what to make of that look but as the Uber pulls to a stop, I find myself stuttering, ‘L-look, we’re here.’
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten out of a car so fast, and while I’ve bitched and moaned about the number of stairs up to my front door since I moved in, I take them almost at a run. Key in the lock, I virtually stumble through the door, dropping my bag to the thrift store console table, covering the purple penis which a moment ago stood erect and proud. For once, I’m pleased the thermostat is on the fritz because it’s the perfect excuse to keep my coat on. Especially when I consider I’m still wearing my god-awful uniform.
Wrapping my coat tighter, I stamp my feet a little as I dig through my purse for my phone when I realise why it’s so arctic in here. Remy hasn’t followed me in and is standing at the still open door. In our very short acquaintance, I’ve seen this man semiconscious and vulnerable, watched him bear pain with stoicism while insistent on opening the Uber door for me. He’s also, I think, behaved a little naughtily. But as he stands on the threshold of my little apartment, he looks hesitant. Something tells me this is a state of being that’s unfamiliar to him.
‘Please, come in.’ Along with the invitation, I gesture for him to enter.
‘Merci.’
We get by the next thirty minutes almost as though we’re playing a game of charades.
‘You can hang your jacket up here.’ Point to the coatrack.
‘Or you can keep it on. I know, it’s cold in here.’ Rub my arms. ‘But it’ll warm up soon.’
‘The bathroom is through here.’ Nope, not touching that one.
‘Can I get you something to eat?’ Cram an invisible sandwich between my teeth.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Mimes a dainty cup and saucer, then sips like the queen.
The last is how we find ourselves sitting opposite each other at my tiny kitchen table as I watch Remy try not to grimace at the taste of the coffee I’ve just put in front of him.
‘It’s pretty terrible, huh? Not like anything you’d get in Paris, for sure.’ I pull a face as I gesture to my own cup. ‘Bleurgh.’
‘Non. C’est bien.’ Bringing the cup to his lips, he makes a sound of appreciation, the almost sexual noise echoing through the small room. Or maybe that’s just my imagination playing tricks on me, pleasantly twisting my insides.
The man is just being polite, not trying to turn me on.
‘Your mother must’ve raised you right,’ I murmur into my cup, mostly to hide my pink face. ‘Because this coffee is anything other than bien.’ Which means good, I know. ‘In fact, this coffee is nothing but bein’ terrible.’ I spring from my chair, dumping the contents of my cup down the sink, my gaze on the grey sky beyond the window. ‘Something else terrible is the fact that I’ve lived in this apartment for over a year, yet you’re the first man I’ve ever had here. Well, not had here exactly.’ Gripping the edge of the sink, I drop my head before I remember Remy’s grasp of English is almost non-existent. ‘I haven’t had anyone anywhere in quite some time,’ I find myself adding unnecessarily along with a little giggle. It must be exhaustion, even if it feels almost cathartic to be able to speak without the need to moderate or censor my words.