Sleeping With Paris Read Online Free PDF Page B

against my cheeks as he kissed me. Jeff never had stubble. He always shaved, every morning, no matter what. He had to be perfect and clean cut every day. No spontaneity. I had liked it at the time, but today, as I thought about it, it infuriated me. I was glad that Luc had some stubble. I could use some spontaneity in my life. Plus, I loved the kisses. Well, I especially loved them when I was meeting a nice-looking French guy.
    “I am sorry about earlier, in the shower. I hope I did not scare you.”
    “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m not used to showering in a communal shower like that and seeing other naked . . . um . . . I mean, guys wrapped in towels . . . you know what I mean,” I bumbled.
    He laughed. “Yes, I can imagine. You must be new here. Did you come to Paris today?”
    I caught him checking me out from top to bottom. Guys, especially French guys, had no shame. But, it did make me feel better after the embarrassing shower incident.
    “Yeah, I flew in this morning and slept all day. I'm feeling a little more energetic now though. So, have you lived here a while?”
    “Euh,” he hesitated, “No, not long. Only two months. You will like it here. Zee  . . .  how do you say, people zat live here?” he asked, as he pointed to the other doors in the corridor.
    “Neighbors?” I suggested.
    “Yes, zee neighbors are very nice. You will like them. You are staying for a long time?”
    “Yeah, I'm planning on staying for at least a year, but we'll see.”
    “You are here alone?”
    Bad question.
    “Mmhmm, just me!” I said, running my hand through my hair, trying to sound happy about it, but sounding desperate in the process. 
    Thankfully the elevator came just then because I really didn't feel like getting into all of the depressing reasons why I was here alone. We crammed into the rickety 1950's elevator that shook all the way down as it transported us to the ground floor. I tried not to stare, but the more I looked, the more I noticed that Luc was exceptionally cute. His hair was about an inch long and was tossed around on his head as if he had just run his hands through it. His chestnut eyes and charming smile were much warmer than Jeff's, and he had a nice summer tan going on. As most French guys are, he was thin, but he wasn’t like those guys that are so skinny they make you feel fat just standing next to them. His white T-shirt showed off the right amount of lean muscles, and his almost baggy jeans and brown euro sneakers were just plain sexy. He looked like a soccer player. Most of the guys I had met in France had played le foot . I bet Luc was a kick ass foot player. Mmmm.
    “So, Charlotte, what are your plans for your first night in Paris?”
    “I'm not really sure, actually. I was going to grab a glass of wine and some dinner maybe. What about you? Where are you headed for the night?” Please, please ask me out . I realized that I really did not want to be alone. All I would do was think about Jeff and how much I hated him . . . and how much I missed him.
    Come on Luc .
    “Well . . .” he started, “I am going to meet friends at a bar to have a drink . . .” He paused and looked bashfully at his feet.
    Oh come on . . . just ask me! I’ve already seen you in a towel for God’s sake!
    He gazed back up into my eyes and smiled. “Would you like to come?”
    Thank God!
    “Sure, I'd love to come!” Whoa, that definitely sounded desperate. Oh well, I was desperate. Who cares?
    “Okay, zat’s great. You will like my friends. They are very nice,” he said as he continued to smile in my direction.
    “So, where are we headed?” I asked as we stepped outside into the warm night air. 
    “We take zee RER train to Saint Michel by Notre Dame. Then we are going to a boat, a bar boat . . . a bar . . . on a boat. Excuse me, I do not speak zee . . . euh . . . English very often.” His cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. 
    “Don’t worry, your English is great. We can speak French if you want