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I want to pretend to be asleep, hoping that he won’t stop. But no, I can be a good boy too. Besides, at this very moment, I truly am famished. So I blink my eyes open and give him my best dazed look. “Hey.”
“You fell asleep.” He makes it sound like an accusation and I hide my smile.
“Did I miss anything?”
“Nothing.” He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth while he eyes me from behind his glasses. When I don’t reply, and just look at him, he flushes and walks away.
I prop myself up on my elbows and lean back against the headboard. “I’m really curious about this Paris burger. Bring it on.”
Connor takes his laptop from the desk and strolls back to the bed. Rather than tossing me the food, he neatly places it on the bedside table, before he heads to the other side of the bed. “There you go.”
Despite his politeness, his voice has that usual edge to it that he somehow seems to reserve solely for me. I might not know him very well yet, but if someone were to ask me how I’d describe Connor Donnelly, I’d say he’s elegant. And so very shy.
“Thanks,” I say again, and I mean it.
His eyes dart from the bed to the couch and I immediately know what’s coming, though I wonder what direction he’ll take it. I’m not disappointed. “Listen, uhm,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I’d volunteer to sleep on the couch, but I’m guessing that you’re not cool with that and frankly, I’m too tired to fight with you again.”
“You’re a fast learner.” I give the free side of the bed a short rub.
“Yeah, well. I guess I am,” is all he says, then after a brief moment adds, “I hope you can keep your hands off me.”
I snicker and open the paper bag to take a curious look at my food. It doesn’t look too bad and my stomach growls in agreement. It’s a fancy version of our burgers, I guess, with its soft cheese and brioche bun. While we watch some show on Netflix, we manage to eat and chill in silence since Connor doesn’t let out a single word. But hey, what did I expect? After all, I did my best to push all his buttons today. I am a bully, so sue me. I love riling people up, and there’s something so fucking sexy about provoking Connor.
I want more.
Chapter 7: Connor
I open my eyes with a gasp, but as I glance around the room, I can’t quite picture what it is that woke me. I do know that I slept really badly, despite being exhausted. Still am.
My face shifts toward the window—we didn’t bother to close those dark, black-out curtains, which I’m glad about now. The glimpse of the early Parisian morning sends a shiver of excitement through my blood. That and the pleasant coziness of the bed. A leg, that’s definitely not mine, is hooked across my ankle. An arm, also definitely not mine, is splayed across my belly, awfully close to my morning wood. I awkwardly try to move it off, suddenly feeling very aware of my own body in its current state, but even while sleeping, Austin needs to be a bossy ass. And heavy, so I decide to roll onto my side instead, but he curls his body around me, firmly wrapping his arms and legs everywhere they can reach. I bite my lip. Is he playing me?
“Austin, cut that shit out, man,” I mumble, but the only reply I get is a soft snore. The irony here doesn’t escape me—this is literally what I dreamt about for years. But now that we’re finally here, I feel insecure and tense. I’ve never been in bed with another person and didn’t expect it to be so warm and cozy. I dare to look over my shoulder and the view temporarily takes my breath away. Everything about a sleeping version of Austin is perfection. The softer features of his square face and bone structure. Those long, dark lashes that cover his closed eyes like blankets. I can only wish that his seemingly, newfound infatuation for me is real. It could be, right? After all, he’s a passionate guy, I’ve seen it with my very eyes back at college. He’d tutor teammates from the hockey team, and I know there were even a few lucky classmates who got spoiled with his attention. I once caught myself listening at the door, my ears greedily taking in the husky rumble of his voice as he patiently explained subjects, wishing so freaking badly that it could be me in that class. Me that had his undivided attention. And now, look where we are.
I lay like this for another few minutes, allowing myself to revel in this secret daydream before I get to gently peeling his limbs off my body.
Only after closing the bathroom door behind me, do I allow myself to breathe out and release the tension I was withholding.
Focus on the job.
But I need more than that, to survive this trip. I need my world of logic, my professionalism. Perhaps my self-esteem. Definitely my heart, safely tucked away. I freshen up in the bathroom, putting on a pair of blue, slim-fitting jeans with a black button-up, and then add my navy coat. After I’ve stepped into my Doc Martens, I make my way out of the hotel room.
I’m eager tofeelthe city and its vibe. Luckily the weather forecast is not too bad, which means that it’s dry at least. Perfect for a long walk, which is exactly what I intend to do. I need to clear my head, refocus and prioritize.
I turn onto a large boulevard and stroll along the Seine with its bustle of cars, buses, scooters, and the occasional bicycle. I love the morning rush in a city, and mornings in Paris are chaotic—red lights are not respected, priorities and stop signs at intersections seem to be optional, and car horns are used more often than I can count. On the pavement, I pass students, homeless people, and the occasional elderly person walking their dog. Over the fence on the water, tourist boats are waiting to be filled with people and for the day to begin.
If I weren’t a Donnelly, I would have stayed in Europe after graduation. I wouldn’t have even chosen IT but would have done something like art, or photography. What would my life look like had I been just a random guy and not someone who’s sitting on a chair worth more than ten million dollars?
I can’t describe it, but being here there’s this sense of freedom, of history mingled with culture and language that calls out to me. And just like that, I take out my camera and cross the bridge. When I’m halfway across, I snap a few shots. The view over the river surrounded by these old, imposing buildings is simply stunning.
I would have opened an art gallery.
My eyes take in the glass window of a small boutique where various photos and paintings are exhibited. Perhaps, something like this. The shop’s still hidden in semi-darkness, but from what I can see, the gallery itself is fairly large and artistically messy. I move to the door and peer through the glass, and the first thing my eyes catch is a bottle of wine and a few empty glasses next to it. Perhaps that’s the reason why, or perhaps it’s because of the overall vibe the place gives me, that I mentally put it on my to-do list. It looks like happy people come here. People with passion.I’msomeone with passion and I need a safe place as a shelter for my heart.
I check the time and decide to head out to the cafe where my meeting will take place. Even before I find the spot, I smell the roasted coffee beans. Christyes, I could use a big cup. Walking inside, it reminds me of an old-fashioned pharmacy with an antique service bell and a huge, glass showcase that presents their wide range ofviennoiseries. Yeah, they have every right to show this off, because damn, the pastries look mouthwatering. Last night I’d been so nervous that I only ate half of my burger and left the fries. Not that Austin minded—I saw how he shoved them one by one into his mouth while we were watching some stupid series. Inside the morning buzz has taken over. Jazz music in the background, in front of me a line of mostly students and office folk waiting to get their breakfast orders.
“Bonjour,” the young woman behind the counter greets me. God, I’ve always loved the French language, even though we didn’t get enough of it at college to my taste. I place my order, but then she raises an eyebrow. “English?” She asks.
“American.”
