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UNCOMPLICATED
Finn
The warm night air floats down the cobblestone street, drifting seductively around us at a sidewalk table in Montmartre.
“And that’s how I found out about The Scene,”Jules says as she tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, finishing the story. “From dancing with friends at Revel House. I heard about it and Ihadto go. I mean, role-play and all.”
“Do you do that a lot? Go out dancing?” I ask, gobbling up all the details I can get.
“I do.” She hesitates, then adds, “That’s how I became friends with Harlow…and Layla.” She says it almost like she doesn’t want to mention my brother’s fiancée to me. Or, more likely, any of our shared connections, in case they lead to other ones.
“Our small world,” I say, addressing the elephant on the sidewalk. “Pretty sure I saw you at my nephew’s engagement party several months ago. At a bowling alley.”
“David’s engagement party. I was there,” she says, a smile coasting across her lips. She remembers it too.
“Marilyn had moved out. We were getting divorced, and I saw you a few lanes over. I didn’t connect the dots that you were my friend’s daughter. I just couldn’t stop looking at you. You were so…captivating.”
She dips her face, but not like she’s embarrassed. More like she’s delighted. “Really? You were checking me out?”
“Apparently, I’ve had a thing for you for a while,” I say, and Ishouldfeel bad for lying by omission to my best friend. Hell, Ishouldfeel bad for lying period.
Yet here I am, doing it anyway.
And loving it.
I’m a bad, bad man.
Jules leans closer. “Well, I’ve had a thing for you since the night I met you. When we were strangers.” She lowers her voice to a playful whisper. “We could pretend we’re strangers again.”
That’s my kinky girl. “You want that tonight, don’t you?”
She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Or student and teacher. Or hotel maid and guest.”
I groan, then toss my napkin on the table. “How am I going to make it through a meal with you?”
“And we haven’t even had dinner yet,” she says as she lifts her glass of sauvignon blanc and takes a sip, running her finger along the stem when she’s done. Yes, after-dark Jules is coming out to play in Paris. The soft glow from streetlamps brings out her sexy radiance as much as the black dress that hugs her curves.
I try to picture her at a club with her friends, letting loose, moving to the music. “What do you wear when you go dancing?”
“That’s specific,” she says, amusement in her eyes after she sets down the glass.
“I want to picture you completely,” I say. If she’s going to rile me up, then she can rile me all the way up. “Setthe scenefor me.”
She lifts a flirty brow, shrugs a shoulder. “Depends on my mood. Sometimes jeans, sometimes a short skirt, maybe a bustier, often a wig,” she says, flicking her hair again.
“Like you had on the night we met.”
“They’re kind of my thing,” she says with a spark that tells me she’s enjoying this night as much as I am. I remember her telling me at my house that she didn’t date much. That dating was complicated. That describes our situation perfectly, but maybe we can be uncomplicated for a night in Paris.
“Perfume, wigs, costumes. The Jules picture is becoming more clear.”
“Is it, now?”
“You like pretty things and you like to play. You like to use your imagination.”
“You get me,” she says.
“I fucking do,” I say confidently. I want to see her in all of those outfits. Want to watch her dress up, get ready for a night out. “So you’re at this dance club, and you hear about The Scene, and you thought,I have to go meet a well-hung man in a phantom mask.”
