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“So much for sleeping,” he says softly, stepping out onto the balcony.
“I couldn’t. I wanted to look at, well, this.” I cast my eyes across the horizon. He wasn’t kidding when he said that it was breathtakingly beautiful.
“You look like a little kid who just found themselves in a sweet shop.”
I smile. “Sweet shop.”
He tucks some hair behind my ear. “Sweet shop.” He grins. “I got you pastries. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you three.”
“Ooh, which ones?”
“A croissant, a beignet, and a pain au chocolat.”
“Oooh, chocolate?” My eyes widen and I dart into the bedroom. Two paper bags are lying on the bed, and I delve into them. “Um, which is which?”
Tyler hands me the pain au chocolat and I take it with too much excitement.
“Seriously? It’s acceptable to eat chocolate and carbs for breakfast here?” I bite into it anyway. Oh my god, so good.
“For breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” He grabs the beignet and tears some off with his teeth. I drop onto the bed and nibble my way through the pain au chocolat, reveling in this newfound glory far too much.
I mean, carbs and chocolate. For breakfast. Hell-o, France. I’m moving here.
I’ll consider working out at a later date.
When I finish the pastry, I drop back onto the bed. Hello, carb high. I haven’t officially left the hotel room yet but I already love Paris.
Tyler leans over me. “Get ready. Get pretty. We’re going out.”
“Get pretty?” I raise my eyebrows and link my fingers behind his neck.
He drops a quick kiss on my mouth. “I’m not obliged to tell you you’re pretty all the time until you’re actually my girlfriend.”
“Ha, ha, fucking ha!” I throw the croissant at him when he gets off me.
He grabs it off the floor and bites the end off savagely. “Thanks, baby girl.”
“Fuck you.” I get up. This time, I leave the sheet on the bed.
Tyler looks across my body and my eyes shoot to his pants. One, two… There it is. A telltale bulge begins to show and push against the zipper of his jeans. I bring my eyes up to his and he swallows.
“Get dressed. Now. Or the first thing you’ll be seeing of Paris is the underside of those fucking sheets over there.”
I bite the inside of my lip, smiling, as he walks out of the room.
Hey, two can play the asshole game. He throws the relationship thing in my face, I’ll throw my body in his. I get the feeling that the next three days will be much the same—back and forth, pushing and pushing against each other. It’ll all bundle into a tight ball of tension that will either be eliminated by sex…or an argument.
Either way, I say bring it the fuck on.
This is the most cliché moment of my life.
It’s raining and I’m standing in front of the Eiffel Tower…with a red umbrella. I swear, Tyler thinks he’s hilarious. I think the British have a very, very odd sense of humor.
“Just smile,” he begs, his own umbrella tucked under his armpit—to keep his baby dry, he claims. He lifts his camera to his face. “Please.”
“This looks like all the images on Pinterest I’ve seen!” I protest. “Seriously? Red? Wasn’t there blue or something?” I twirl the umbrella.
“Red stands out. It’s all photographical. Trust me, okay?”
