“Please.”
I studied him while he waited at the bar to be served, trying to see him with fresh eyes. Laurent was undeniably handsome, the barman seeming to think so too if his undisguised appraisal was anything to go by. Classically handsome with strong features and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. I catalogued everything else I knew about him. Witty. Slightly salty, but I didn’t mind that; I’d often received that criticism myself. Loyal. The type of man who kissed a friend of only a few weeks to save him from himself. Or at least that was Laurent’s version of events when I’d pressed him for an explanation of his kiss with Finn on our way here.
The type of man who went along with someone’s madcap plan to fake a relationship despite getting nothing out of it. Yes, there was the whole avoiding any more dates thing which I’d used to twist Laurent’s arm, but he could have simply refused to go. I pictured poor Guillermo waiting for a date who didn’t arrive. Yeah, perhaps Laurent was too nice to do that to someone.
The barman was flirting up a storm now, leaning across the bar to whisper something in Laurent’s ear, his fingers curled around my fake boyfriend’s shoulder supposedly for balance. Something unfurled in my gut. Something with spiky edges that jabbed and poked.
Before I could analyze it, Laurent was already turning away from the bar and making his way back to me, drinks in hand.Don’t ask him about the barman.Censoring myself didn’t come naturally, so I lasted no longer than five seconds after Laurent had sat back down before jerking my head toward the bar. “What did he want?”
Laurent stared at me with something close to lazy amusement. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper with a string of digits scrawled on it. “He gets off at eleven, apparently. He’d like to give me a private lesson in making cocktails.”
“U-huh.” The spiky thing in my gut rolled around a bit, just to remind me it was there.
Laurent tapped his finger on the piece of paper. “Do me a favor and tell Finn about this. He’s convinced I can’t get a date on my own. It would do him the world of good to know that’s not the case.”
I regarded him silently for a moment, thoughts tumbling through my head like leaves caught in a crosswind. “And are you taking him up on his offer to makecock-tails?” The emphasis on the first part of the word was deliberate.
Laurent studied the paper for a few beats, before scooping it off the table to crush in his palm. “No.”
“Why not? He’s a good-looking guy, right?”
“How many times a night do you reckon he gives out his number? Two? Three? More?”
“Maybe you’re special.” Laurent’s laugh made his thoughts on that clear, something about his self-deprecation grating. “You’re immediately thinking the worst of him. Why? Is it some sort of self-protection? I guess if you think the worst of everyone, you never have to open your heart to anyone, and you can stay safe in your ivory tower. Maybe Finn’s concern about you ending up alone isn’t that misplaced.”
Laurent’s head turn my way seemed to take an age before his gaze fastened on me. “Don’t get deep. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Ouch!” I clutched a hand to my chest in pseudo hurt. “Let me guess, you’re about to eviscerate my personality, so I’ll back off and be so busy nursing my wounded feelings I’ll forget what we were discussing.”
Laurent’s stare was a long one. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? You like to surround yourself with people with problems. Finn and his break-up. Henri and his… Well, from what you’ve told me about him, his everything. If you’re busy dealing with everyone else’s problems, you never have to deal with your own.”
“Which is?” There was a hard glint in Laurent’s eye that dared me to mention his father. If I did, he’d likely get up and leave.
“Everyone has problems,” I said instead.
Laurent rolled his eyes. “Such a cop out, as you English would say.”
“I’m not English,” I reminded him. “I’m Irish. And we Irish people don’t take kindly to being lumped in with the English, given the centuries of conflict between the two nations.”
“Irish,” Laurent corrected with a slight inclination of his head. He sat back in his chair, his body language that of a coiled spring. “You wanted to talk about my problems.”
Our gazes locked for a few seconds. It was like holding a grenade in my hand and deciding whether to pull the pin or put it back in my pocket. “You know what they are. You don’t need me to spell it out.”
“No, I don’t. You’re one hundred percent correct about that.”
I pondered how we’d ever ventured down this cul-de-sac. Ah, yes. Laurent and his easy dismissal of the bartender’s interest. It wasn’t like I wanted him dating the bartender. For one, it would really mess up the pretense we were dating if Finn discovered Laurent was seeing someone else. And then there was the spiky thing that had taken up residence in my gut. Something that I needed to go away and dissect and decide what the implications were. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
Laurent arched an eyebrow. “We?”
“We,” I repeated. “You have a day off. That entire performance we just put on will be for nothing, if at the first opportunity, we’re not spending time together when we can. That’s why I needed to know what was happening between you and Loverboy at the bar.” A complete lie. “You know, two’s company, threes a crowd. I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice guy, but there’s no way Cillian is going to buy me going from being straight to getting involved in three-ways. I should probably leave that until at least month two.”
I took a moment to run the words I’d just said back through my head, something I rarely did. It seemed once you started lying, it was hard to stop. I took a big gulp of my beer and then started again, doing my best to shake off feeling unsettled. “I like you Laurent. I want to spend time with you. I wanted to spend time with you before I ever lied to my brother about our relationship status.”
“Because you didn’t know anyone else in Paris.”
“You really think I couldn’t have made friends, if I’d put my mind to it?”
