The International Kissing Club

by Ivy Adams

  “So I hear.”

  “Now, that’s not right,” he said. “You’re supposed to tell me it isn’t true.”

  “Frenchmen are arrogant. And you’re very Gallic.”

  “I thought you liked things that are French.” Sebastian’s eyes dropped to her lips.

  Piper grinned—she couldn’t help herself—then glanced around in an effort to regain her equilibrium.

  It didn’t work. But then, how could it? The world around her was straight out of a movie.

  The heavy scent of flowers perfumed the air.

  The remnants of the late afternoon rain made everything shimmer while the big round streetlamps reflected off the glass of the Louvre pyramid at the center of the courtyard, making it gleam.

  Sebastian must have noticed her discomfort, because his smile grew wicked. “What? No snappy comeback?” He nudged her teasingly with his shoulder.

  The contact made Piper’s whole body light up. There was that damn tingle again. Only this time, she almost didn’t mind. Not that she would let him know that.

  “Hey, back up, buddy. You’re exactly the kind of guy who gives European men a bad name.”

  “Oh, really? Because I was thinking the same thing about you and American girls.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked indignantly.

  “Simone gave me the heads-up about you before I came home this weekend. Said you’ve been breaking hearts all over Paris since the first night you got here.”

  “Me?” she trilled, pressing a hand to her chest theatrically. A thrill worked its way down her spine at the idea that she was some sort of femme fatale. That was a description she could get used to. “Do I look like a heartbreaker?”

  “Actually, that’s exactly what you look like.” He reached up and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Raoul still talks about the kiss you gave him at Le Bataclan three weeks ago.”

  “That was—that was nothing. I was just …” For the first time, she wondered what her kissing exploits looked like to everyone else. She and her friends knew it was all for fun, but maybe other people didn’t see it that way.

  “Just what?” Sebastian crowded closer and Piper took a step back in self-defense. She couldn’t think when he was so close, breathing the same air that she was.

  “There’s this competition. My friends and I … we call it the International Kissing Club.”

  The eyebrow went up again and she almost melted right there, in the middle of Palais-Royal. For the first time since she’d arrived in Paris, she’d met a guy she wouldn’t mind kissing again and again. Despite their rocky start, she realized she liked Sebastian. He was smart, funny, and ooh là là … she just didn’t know enough French adjectives. What was there not to like? And now that she’d found him, he thought she was just interested in a one-point stand.

  Before she knew what she was doing, before she could think better of it, she blurted out the rest. “We get points for kissing guys. One point for each kiss from a different guy and three points if—”

  The second eyebrow joined the first. “Three points if … ?”

  “Three points if he’s really special,” she whispered.

  For a second, Sebastian only stared at her, a puzzled look on his face. Just when she was starting to regret her honesty—what guy liked thinking a girl was interested in kissing him because of a competition?—he threw back his head and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

  He laughed so hard and long that she stiffened, a little offended. But he reached for her hand and finally managed to get himself under control. “You Americans … always competing. Always wanting to have more, more, more. Don’t you realize that the best things in life are about quality, not quantity?”

  She nearly swallowed her tongue at the sizzle in his eyes, in his voice, and for the first time since this whole wild adventure had begun Piper couldn’t help wondering if he was right. “What’s wrong with both?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing. But don’t you know, just like in art, you need to master one technique before you move on to the next?” He entwined his long, calloused fingers with her own, and Piper couldn’t believe how right it felt to be standing there, letting him hold her hand.

  “So, tell me, Piper,” Sebastian said after a moment. “If I kiss you right now, will that be enough? Or will you kiss me back and then go to a club and kiss some other guy tomorrow?”

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Could barely stand upright as heat streaked along every nerve ending she had. “We could—we could try it.” Was that really her voice, that high-pitched squeak that practically broke the sound barrier?

  “Oh, chérie, we’re going to do a lot more than try.”

  His hands trembled a little as they cupped her face, which surprised her even as it made her intensely happy. And then he kissed her, and it was more amazing, more delicious, more real than any and every kiss that had come before it.

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  Messages

  Between Cassidy and Piper:

  Cassidy

  Down, girl. You’ve only known this guy two weeks.

  Piper

  Um … it’s actually only been two days.

  Cassidy

  Holy shit!

  Piper

  But when you know, you know.

  Cassidy

  What am I supposed to know, exactly?

  Piper

  Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t feel anything for Lucas.

  Cassidy

  Keep your emotions out of my vacation romance.

  Piper

  I’ll keep my emotions out if you can keep yours out.

  Cassidy

  New topic, please.

  Piper

  Okay. How about the fact that my art teacher hates me? Nothing I do is good enough.

  Cassidy

  What is he, an idiot?

  Piper

  Maybe I’m the idiot.

  Cassidy

  No way.

  Piper

  I don’t know. I just can’t seem to get in the groove over here.

  Cassidy

  I thought you loved Paris.

  Piper

  I do. It’s my art that doesn’t seem to.

  Cassidy

  Hang in there. It’ll get better.

  Piper

  I guess.

  Piper

  I have to go now. I’ve got class. Wish me luck.

  Cassidy

  You’ll do great.

  Piper

  We’ll see. Btw, happy birthday, Cass. Blow out a candle for me. It’s the first I haven’t been there to celebrate with you since kindergarten.

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  Chapter 14

  Cassidy

  “Rationalists believe that these ideas exist a priori, or prior to experience, and therefore transcend experience …”

  Mr. MacElroy droned on and on while Cassidy leaned so far against her palm she was nearly horizontal on her desk. She stared over the top of his combed-over pate, fixated on the infinitesimal movement of the minute hand on the clock hanging behind him.

  Spending the afternoon held captive by the whims of a teacher so clearly bent on using every last second of “his” time, expounding the medieval worldview in terms too mind-numbing to describe, was not how Cassidy had imagined her seventeenth birthday. She looked at Rachel, her athletics teammate, who sat across the aisle and who was currently miming stabbing her ballpoint pen in her eye to end this misery. Cassidy stifled a snort.

  Outside the wall of windows, the bright, clear afternoon beckoned. Already those students lucky enough not to have a pedant (ha! take that, PSAT practice exam) for last session were fairly skipping down the building’s front steps to sweet, sweet freedom.

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

  Her cell vibrated in her bag. She looked
at Mr. MacElroy to make sure he hadn’t heard—cell phone use was strictly forbidden during school hours, no matter how close to the bell it was. When he didn’t so much as pause, Cassidy slipped her hand under the bag’s flap to pull out the phone. It was a text. From Lucas.

  Meet me outside.

  She glanced out the window again and this time saw the blue Bronco parked at the curb. She looked at the clock—one minute to go.

  Almost a week had gone by since that day on the beach, a week since that kiss. Cassidy smiled all the way to her toes thinking about it.

  “Any questions?” Mr. MacElroy finally finished his monologue as the bell rang. Cassidy, Rachel, and the rest of the class bolted from their desks like they were heading for the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

  Squinting when she hit daylight, Cassidy shielded her eyes to see Lucas leaning casually against the car door, wearing frayed cargo shorts and a banded tee that skimmed his surf-sculpted torso to perfection. She heard a din of curious whispers erupt from the students on the lawn. Cassidy had to force herself not to take the stairs double-time and come to a skidding halt in front of him. A shred of dignity, Cass. Be calm. Cool. Casual.

  She covered the last ten feet in fewer than two strides.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, inwardly cringing at the bubblegum giddiness in her voice. Lucas looked her up and down.

  “Cute uniform.” He grinned as he took in her white poplin button-down, navy pleated skirt with matching kneesocks, and Mary Janes.

  “Ha-ha.” She scowled; she hated wearing it—it was like living in a Britney Spears video. Guys, on the other hand, apparently loved it.

  “A little bird told me it was your birthday.” From behind his back he presented a single white lily. “Happy birthday, American girl,” he said, and brushed a light kiss on her cheek.

  “H-how did you know?”

  “Facebook, of course. Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” He took both her hands in his, and Cassidy couldn’t help the wave of happiness that rippled through her from his simple touch.

  “Nothing till later; Mrs. Gatwick is fixing me a special birthday dinner,” she told him, blatantly ignoring the hours of homework she currently carried in her backpack. What was one night of missed sleep compared to spending her birthday with a supersweet guy who’d driven across Sydney to see her? Wasn’t that why they made double-shot espressos?

  “Then get in. We’ll have to hurry if we’re going to make it.” He opened the car door and she crawled into the passenger seat.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I told you I’d show you the sights, didn’t I?” His grin was mischievous as he asked, “You’re not scared of heights, are you?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’ve never really been anywhere higher than the Paris, Texas, water tower,” she said.

  “Good. If we’re lucky, there’ll still be time for cake when we’re done.”

  “Done with what? What cake?” She was spinning: the flower, the sweet kiss, seeing him again—it was a lot to take in. But the thought of spending her birthday with Lucas was better than anything she could have planned, so she threw her bag in the backseat and buckled up.

  He slid on his aviators and they pulled from the curb. “Trust me, Cassidy—it’s going to be a blast.”

  “This. Is. Awesome!” Cassidy had to yell over the keen of the wind rushing through the steel girders.

  “I told you I’d show you the city,” Lucas said, obviously pleased with her response.

  Standing more than four hundred feet in the air on top of the Harbour Bridge, Cassidy thought she could see to the edge of the world. Below them the Opera House, the whole harbor out to the sea, the entire city, sprawled around them for miles.

  The climb had taken just over two hours, and though they were strapped to a safety line and Cass was more than capable of climbing the 463 steps by herself, Lucas had taken every opportunity to help her. Each time, his soft touch setting off a firestorm along her nervous system.

  Now, standing behind her on the walkway, he braced his arms around her on either side of the railing. The whole walk up hadn’t scared her as much as having him stand this close. “There’s Manly,” he said, pointing in the distance, his chin resting on her shoulder. “And over here”—his hand slid around her waist to turn her—“is Bondi Beach. Have you been yet?”

  “No,” she said, wondering if his fingertips would leave scorch marks on her skin.

  “Then we’ll have to go—there’s great surf over there. I can take you this weekend if you want.”

  Cassidy could not ignore the thrumming of blood in her ears. This was not good—not good at all. Sure, Lucas was sweet and hot and all, but she couldn’t let herself get worked up over a guy she’d known less than a month and wouldn’t see again in two more. They could be good friends—well, friends with kissing benefits should the opportunity arise again—but this whole heart-racing, sweaty-palms stuff, it couldn’t continue. She had to get a grip and keep this totally casual. That way no one—especially Cassidy—got hurt when she had to leave.

  So it frustrated her, hours after they’d returned to sea level and were sitting outside of a charming bakery on Bourke Street sharing a raspberry-and-chocolate-mousse tart, that she couldn’t keep the light-headedness at bay. It obviously was not from low blood sugar.

  “This is not a proper birthday cake, you know,” Lucas commented as he took another bite.

  “It’s way better,” she said. He nodded his agreement, the fork pressed between his lips … lips she knew from experience were warm and firm and—okay, new topic.

  “When did you get that tattoo?” Cass pointed to the stylized wave design peeking from the edge of his sleeve.

  “Two years ago, when I broke top ten in the junior surf rankings.”

  “Wow, you’re that good, huh? How long have you been surfing?”

  “Since … forever. As soon as I could walk. My parents live by the beach, and I remember watching guys riding waves for hours as a kid. I knew I had to do it.”

  “That’s pretty cool to have known what you wanted out of life when you were so young,” Cassidy said.

  “Yeah, well, I wish my dad felt the same way,” Lucas replied, his dimple disappearing.

  “He doesn’t want you to surf?”

  “That’s putting it lightly.” He leaned back in his chair. “My dad keeps hoping I’ll grow out of this ‘rebellious phase,’ go to university and get a degree in banking so I can work with him. We have a deal: I have one last year to get a big sponsor—”

  “Or go to school,” Cassidy said for him, and then chuckled.

  “Why’s that funny?”

  “It’s not, for you—it’s just, you’re running away from school so you can live your dream, and getting to go to school is my dream.” She finished off the last bit of tart. Lucas leaned forward and dabbed at the corner of her mouth.

  “Bit of chocolate there.” That should have been embarrassing, if it wasn’t so swoon inducing.

  Swoon? Who am I? Not even drama-queen Piper used words like “swoon.”

  “Got big plans for university? Lawyer? Doctor?” he asked.

  “Hardly.” Cassidy laughed. “I just don’t want to get stuck where I am, if that makes sense. I’m from this little town, Paris. My mom’s lived there her whole life, my grandparents and their parents were all born there, and I just don’t want that to be my story, too. I want more than that. Getting a scholarship to college is how I plan to make my escape.”

  “So, that’s why you came here? To get away from your small town?”

  “Well, that, and because of Piper.”

  “Piper?”

  “And Izzy and Mei: my best friends. We all made a pact to become foreign exchange students together. Except Izzy couldn’t go, so she’s back home. But Piper’s in France and Mei’s in China.”

  Lucas looked at her, his honey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners like he found everything she said amusing. �
�That’s a pretty major pact. Do you girls always do everything together?”

  “Sort of. It’s a long, long story,” Cassidy said.

  “Tell me on the way. I’ve gotta get you back in time for your birthday dinner.” He stood and held out his hand and, as naturally as breathing, she took it.

  Damn it!

  This was getting dangerous. All this niceness, all this touching, all these feelings, it was too much. He was too much. And she was Cassidy Barlow: things this good didn’t happen to her; boys like Lucas didn’t happen to her. Her mom’s mantra ran through her mind: when a guy seems too good to be true, run like hell and don’t look back.

  Except she didn’t want to run away. Not this time.

  She liked these feelings, liked the way he touched her and talked to her as if he was truly interested in what she had to say, in what made her happy. Not just looking for an opportunity to grope her. For chrissake, he’d come to her school to surprise her on her birthday, planned an amazing afternoon for her, and done nothing more than kiss her cheek and hold her hand. Who did that?

  She’d never had a guy do anything like that for her, not even her own father.

  Lucas’s thumb rubbed lightly along her index finger as they walked to his car, sending ripples of goose bumps up her arm.

  You know what? Paris, Texas, was seven thousand miles away and she had no intention of letting thoughts of home spoil this day. Instead, she let excitement and happiness—the things she was supposed to be feeling on this trip—wash over her, all thanks to Lucas.

  Besides, she was tired of being on her guard, always waiting for the disappointment around the corner. For the rest of the time she was here, she decided, she would be a different girl—she would be “Vacation Cassidy,” complete with a new positive attitude. Open to new experiences and emotions.

  She would be more like … Piper, only with less theatrics and a better tan.

  Besides, what’s the worst that could happen in just seven weeks?

  Then again, what’s the best that could happen? she thought as they pulled up to Mrs. Gatwick’s house.

  More days like this, she hoped. Of course, considering the state of her weakened knees, more days like this and she’d never have a shot at that basketball scholarship. Though Lucas might be worth it.