The Wild One

by Cardello, Ruth

  Wineglass in hand, Cecile sat down on the white leather couch. “Stop. You’re beautiful. All you need is a little confidence. Men are not complicated. Feed them. Fuck them. Let them have their freedom. Really, that’s it.”

  I sat beside her, tucking my feet beneath me. Despite loving her as I did, I wasn’t sure Cecile was my best choice as a relationship guru. “I’d like to think there’s more to them than that.”

  Cecile laughed. “Maybe it’s me, but I prefer to keep things simple. I like my men the same way. Mauricio fits the description of my type, and that’s how I know he’s wrong for you. If Felix had come back and you had stayed, that would have just been about having fun. Tomorrow, maybe things would have felt a little awkward at first, but we’d be solid. Sex. No sex. We’d still be friends. Mauricio’s the kind of guy who sweeps you off your feet for a week, feeds you a whole fantasy, then doesn’t know your name the next time you meet up. Look me in the eye and tell me you could handle that.”

  My shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I’ve never been swept off my feet. I’ve had sex. No sweeping. Nothing worth bragging about.”

  Cecile took another sip of wine and pursed her lips before she said, “I do think you need to get laid. And you could do a lot worse than that guy. Maybe I’m wrong. I’d just hate to see you get hurt.”

  When your wild friend cautioned you not to do something, it was hard to dismiss her concerns. Objectively speaking, I didn’t know a single thing about Mauricio. Couldn’t even claim we had exchanged witty dialogue that won me over. Anything I might have with him would be purely on a superficial level. “You’re right. Sleeping with him would be wrong.”

  “Hold on. I didn’t say that. As long as it happens between two consenting adults, it’s not my definition of wrong. It’s about knowing yourself, sweetie, and being true to that.” She finished her glass of wine and placed it on the coffee table. “Stop looking at me like I’m going to pounce on you. I forgot how sexually uptight you are.”

  “I’m not uptight.” It wasn’t her offer that had me wound up. Meeting Mauricio had left me nervous, excited, my stomach fluttering in a good way. The freedom of having a friend like Cecile was that I could be myself. No pretense. No guilt. I sat forward with a smile. “Honestly, I was a little jealous when I thought Mauricio was Felix. I work in a man’s field. I’m surrounded by men all day long. I don’t usually get all tongue-tied and goofy. I hear what you’re saying about Mauricio being a player. If I were home and he was working across the hall from me, I wouldn’t even consider calling him. But . . . a part of me thinks . . . what happens in Paris stays in Paris, right?”

  Cecile hooted with laughter. “Look at you—this guy really revved your engines, didn’t he?”

  My smile was huge and unapologetic. “He did.”

  She gave me a long look. “If Felix were here, I’d ask him more about Mauricio. I know they’ve been friends for a long time. They ran wild together all over Europe for a few years. Felix has a lot of respect for him. Does that make him a safe Paris fling for you? I don’t know. Definitely use condoms.”

  My jaw dropped, and I threw a pillow at her. “I’m a little old for the sex talk, don’t you think?”

  “I saw you with him. When an attraction is that strong, even someone as practical as you might get impulsive and slip up. Remember, if you’re not comfortable enough with a man to ask him to put on a raincoat, you have no business fucking him.”

  Female wisdom by Cecile. I could make a T-shirt empire based solely on her one-liners.

  I took the napkin out of my pocket and looked at it. “I might call him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with him. Do you know how many dates I’ve been on that have gone nowhere?” I didn’t remember how a single one of those men kissed, but there’d been a heat to Mauricio’s kiss I wouldn’t soon forget.

  A heat I wanted to experience again.

  Cecile stood. “I’m going to change out of this wet bathing suit. What do you want to do tonight?”

  I was exhausted from the flight over, but also excited to be in a city I’d always dreamed of visiting. “I don’t have the energy for a club, but would you be up for a walk? The room I rented is on Rue Washington.”

  “Right off the Champs-Élysées. Touristy, but there are nice hotels in the area. Sure, let’s walk around, and I’ll choose a place near where you’re staying. What do you have?”

  “A one bedroom I found online.”

  She nodded. Being with Cecile again reminded me of why we’d remained friends for as long as we had. I didn’t need to check into the Four Seasons to impress her, and she didn’t need to explain why she wanted to. Some people thought their friends had to be identical to them—in politics, religions, world views. I disagreed. What a boring world it would be if we were all the same. “Do you think you’ll be moved over early? Tomorrow I thought I’d start with a . . .”

  “Don’t say hop-on hop-off bus.”

  I stuck out my tongue at her. “You are here all the time, Cecile. I’ve never been. I want to do touristy things. Come on. How bad could it be?”

  “Wren, I will walk your ass all over this town if you want me to, but there is no way in hell I’m riding a bus with you.”

  I waved the napkin at her. “Oh, really? Well, then, I’ll just ask someone else.”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “You think he’d go with you? He might agree to meet you, but tour the city in a bus with headphones, snapping photos with you? Not his scene.”

  I stood and posed, putting my hands first on my hips, then in my hair. “You’re underestimating my charm.” Then I snorted.

  And she laughed. “I just might be.” Her expression sobered. “You do need to be careful, but now you’ve piqued my curiosity. He was interested, but enough for a hop-on hop-off bus? That’s a good test of how far he’s willing to go to fuck you.”

  “I don’t test my dates.” I rolled my eyes. “And is everything about sex with you?”

  Her grin was the same back in college, and I loved it. “In Paris it is.”

  Also smiling, I waved toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Go change. I want to find some tacky souvenirs to take back to my coworkers. Like an Eiffel Tower keychain. Or those pens where the person is dressed until you tip the pen and then they’re naked. Do you know where they sell those?”

  “This is going to be a long week,” Cecile joked as she headed down the hall.

  Once alone, I smoothed out the napkin and traced the numbers written on it. I could tour Paris on my own. I didn’t need to call him. In fact, it might be better if I didn’t. If I went back home without seeing him again, he would be a harmless, flirty memory I had from my first night in Paris.

  If I asked him to spend the day playing tourist with me and he wasn’t interested, it would be a disappointing start to the first vacation I’d taken in years.

  On the other hand, if he said yes . . .

  Cecile had called me practical, and that was essentially how I saw myself. I didn’t make rash decisions. When given two paths, I chose the more responsible one.

  But I was on vacation—in Paris.

  The city of love.

  Twenty-seven years of making good choices, of being the person others could rely on . . . hadn’t I earned a little vacation from that as well? That was all this would be.

  Cecile was back, dressed in flats, a loose off-white sweater, and dark slacks. Simple yet eye-catching.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  I stuffed Mauricio’s phone number in the front pocket of my jeans. “Let’s go.”

  A short time later, arm in arm, Cecile and I were strolling down the busy Champs-Élysées. We window-shopped at stores I didn’t need to go into to know I couldn’t afford anything from. That didn’t take away from my euphoria. Traffic flew by us. The sidewalks were packed with other people who were clearly as new to the city as I was. There was an energy in the air that was electric.

  Not to mention how giddy it made me tha
t everywhere I looked there was another architectural marvel. The Arc de Triomphe was stunning architecturally. People disappeared down and emerged from the Métro steps. They were from all over the world, and I would have liked to hear the stories of what had brought each of them to Paris.

  The street was lit, as were the canopies of several restaurants. An expensive car pulled over and someone emerged, but almost no one stopped to see who. The crowd was more engrossed in a male street performer playing a guitar and singing a ballad with a voice that belonged on the radio.

  I paused, tugging on Cecile’s arm. “Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I am in love with this city already.”

  She paused. At first I thought she was taking a moment to appreciate the lighting along the street, but then I sensed a sadness, a weariness I didn’t associate with my larger-than-life friend. “I’ve missed seeing the world through your eyes, Wren. No, I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t put much stock in the idea of love at all. Perhaps that’s why Felix is perfect for me.”

  I stopped and searched her face. “Or why he’s not. Don’t settle for safe, Cecile. You are too amazing to be with someone who doesn’t see that. Don’t let him dismiss you like he did.”

  Her chin rose. “Like I have much of a choice. In my place, what would you have done?”

  I took a moment to consider my response. “Me? I would have called his parents to see if he was okay. Do you know them?”

  Her eyes widened. “His parents? No. We’ve never met.” She frowned. “Besides, he can’t be unwell. He hasn’t been sick a day since I met him. The man has a killer immune system. More likely he’s with another woman.”

  I tossed her earlier words back at her. “Listen, I’m the last one to judge anyone’s decisions. You do what you want, but that Felix—he’s a player. You want to scare him? Have lunch with his parents.” A thought occurred to me. “But never dinner. That would be taking things too far.”

  “Indeed it would.” Her laugh rang out. “Call his parents? How absolutely devious. And here I thought you were the nicer one of us.”

  “Oh, I’m nice. But I’m no pushover. I don’t like the way he sent his friend over to get rid of you.”

  We began to walk again. She mused aloud, “I don’t like that either.” We stopped at a crosswalk, and she turned to me. “I’ll make you a deal. Text me tomorrow morning after you talk to Mauricio. If he agrees to your early-morning Paris tour and actually gets his ass on that bus, I’ll contact Felix’s parents.”

  “You’re on.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  WREN

  After getting up early and dressing in simple black jeans and a teal T-shirt, I paced the area beside my bed. “Hello, Mauricio, want to come out to play?” I shot for a seductive tone as I asked the empty room. No. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Oh, is this Mauricio? I must have butt dialed you.”

  I picked up my phone and hunted around for the napkin on the bedside table. I swore when I saw it had gotten wet from the water bottle I’d placed beside it. Shit.

  I spread it out. Two of the numbers were smudged, the last one to the point of no longer being legible. It could have been a five. Or an eight. Possibly a six. Double shit.

  With the napkin in one hand and my phone in the other, I dialed the numbers I could read and guessed that the last was a five.

  If I’m meant to see him, this will be his number.

  It rang once.

  It rang twice.

  A teenage boy’s voice came on and said, “You’ve reached Todd. If you’re not a loser, leave a message.”

  I ended the call.

  Okay, it was not a five.

  I tried with an eight.

  It rang once.

  It rang twice.

  If this works, I am meant to meet him.

  “Hello? Who is this?” a woman demanded.

  Oh, crap, I hope he’s not married. “I’m looking for Mauricio . . .” I would have provided his last name had I known it. Realizing how little I actually knew about him took a little wind out of my sails.

  “You have the wrong number,” the woman said and abruptly ended the call.

  Frowning down at the napkin, I decided the smudged numeral had to be a six.

  Had to.

  If it’s not a six, I’m done.

  We’re done.

  He probably wouldn’t have lived up to his own hype anyway.

  I tried the number with a six and held my breath.

  It rang once.

  It rang twice.

  “Speak,” a deep male voice commanded.

  The memory of his kiss was so vivid I ran my tongue across my bottom lip and relived it. If things worked out, that memory would soon be a reality.

  “Hello?” he asked with less patience. “Is someone there?”

  I hesitated. Forgot how to speak. Before I had a chance to regain my composure, he hung up. “No,” I exclaimed. “No. No. No.” I shook my phone in frustration.

  Okay. Breathe.

  I pressed the number again before I lost the courage to. As soon as he answered, I said, “Hi. It’s Wren.”

  “Wren.” I loved the way his voice deepened when he said my name. “Did Cecile give you permission to call me?”

  It was a taunt, but a playful one. “She did. We actually have a bet going about what the outcome of this call will be.”

  “You do? Now that sounds like something we should discuss in person.”

  Deep breath. “How about now?”

  He chuckled. “I’m still in bed, but that’s not a problem for me if it’s not for you.”

  Imagining how he might look—bare chested, with just a white sheet draped across his lower half—made me almost forget what I’d planned to do that morning. I shook my head. “Actually, I am heading outside. I’ve never been to Paris, and I’d like to see the city.”

  “At eight o’clock in the morning?” His tone implied he couldn’t imagine what might be out there to see at that time.

  My heart sank a little. Cecile was probably right. Someone like him wouldn’t be interested in playing tourist. He’d been clear about what he wanted. I ran my thumb over my lips. I wanted that, too, but I’d heard Cecile’s warning. Mauricio would sell me a fantasy, then forget my name.

  His fantasy.

  Not mine.

  Whatever happened between us, if anything at all happened, I refused to be that easy to forget. If he wanted a chance with me, he would have to step into my fantasy . . . how I’d always imagined visiting Paris would be—and part of that included getting up early to ooh and aah over landmarks.

  If he said no? Well, then I’d saved myself from the experience of having him one day send a friend to tell me to leave his apartment. Birds of a feather, isn’t that what they said? Cecile still hadn’t heard from Felix. I didn’t want to mean that little to a man . . . not even for a weeklong fling.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’m already up and dressed. There’s a bus tour, the kind that lets you hop on and hop off at all the tourist sights. That’s my plan for the day. Would you like to join me?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am.” I cringed. I’ve never been good at flirting. It was the engineer in me. I’d always been straightforward. No games.

  He made a sound deep in his throat like a man who was rolling over in bed. “I’d love to spend today with you, but with one condition.”

  “And what would that be?” My throat went dry. If he said dinner, I was hanging up.

  “You allow me to plan how we spend tomorrow.”

  My heart raced. Mauricio had starred in a delightfully dirty dream the night before, the details of which were vividly replaying in my mind, making it difficult to speak. This was what two years of celibacy did to a person—I couldn’t even remember if I’d answered him.

  I took a deep breath. It was only fair to warn him. “I am not wild by nature. In fact, I might be considered the opposite of wild. Like boring. If you’re lookin
g for—”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about what I’m looking for. Where do you want to meet?”

  I gave him the address where I’d read we could buy tickets for the bus. “Could you be there in an hour?”

  “I’m not that far from there, so with a shower and a brisk walk, yes. See you at nine.”

  “Nine,” I repeated and pressed the icon to end the call.

  Mauricio had said yes.

  I called Cecile. “Hold on to your panties, my friend. Mauricio said yes.”

  Cecile groaned. “What time is it?”

  I checked the digital clock near the bed. “Eight fifteen.”

  She yawned. “Most people sleep in on vacations.”

  “Not when they’re in Paris and want to beat the rush. Are you still at Felix’s place?”

  “Yes. I scheduled check-in at the Seasons for around noon.” She yawned again. “Did you say Mauricio agreed to your bus tour?”

  “That’s what I said. So it looks like you’ll be tracking down someone’s parents today.”

  She let out a pained sigh. “I love you and hate you right now. Tell me, how did you convince Mauricio to go with you?”

  “I asked him.”

  “Really? You told him where you were going, and he thought it was a great idea?”

  I paused. “Not exactly. I told him my plans, asked him to join me, and he agreed with the condition that he could plan tomorrow.”

  “And you said yes to that?”

  Oh my God. “I didn’t say no. I did warn him, though, that I’m pretty boring usually. Should I call him back and clarify that I didn’t make any kind of binding agreement with him?”

  Cecile laughed. “Please don’t. Let me think this through. He probably thinks he’s pretty smooth. My guess is he’ll try to end your tour early. Maybe even after the first stop. Don’t let him. Right now you have the upper hand. Keep it. I bet most women don’t make him work very hard for sex. Men like a challenge. Play hard to get, even if you want to jump him.”

  “I don’t play games, Cecile. Isn’t honesty always the best policy?”