“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Her instinctive pushback to anyone helping her popped out of her mouth before she could even think. She didn’t want to be a bother.
“I promise,” he said, his smile becoming easier. “Any other problems I can solve for you?”
She wasn’t going to tell him. She was a grown woman of twenty-five years old and didn’t need anyone to solve her problems for her. “No.”
“Then smile for me.”
“Smile?”
“Before you made that ridiculous pronouncement that you were going to screw every man in the bar—”
“Fuck.I said I was going tofuckevery man in the bar.” She was supposed to fuck somebody tonight. There was a reason she was supposed to do that, if only she could remember why.
“Yes, you did say that. But before you announced it at the top of your lungs whilst standing on a chair, you had the funniest, most joyous smile I’d seen in a long time. You kept giggling to yourself as you looked at a piece of paper.”
“It’s a cocktail napkin,” Dree said. Some of the silly insanity of that napkin crept back, and she smiled. Yeah, the napkin had told her to do that. She needed to check the napkin for what else she needed to do, but she needed to sleep with at least one guy tonight or else she would never get even halfway through the bucket list on that napkin before she left Paris.
“That’s better,” the man said, and his smile grew, too, and reached his eyes.
She had been amazed by his looks and hiseyesin the club, but his smile was even more dazzling.
He lifted her chin with one finger, still smiling. “More.”
“More what?” Her eyelids felt heavy, and her lips seemed clumsy and swollen.
His voice dropped to a more seductive octave, and a hint of breathiness crept in. “More smile. Give me more.”
It was such a silly request that she laughed at him. The tequila that was still in her stomach was flowing into her blood. They called that crapliquid couragefor a reason.
“That’s better. Now, let’s take you back to your hotel.” He steered her toward the street.
“Hotel?” But, wait. She was supposed to be in a bar, living an awesome life. That woman had told her to. “How did you know I’m a tourist?”
His chuckle was an explosion, like,“Hah!”
“No,seriously.How’d y’all know I’m not a worldly Parisienne?”
He glanced down at her. “Just a hunch. Come on, let’s get you a cab.”
She tried to follow him as he walked away, but her toes dragged because she was still dead-ass drunk. He caught her as she flopped forward and set her back on her feet. She said, “I could totally be a worldly Parisienne if I wanted to.”
“Of course, you could. What cab service did you use? Or maybe one of the ride-sharing ones?”
She told him, “I rode the subway here.”
“It’s late, and I don’t think you should take the Métro. I don’t trust you to get off at your stop.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Come. What taxi service should I call?”
“I can’t afford a taxi!” she blurted.
He stopped and frowned with confusion, peering at her, but then shook his head. “All right, then I’ll send for a taxi for you. It’ll take you back to your hotel.”
“I’m staying at a B and B, not a hotel.”
His shoulders drooped, and he closed his eyes. “So there isn’t a concierge who would help you up to your room?”
