The waiter arrives with wine, a baguette and butter before I think too deep into the offer.He fills our glasses then leaves again.
“Wine?Are you trying to get me drunk in the afternoon?”
He laughs.“Will a few glasses of wine get you drunk?”
“Probably.”
“Bottoms up.”Holding up his glass, he says, “À la tienne.”
Tapping mine against his, I say, “À la tienne.”
One bottle leads totwo and I’m toast.All the bread in Paris can’t stop the world from spinning.With Olivier’s arm around my waist and my arm over his shoulder, together we stumble back to the hostel before the sun sets.It’s innocent enough, though I find my body leaning on him more than I probably needed to.
The redhead waiting in the lobby for him is not as amused by our laughter or that we’re touching, much less draped on each other...even if platonically.She yells at Olivier in French as he smiles, dropping his arm from me to go to her.As he speaks, his voice is calm and I can just make out that he’s telling her we are only friends.Even with a cloudy mind, it sounds more like placating if I’m judging, which I am.The redhead slaps Olivier across the face and pushes between us to exit.
When the door slams closed, I turn to him, wide-eyed and in shock as he rubs his cheek.His lids grow heavy again as if that was merely a disruption and he offers his hand out to me.When I take it, he starts walking and says, “We must sleep together.”
Stopping instantly, I shake my head.“Whoa.Whoa.Whoa.No.”
“Whoa?”he questions, confusion coloring his expression.
“We can’t sleep together.”My voice gets pitchy and my words come out faster.“I’m not going to sleep with you.”
His words slur, the wine winning.“Kanndeeese, sleep,” he says, closing his eyes, but not releasing my hand in a half-attempt to show me what he means.When he opens them again, a big smile appears.“Sleep.Tu comprends?”
Nodding, I reply, “Sleep.Oui.”
My heartbeat picks up speeding past our pace as we take each step of the four flights.His hand remains warm as I feel my body begin to freeze up from nerves.It’s been months since I had a date much less held hands or ‘slept’ with someone.With a quick glance over his shoulder, our eyes meeting in the moment, he smiles—confident, but comforting.The door is opened and our hands fall apart.I walk past him and go to my case to dig out my toothbrush, paste, and pajamas as he silently takes his jacket off.Holding the brush and toothpaste in the air, I say, “I’ll be back,” as if I need to explain to him why I’m leaving.
I hurry out of the room and into the hallway while rolling my eyes at myself.The awkwardness I was dreading when we came up here takes over my body.Walking down the hall, I go inside the bathroom and lock the door behind me.Leaning against the hollow wood door, I look in the mirror.Maybe it’s the drunk goggles I’m looking through, but I don’t look as bad as I thought I would.
After brushing my teeth and finishing up in the bathroom, I enter the room again.Closing the door softly behind me, I wait in the dimly lit room, unsure if Olivier is still awake.When my eyes adjust to the low light, I tiptoe forward.His body is still as he lays on the lower bunk bed.With just the little nightstand lamp on, I see him turn.The energy we had earlier alters into something else causing my breath to slow like my pace.My gulp is hard, but I hope he doesn’t hear.I tuck my toiletries back into the bag on top of my suitcase.
“Come here,” he says, watching my every move.
Going against all my typical instincts, I walk closer and sit down on the bed near his feet.He takes my hand and says, “Trust me.Sleep.That’s all.”
There’s a saying that you shouldn’t trust people who say trust me.As my mind runs over all the reasons I shouldn’t climb into bed next to him, my body is already going against the rationale.He lifts the covers as I lift my legs and slip under the sheet.I try not to think about how many people have slept in this bed or used this pillow or the thin, scratchy blanket, and I definitely don’t want to think about the redhead who slapped him.Instead I lay here, the top of my head leaning against the side of his.His fingers intertwine with mine.His skin is a little rough, something I hadn’t noticed on our walk home, but I like it.
He clears his throat, then whispers, “Are you tired?”
“No,” I whisper back.
While staring up at the bottom of the top bed, I feel his breath before I feel his forehead against my cheek.I stay still.His lips press lightly to my skin, alighting every nerve in my body.Closing my eyes, I enjoy the subtle touch right before it disappears.I keep my eyes closed a moment longer so I don’t seem desperate.
“Bonne nuit, my Rayon de Soleil Américain.”
I exhale a shaky breath as quietly as I can, and reply, “Bonne nuit.”
The lamp is turned off and we lay there in the dark, wide awake, trying to regulate our breathing to sound normal.Judging by my racing heart, I’m anything but normal right now.Every sound in the room and noise from the street below is magnified until he squeezes my hand.The gesture is reassuring and I settle down, closing my eyes again.
My first day in Paris and I’m falling asleep next to one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seenandhe’s French.I swoony-sigh, then eventually fall asleep next to Olivier.
