“He still looks at you like a friend.”
“That’s not totally true.”
“He likes you. He respects you. He’s fond of you. But he’s not hungry for you. And he’s nowhere close to being curious enough.”
“Curious about what?”
“About what you taste like.” My breath catches as he lifts his hand and presses his thumb to my bottom lip. “I’mcurious,” he says quietly as my insides ignite.
My blood is roaring in my ears.What is happening right now?Isnap out of my daze and place my hands on his chest, pushing him back by a few inches. “Stop messing around.”
“I’m not,” he replies flippantly. “Why don’t wereallytake things up a notch. For real. It would drive him crazy.”
Oh my God. Is he serious? I think he’s serious. He is. He’s serious.
I shake my head, feeling like an animal caught in a trap. “Too dangerous.”
“How?”
“Feelings.”
“What feelings? You wanthim.” His features harden as he looks toward the bar. “You always have. Hasn’t stopped you from being with other people.”
“What aboutyourfeelings?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about me,” he replies dismissively, as though the thought of falling for me is beyond him. “We’ll keep it casual. A holiday fling, like you said.”
“You’re drunk,” I whisper.
He leans right in, taking his sweet time about it, and says directly into my ear, “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”
A full-body shiver rolls down me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” an all-too-familiar voice interrupts.
Étienne reels backward. “Nothing,” he says to Lise with an easy laugh, bending down to give her two very ordinary air kisses. He glances back at me as he walks with her to the bar, mouthing one word.
Yet.
I don’t sleep a wink that night.
23
I’m a bundle of nerveswhen I arrive at Étienne’s on Sunday morning. I assume he’s still expecting me. I didn’t text him because I didn’t want to have to anticipate his reply.
He’s sitting outside on a deck chair, a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at the mountains.
He looks pensive.
“Hi,” I call as I approach.
He glances my way and jumps to his feet. “Hi!” he says in a tone that makes me think I’ve caught him by surprise, but not unpleasantly. “Is that the contract?” He holds out his hand for the white envelope I’m carrying.
I nod and pass it over.
He goes to the door and, through the window, I watch him perfunctorily place it with his empty cup on the coffee table. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket as he walks back outside and locks the door behind him.
I have no idea which version of Étiennethisis. Does he even remember what he said to me at the bar? I’ve lost so much sleep thanks to his mind-fuckery.
