“I got the cutest socks,” Corrie tells me. “And face cream. I bought some for you too.”
I smile. She’s sweet sometimes.
“No socks and face cream for me?” Oscar jokes, and shoots her an exaggerated frown. “I’m really hurt, Corrie. I thought we were friends.”
We’re all laughing when we exit the store and head toward la Place de la république. Once again, Oscar takes a few pics and entertains me with stories of random passersby. Mom and Antoine are chatting again, and the sight of them makes me smile. I love to see my mother happy. I know what I’m doing is devious, but it’s for the best. I really don’t want her to become a twice-divorced woman. She deserves better.
We follow up our tour with a stroll down Canal St Martin, where locals hang out. It’s quite beautiful and romantic — lots of couples kissing by the canal. And the best thing about it… there aren’t too many tourists. We stop at another café, where I’m careful to order a café américano this time. I’m usually a tea kind of gal, but I need a little pick-me-up. Last night was a little too exciting and I didn’t get that great of a sleep. It feels good to rest my feet and watch the locals go on about their lives. I’m happy to see that Mom and Antoine are still caught up in each other, at a table for two. Corrie is sitting at the next table, with the other tourists, being her usual social self.
When I lift my lips from my mug, I catch Oscar in the act. He’s watching me again. He does this when he thinks I’m not looking. “You like what you see?”
“Always,” he says with a playful grin. “I like you with your hair up like that. I can see your pretty neck.”
I smile and blush a little.
He inches closer, closing the distance between us. “I really want to bite it,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.
I laugh, slightly turned on. He knows the back of my neck is my sweet spot.
“We’re in public,” I point out.
“So, we’re in Paris,” he argues. “I saw a couple practically fucking five minutes ago.”
I laugh — it’s true, they were. I wanted to shout “get a room” in French, but I couldn’t remember how to say it. “True.”
He presses his mouth on the nape of my neck and I close my eyes. He takes a little nibble and I laugh. “Stop,” I plead, but a part of me really wants him to go on.
“So are you going out with Matt again?”
My stomach sinks. I don’t want to lie to him. I’m not a liar. “Uh… he asked me for another date, and I agreed.”
Oscar pulls from me. “Cool. Fair enough,” he says. Yet I can clearly see that it’s not cool at all. “We’re not exclusive, you and me,” he says. “You can go out with whoever you wish. And I can do the same.”
“True,” I say, at a complete loss for words. “Check out my mom and Antoine,” I add, an attempt to change the subject. The server comes with our order — perfect timing.
This friends-with-benefits thing can be fun, but unfortunately, it can also be very, very complicated.
