Page 27 of Playing Mr. Perfect

I’m sure my smile is the last thing keeping him up at night, but that’s not something anyone has ever said to me before, and it’s nice to hear it.

My family’s voices mingle with the sounds of traffic as we make our way to a bridge over the Seine. I try to focus on the views of the city, the cobblestone streets, and the river, but I can’t concentrate on anything other than Clay’s proximity. When we start across the bridge, everyone else stops to take pictures. Clay touches my lower back, leaning close, like it’s become a habit. His lips graze my ear, sending shivers of heat down my neck as he whispers, “How about here?”

“Here what?”

“This looks like a good place to kiss.” He flashes those dimples.

I laugh. “Would you stop?”

“Why would I stop when it makes you smile? I’ve already told you how much I like that gorgeous smile.”

I’m starting to like the things he says and does way too much. He doesn’t leave my side as we go from one famous landmark to the next, exploring Notre-Dame Cathedral with its intricately carved gargoyles and Chimeras, and twin bell towers, and then Sainte-Chapelle royal chapel, where we admire the magnificent scenes depicted in the stained glass.

“The glasswork is incredible,” I say as we walk around the chapel.

“Not nearly as incredible as my view,” Clay says.

I glance over and find him looking at me with an intensity that makes my heart flutter.

He keeps me in that heightened state of anticipation and arousal as we explore the rest of the chapel and head to the next landmark. Amber tells us about each place we visit, but I’ve barely heard a word. I’m too sidetracked by Clay’s furtive touches and whispered flirtations.

“The architecture here is out of this world,” Trace says.

Everyone chimes in with their thoughts, but our late night is catching up to me, and my words are swallowed by a yawn.

“Does architecture bore you?” Clay asks.

“No. I’m just a little tired. Someone kept me up late last night.”

He grins. “You’re welcome.”

As cheesy as he is, he has kept me smiling, blushing, and laughing at his silly jokes all afternoon. A little while later, we’re heading to yet another site, when Clay says, “I’m going to hit the men’s room in that café we just passed.”

“Do you want us to wait?”

“No. I’ll catch up.” He jogs back to the café.

We stop at a corner, waiting to cross, and Axsel sidles up to me. “Did you scare Clay off already?”

“No. He went to use the bathroom.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

Axsel is trying too hard to be casual. “And…?”

“Nothing,” he says as we cross the street. “I just think you two look good together. He seems into you.”

“There’s no one else here for him to flirt with.” I try to ignore the bad taste that leaves in my mouth.

Clay joins us a couple of minutes later and hands me a warm to-go cup.

“What’s this?”

“A latte. We can’t have you falling asleep on the tour.”

My heart doesn’t just flutter. It swells. “Thank you.”

He nods like it was no big deal.