Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
He cups my face in his big hands and wipes away my tears with his thumbs. “You’ve waited your whole life for this trip, and that ass ruined it. I couldn’t have that.”
I open my mouth to explain that I’m not crying because of Steve. He sucks, and the timing of the breakup was rotten as hell, but we’ve been going through the motions in our relationship for a while. These are happy tears. But I don’t get the chance to explain, because Easton dips his head and sweeps his mouth over mine.
I must be dreaming.
No kiss can feel this good. The flick of a guy’s tongue across my lips shouldn’t make the same buzz go through me as the climb to the top of a roller-coaster’s first peak. The way his hand slides into my hair shouldn’t feel as comforting as my own bed at the end of a long, exhausting day.
But he pulls away, and no matter how many times I blink at him, he’s still there. Easton Connor just kissed me on the Eiffel Tower, and I can’t even process it.
His eyes roam over my face a thousand times. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
He nods. “I was afraid you’d accuse me of offering a pity kiss and refuse me.” His lips quirk into that bad-boy smile I love so much. “So I didn’t want to ask.”
I touch my fingers to my lips. That happened. “Was it a pity kiss?”
“Hell no.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but I smile anyway. “You’re really here.”
He laughs. “Do I need to kiss you again to convince you?”
I open my mouth and then close it again. It’s too much and not enough, and I’m happy and baffled all at once. I want to ask a thousand questions, but there’s something so magical about this moment that I’m afraid it might fall apart under the weight of my disbelief.
“Shay? Are you going to say anything?”
“No. I’m not.”
His smile falls away. “Is that bad? Shit, I was trying to do a good thing, and—”
I put a finger to his lips and shake my head. “Shh.” I reach for his hand and lace my fingers through his, turning to face the view.
He stands beside me, studying our hands, our intertwined fingers. “You’re not mad that I came?”
“I’m not mad.” I smile. I might smile forever. “I can’t believe you came to Paris for no reason other than my broken heart.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I was just in the neighborhood.”
“Right! Of course. You’re a big-shot NFL player. You probably fly to Paris for dinner all the time.”
His lips twitch. “Totally.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Nope. Not at all.”
I swallow hard. “Big deal or not, thank you. It means a lot to me.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. The gesture is almost brotherly, and that only confuses me. I release a breath and make a promise to myself—tonight, I’ll enjoy Paris. I will not analyze Easton’s kiss. I will not try to make it into more than it is or obsess about tomorrow. In return for this gift from the universe, I’ll enjoy the moments as they come and expect nothing.
We hardly talk for the next hour as we take in the view, but it’s not an awkward silence. Not for me, at least. For me, it’s just an awed reverence for the moment as I try to memorize every detail—the sun sinking into the Parisian horizon, the feel of his fingers threaded through mine, and the thrill of everything below looking so small. It’s crowded up here, but I barely notice anyone else, and when he pulls my back to his front, we might as well be the only two people in the world.
“Shay? Shayleigh, are you okay?”
I turn and blink at Steve.
His eyes go wide when he sees Easton. “Are you . . . You aren’t really . . . I mean, you can’t be . . .”
Easton smiles easily as he faces Steve. He extends a hand while keeping one arm around my waist. “Easton Connor. Nice to meet you.”
Steve blinks at me and then at Easton. “Holy shit. I knew you two texted sometimes, but I didn’t know . . .” His eyes dart back and forth between us like he’s trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation. And I get it. Of all the girls Easton could choose to have in his arms in Paris, I don’t fit. I’m just a chubby, awkward nerd girl who followed him around when I was a kid. I’m not anything like what he deserves—not like the popstar who’s been hanging on his arm at L.A. bars. I’m just . . . me. Which is why I know tonight is special. It’s why I know this moment is a singular gift and not the beginning of something new.
Easton pulls me closer to his side. “And your name?”