Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
She waves a hand as though shooing a guy away.
“I don’t date much now, but back home, there were nice guys. They wanted to treat you well, be faithful, and make sure you had a good time in bed,” I explain, trying to get to the positives.
“What’s the catch?” Katarina asks with narrowed eyes.
I frown sadly. “They wanted me to stay there, get married, keep the kitchen clean, and raise babies. Maybe someday, I’ll want that, but right now, I have other dreams.” I look around at the club I’m in, the people I’m with, the opportunity I’m on the cusp of. “Like this.”
“Barefoot and pregnant,” Molly summarizes. “Fuck that!”
She raises her glass, which is already more than half-empty and we all lift ours as well. Yori toasts, “Fuck men!”
It sounds surprising coming from her, for some reason, and we all laugh as we clink our glasses together. Still sipping my drink, I jolt when Beatrice slams her wine glass to the table.
“I love this song! Let’s dance!” she orders, grabbing one of Katarina’s hands and one of Molly’s, who needs no encouragement to dance. Ever.
I don’t know the song, as it’s a DJ remix, but I swear I hear some Toni Braxton and a French guy with some serious bass beats. I’m not the best dancer by far, especially given my non-stellar attempt at twerking today, but I can sway right and left with the best of them, so I follow Beatrice’s lead.
Somehow, the five of us end up not only on the dance floor, but in the center of it. We still have room, though. No one’s grinding up on us or being weird, which is a welcome reprieve from the occasional club outing I’ve had in New York.
We move through that song plus two more, smiling and cheering each other on as we make our own little circle of fun. Molly acts like she’s smacking my ass—thankfully sticking to air-smacks because though we’re friendly, we’re not that friendly—and Yori laughs, waving Molly’s silliness off. I think it’s Molly’s way of encouraging us because Yori and I are definitely the weak links of the group. Well, if you consider Molly’s demonstration of every TikTok dance move to be acceptable dance skills. But Katarina and Beatrice can move. They sway, circle their hips, and somehow get their shoulders to roll in the opposite direction of their hips. I try it, but like patting your head and rubbing your belly, I can’t do it.
I get the feeling that these girls and I could be real, true friends. I know we’re competing against each other, and I was worried about mean girls, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to be an issue. They’re all so kind and funny, which makes me happy.
Still, my inner voice tells me, just because they’re friendly now doesn’t mean they won’t cut a bitch if things get dicey. Keep your guard up, just in case.
Almost as if she heard my worries, a waitress appears beside me and taps me on the shoulder. “Pardon, Mademoiselle. There’s a gentleman at a VIP table who would like to speak with you.”
She says it in English, as if she can tell that I’m a tourist, but even so, I have to process what she’s said.
When I realize, I look around, remembering the roped off doorway I saw, and then look back to my new friends. “No, thank you. We’re celebrating tonight,” I tell the waitress.
“Hell no,” Molly snaps, pushing me toward the waitress. “Go. Have fun. Live a little, girl. You’re in Paris. At least see what it’s all about.”
“What?” I shout in surprise. I’m here for one thing only—the competition. If I get friendships out of the deal, I will be thrilled. But I don’t need a man like Beatrice talked about who’s all sweet to you while he’s being sweet to everyone else. That’s not my style.
“Go,” Beatrice advises. “Get your French kiss tonight before the competition begins tomorrow.” I’m a little surprised at her encouragement until she adds, “Unless he is rude, then tell him to fuck off.”
Yori leans toward me. “He could be your magical Harry Potter. You should go.” I love that she was listening to me enough to know that this would sway my decision.
“Or he could have a hairy pooper,” Molly suggests, which warrants a look of disgust from all of us. Molly throws her hands wide. “What? Some guys do, and smart guys do a little manscaping when needed.
“Mademoiselle?” the waitress repeats, looking worried about how long I’m taking to make my decision. “Trust me, you want to come with me.”
Well if I wasn’t already intrigued, I am now.
With all four of my new friends nodding their heads and the waitress’s approving judgment, I nod. “Fine, but I’ll be back in ten minutes.”