Bound Together (9 page)

By the time I made it back to the hotel lobby to meet up with Mr. Rhinehart and the group, my feet were sore and the jet lag had caught up with me. I didn’t even notice Matt wasn’t around until Mr. Rhinehart told me to go round up my partner.

Even though Paris, so far,
was exceeding my expectations,
I’d felt
sort of
useless wandering around the
street
without a purpose
. B
ut when
Matt
needed me, I felt that familiar pull of being needed and too easily folded myself into his arms.

I thought things might be a little strange between us once we woke up and dislodged ourselves from each other’s limbs, but strangely it wasn’t.
We both wanted to get cleaned up from the flight and change before we met everyone for dinner, so I’d gone to my room to shower while he did the same.

I dried my hair with Amanda’s tiny blow dryer and put on some mascara. I didn’t know why I was making more of an effort then I ever did at home
—
it wasn’t l
ike this was a date or anything
—
that’d be hilarious. I slipped into my black ballet flats and went down to the lobby to meet Matt. He was waiting at the open front doors wearing a fitted grey sweater and dark jeans. That boy had definitely grown up taking his Flintstone’s vitamins. When he saw me, his face lit up. He looked much better than he had earlier, his skin glowed in a healthy way. I walked past him
out
the
front
door.

“Well hello to you too,” he said behind me
, chuckling
.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Yeah, do you know where we’re going?”

“I think so.” I
studied
the
map
I’d grabbed from the lobby
, and turned heading left on the stone street
.
We
walked in silence, taking in the sights around us
.
“Listen, if we’re going to work together, there’s a few things you should know,” I said.

He looked over, waiting for me to continue.
He needed to understand that
the cuddling thing this afternoon
was totally out of character and wasn’t going to happen again.

“We will not be acting like dumbass touri
sts wandering around the city, s
o if you brought your fanny
-
pack, you’re just goin
g
to have to leave it in the room.
This is a business
arran
g
e
ment;
we’ll do our research so we can split up the paper,
and
that’s it. I plan to see
, Notre Dam
e
,
the
Sacred Heart Basilica, the Louvre, and of course the Eiffel Tower
—
you can do whatever you want.
”

“I’ll come with you.
Sacred Heart
would be
cool
,” he said.

I glanced over at him, surprised he even knew what it was.
“Well, I just don’t want you to get any strange ideas based on what happened earlier. We
will not
be hooking up,” I finished
, waving my finger in his direction
.

He chuckled under his breath. “As much as I appreciate your help today, you don’t have to worry about that.” He seemed a little too smug about things, a fading smile still on his lips. I wasn’t sure why, but I was suddenly a little annoyed that he thought it laughable about the idea of us
hooking up
. Wasn’t he the one who asked me to lay with him in bed earlier?

He glanced over at me and the smile on his lips faded away. “God, if you’re that worried about us hanging out together, I’ll get you a rape whistle.” He quickened his pace past me.

“Hey
—
we’re here,” I called. I stopped in front of the
café
. Matt
came back, but walked
straight past me,
to
our group
seated at clusters of small tables
.

I enjoyed the attention from the male server who looked to be in his mid
-
twenties. He made a production of helping me into my chair and folding my napkin across my lap while serenading me with
French
words I had no idea the meanings of. Matt and I
took the last two seats at the end of the string of tables.

“Feeling better, I see!” Mr. Rhinehart smiled at Matt. He sounded tipsy. I noted the half
-
empty glass of wine in front of him. “And,
Zoey
, thanks for looking after him.”

I nodded.

A few of the others had glasses of wine in front of them too, and I
saw my classmates with new eyes
—
they weren’t just talking excitedly
about their trip to the museum
—
they were buzzed up.

I flipped open my menu and
turned the pages, searching
for something
I recognized. I reached the end of the menu without finding anything in English. I flipped it over to the back cover, but it was blank. No one around me seemed to be struggling with their menus. Maybe I just needed to loose
n
up and go with the flow, order something adventurous. How bad could that be? I flipped through the pages again and scanned the headings:
apéritifs
,
repas
, then read
the words
underneath
, trying to make sense of them.
P
oulet
sauce
forestière
…
pates
orecchiette
.
C
ourgettes
…
poisons
...
copeaux
de
comté
.
It was all in French
and there were no pictures on the menu, like back home at Applebee’s.

The waiter came back and people started placing their orders at the far end of the table. There was nothing worse than fifteen American teenagers butchering the
French
language. My ears felt like they were going to fall off. I was more than a little embarrassed to be seen with such amateurs.
I tried to be inconspicuous as I glanced around the restaurant trying to see what other people had on their plates, but it didn’t help. I didn’t know these words.

The waiter was behind my shoulder
.
Quickly s
canning the words
again
,
I
settled for pointing at the first thing I saw and he leaned over my shoulder and nodded, then scribb
l
ed something on his pad of paper.

W
hen
our
food came
, each plate that was set in front of everyone looked better than the next. But my excitement and hunger quickly faded when the waiter set something in front of
me that I didn’t recognize. There were small bits of diced, stewed peppers
and some type of ran
k meat
-
paste. I could tell Matt was laughing behind his napkin. He watched me pick through the mess with my fork and attempt a bite.
I knew I made a nasty face, like Cor
a
did when
she swallowed down cough syrup
. I downed half my water and looked longingly at Amanda’
s plate with a thin, wood
-f
ired pizza bubbling with melted cheese. I’d give my left ovary for a slice. I reached for the bread basket and took the
only
slice
left
, the heel.

Matt loaded up his brea
d
plate with pasta and slid it towards me. “I couldn’t possibly finish all this. Have some.”

It was thick noodles, baby tomatoes and shaved cheese. It looked amazing.

“No thanks, I’m okay.” I picked up my fork in a weak attempt and speared a piece of the steaming pile on my plate.

“Come on, I have a weak stomach
—
I can’
t watch you eat that.
”
He
push
ed
the
saucer of pasta
towards me.

“What is it?”
I asked
, poking my fork into the soft center of the meat paste
on my plate
.

He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Setting my pride aside, I scooted the saucer the rest of the way towards me and dug in. There was a
light sauce coating the noodles
—
it was sweet like white wine and salty at the same time with hints of garlic and black pepper. Matt was still watching me, but I didn’t care. I shoveled twirled fork
-
fulls
of pasta into my mouth and soon finished every bite on the plate.

I looked up and Matt was eating his now dwindling plate of pasta. “You want more?” he asked with a noodle dangling from his mouth.

“No thanks, that was really good though.”

He nodded and slurped the noodle, causing it to disappear
between his lips
.

Watching him eat it was the first time I noticed
his lips looked really kissable
—
full and soft. He wiped the napkin across his mouth, breaking my concentration.
Morgan had been right about him, and I figured there was nothing wrong with looking.

I wished I was brave enough to order a glass of wine, but after that debacle with ordering my meal, I sipped my water and stayed quiet.

After a leisurely dinner
,
our group walked back to the hotel, but rather than going inside people took off in small groups after Mr. Rhinehart told us we had a
n eleven o’clock
curfew, but not to go off alone.
I didn’t feel like spending any more time with my noisy classmates than I already had. I was feeling embarrassed enough that I was America
n
.

I sat down on the edge of a fountain out in front of our hotel. I missed my brothers and sister and wondered how they were faring without me.

“Hey,” Matt said behind me.

I pulled my bare feet out of the fountain and turned towards him. “I thought you went off with Bobby and them.”

“
Naw
.
I guess
I didn’t feel like it.”

“Oh.” He was just standing awkwardly in front of me
—
I tried not to notice that I was face to face with his crotch. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to get some
ice cream
. You must still be hungry and I saw a place just down the street.”

“Uh, sure.” I tried to sound cool and
nonchalant, but
that
sounded
pretty perfect to me
. We walked down the street to tiny store front
with a hand painted sign that said
Crème
glacée
.
It was just big enough instead the store for the
glass cooler and
old fashioned cash register. Muted c
olors of
creamy
frozen
goodness
star
ed
back at us. I ordered the melon flavor and Matt asked for pistachio.

“Pistachio?” I challenged.

“If I don’t order it, who else is going to?”
He
smirked. He felt bad for the pistachio flavored gelato. My smi
le faded almost just as quickly
.
Is that
why
we were hanging right now, because if he hadn’t offered to hang out with me tonight, he knew I’d be alone and he some sort of guilt since I stayed with him today
?
I didn’t need his pity. He stepped up to the counter and paid for both of us, then tipped his cup towards mine. “Cheers.”

“You didn’t have to pay for me.
” I hurried out behind him.

“
I know. But you bought me
a bottle of water earlier, so now we’re even.”

Well I guess that was fair. No sense making a big deal out of it. We walked back to the hotel, eating our gelato.

“Well, what should we do? Call it a night?” I asked once we reached the hotel lobby.

“We could plan out our topic for the paper,” Matt suggested.

“Oh.” Had I been delusional thinking that Matt
Parker
actually wanted to hang out with me?