French kiss (24 page)

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Jess will get in trouble, too, and they're probably so mad at me, and now I'm in this fight with Alexa so I have no friends left and -- and ..." Her breath running out, Holly let herself collapse into sobs once more, burying her face deeper into Pierre's shirt. She felt drained, but not in a terrible way; it was kind of liberating to finally shed all her secrets. Some woman of mystery.

'"Oily,
écoute-moi --
listen to me," Pierre spoke up, his voice calm and steady. "It is okay." He put one hand under Holly's chin and lifted her tear-streaked face so they were eye to eye. "Well, maybe it is not okay," he amended, a smile flickering across his face. "But it is certainly no reason to cry."

"Please don't be nice to me, Pierre," Holly sniffled, resisting the urge to blow her nose on the hem of his shirt. After her big confession, she'd expected Pierre to despise her, but his kindness was only making her feel worse. "I'm this total liar, and I led you on and "

"You are not a liar," Pierre insisted, before Holly could go off another diatribe. "It is my fault, too -- I never asked. You see, I suspected that you had a boyfriend, but I think perhaps I did not want to know."

"You suspected all along?" Holly whispered, searching Pierre's warm blue eyes in surprise.

"Well, I was wondering always how a girl so beautiful and funny did
not
have a boyfriend," Pierre

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replied, softly cupping her cheek with his hand. Holly's heart jumped, both from Pierre's touch and his sincere words. But this time the vibe between them felt surprisingly relaxed, less charged with sexual tension.
Maybe we just needed to get it out of our systems,
Holly thought, remembering their earlier kissing -- which now seemed sort of surreal.

"This Tyler, he has a lot of luck," Pierre added quietly as his mouth curved up in a thoughtful smile. "And I am sure he is ... how you say? A good -- guy?"

In spite of her tears, Holly couldn't help her own smile. She loved it whenever Pierre clumsily tried his hand at American phrases, and it was simultaneously weird and refreshing to hear Tyler's name in Pierre's adorable French accent.
Tie-laire.
Like everything else about Holly's time in Paris, it shed bright new light on something all too familiar.
Tyler
was all tangled emotions.
Tie-laire
was somehow ... manageable.

"He is a good guy," Holly admitted, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "But Pierre so are you." Although her face turned hot, she held Pierre's gaze, knowing she owed him more of an explanation. "You're wonderful different from any boy I've ever known," Holly whispered, meaning every word. "And I got so caught up in spending time with you that I sort of let myself pretend that I
was
single ... and that

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we were ..." Holly trailed off, feeling herself choke up again.
In love,
she wanted to say. But
had
she loved Pierre? Or had it just been lust? Was it possible to love two boys at once?

"I was caught up in you, too," Pierre said, matter-of-factly, tracing a line down Holly's cheek. "Still, 'Oily, you must think about it we did not do anything so very wrong. So we kissed a little bit." Pierre tilted his head to the side and grinned at Holly. "This does not make a great tragedy."

Holly bit her lip, knowing deep down that Pierre was right. In the end, they
weren't
Borneo and Juliet. And, thankfully, she hadn't let them go any further tonight. Yes, technically, she'd cheated on her boyfriend -- something Holly had never thought herself capable of -- but Holly also knew that her three-day flirtation with Pierre probably wouldn't be enough to shatter her year-long-relationship with Tyler.

Providing that relationship still existed.

Holly sighed, her head fuzzy. "I guess I agree with you," she finally told Pierre, reluctantly stepping out of the warm circle of his arms. "But I still need to figure stuff out -- it's all so complicated."

"L'amour, c'est compliqué"
Pierre agreed. He was quiet for a minute, looking out at the water, and then he turned back to Holly. "And, Oily, if you cannot

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figure out things with Tyler," he added with a smile. "You know, I will still be here in Paris."

Holly nodded, her heart racing at Pierre's offer. By way of response, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on both cheeks, returning his gesture from the day they'd met. She was shivering a little in the cool night air, so Pierre shook out his blazer once more and then draped it around her shoulders. Then, as wordlessly as they'd come, they climbed up the stone steps and started walking down the stone quay again, their hands lightly linked. The pose fell somewhere in between romantic and friendly, which, Holly realized, was what she and Pierre might always be toward each other.

"So," Pierre said, breaking a long stretch of silence. "What was this you were telling me about a ... tracking meeting?" Shrugging his shoulders, he shot Holly a curious glance.

"Track meet," Holly said, remembering her nonsensical rant. Suddenly, she started to giggle, feeling her spirits lift. After the intensity of the night, laughter felt like a pure release.

Pierre began laughing, too, shaking his head. '"Yes, yes, a track meet," he chuckled. "And then something about an argument with my dear cousin? I am very interested to hear."

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Holly quickly checked her watch. It was three in the morning, which meant she'd only get an hour or so of sleep -- especially if she planned to explain everything to Pierre. But Holly figured she'd make do somehow; she could always sleep on the train.

"Oh, God," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Track. Alexa. Where do I start?"

And then, for no real reason -- other than the fact that they were still tipsy, and sort of embarrassed by their encounter -- she and Pierre started laughing again. Holly realized that whether or not she'd been
in
love with Pierre, what she had loved about him was his easy laughter -- the way he made her feel hilarious and sexy at the same time. Holly knew she'd miss that quality more than anything when she went back to New Jersey.

Well, that and having someone call her
'Oily.

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chapter thirtee n

The Party Crashers

"Holly? Holly!"

With excruciating slowness, Holly let her eyes flutter open. Her head pounded, and her mouth felt cottony. Light was pouring in from somewhere, making her want to shut her eyes again. It couldn't be morning yet, could it?

"Holly, what are you doing here?"

Where am I?
Holly wondered, blinking and lifting her head off the lumpy pillow. She took in the small room, the shuttered windows, her green safari-print dress pooled on the floor, and finally, the blonde girl leaning over her, looking bewildered.

Alexa,
Holly realized.
Paris.
Then, as clarity and panic hit at the same time, Holly grabbed her travel

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alarm clock off the floor by her bed and stared in horror at the numbers there.

12:00 p.m.

She screamed.

Alexa jumped back, clutching Xavier's sketch to her chest as Holly sprang out of bed, holding the miniature alarm clock up to her face. "No no no no no," Holly cried, rattling the clock so hard Alexa was sure she'd break it. "Tell me you're joking. Tell me this is a joke." She was speaking directly to the clock now, and Alexa worried for her friend's sanity.

"Hoi," Alexa said gently, putting one hand on Holly's shoulder and forgetting that, fifteen hours earlier, she'd wanted to throttle her. "I don't think the clock is joking."

Alexa held her breath as Holly looked up, her gray-green eyes enormous and her freckled skin pale. "You missed your meet?" Alexa whispered, already knowing the answer. She'd guessed as much when she'd drifted into the room on a cloud of Xavier-induced bliss only to find Holly passed out on her bed in the classic drunken-sleep pose -- mouth open, covers kicked down, tank top riding up her belly.

"My meet -- my train -- my
life!
n
Holly wailed, breaking into a little jig of madness. As often happened whenever she thought of Wimbledon, Holly's ankle began to throb. She pictured the Eurostar train

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pulling out of the station, Holly-less, and zooming on toward England, where Meghan, Jess, and the rest of her teammates waited in vain for her. She was their captain, and she'd let each and every one of them down.

And Coach Graham was going to eat her alive.

At this thought, Holly had to cut her jig short and sink down on her bed, her breaths coming fast and shallow. She had
no idea
what to do. Rushing back to England now seemed pointless the meet would be long finished when she arrived in the late afternoon. And she didn't want to turn on her cell phone, where a million
you 're'-in-such-deep-shit
messages from Meghan surely awaited. Or maybe it was Jess who had called, to inform Holly that all three girls would not be graduating in June.

"Stop hyperventilating," Alexa ordered, trying not to roll her eyes; Holly's nervous breakdown was understandable, but Alexa had only so much tolerance for hysteria. Adjusting her minuscule white skirt on her hips -- Xavier had sort of broken the zipper last night -- Alexa sat down beside her friend, sketch in hand. "Weren't you supposed to leave last night?" she asked massaging Holly's back. Alexa couldn't hide the curiosity in her voice; her sixth sense for boy-gossip told her that Holly's change in travel plans
somehow
involved her hot cousin.

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Holly, who always paid close attention in health class, now had her head between her knees in case she fainted. "Pierre ballet -- beers fooled around came home really late," she managed to stammer. How had she been so stupid? Through the fog of her searing headache, Holly remembered coming back with Pierre, her throat raw from talking and her emotions still tumbling. She remembered changing into her boxers and tank and collapsing facedown in bed. Then, very vaguely, she remembered hearing the buzz of her alarm in the darkness and slapping her hand down to silence it. And the next thing she knew, Alexa was hollering her name.

Maybe oversleeping was punishment for kissing another boy.

"I
so
called it!" Alexa exclaimed, giving Holly's unkempt ponytail an excited yank. "I predicted from, like, day one that you and Pierre were gonna get it on!" Alexa felt a flood of satisfaction; she didn't know where Tyler Davis fit into this whole scenario, but Holly and Pierre made a too-cute-for-words couple.
Maybe Holly and I will
both
move here to be with our respective French boys,
Alexa mused.
Holly's practically related to me anyway, so it would make sense for her to end up with my cousin --

"But we're not together now or anything," Holly said, unwittingly putting an end to Alexa's daydreaming.

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She straightened up, feeling marginally calmer now that she had something other than Coach Graham's snapping fangs on her mind, and turned to Alexa, grateful that her friend was there to soothe her. Holly, too, had momentarily forgotten last night's argument. "I mean, it
was
nice and all," she clarified with a sheepish smile. She knew Pierre was in classes all day, so at least she didn't have to worry about him overhearing. "But we stopped before it got too intense. I told Pierre all about Tyler, and --"

Holly paused at this mention of Tyler and, with a jolt, remembered her and Alexa's serious clash from the night before. Alexa seemed to remember as well, because her mouth tightened and her blue eyes went cold. An abrupt silence fell between the two girls, like a sheet of ice.
Oh, yeah. We're supposed to hate each other,
was the unspoken realization. Alexa chewed her bottom lip and Holly cleared her throat as they each sought safer places to rest their respective gazes.

Holly chose the sheet of paper in Alexa's hand, and saw that it was a charcoal sketch of without question -- Alexa herself. "Who drew that?" Holly asked quietly, glad to be able to fill the stark silence. She wasn't about to forgive Alexa, but Holly
loathed
awkward moments like these. Plus, after the oversleeping disaster, she no longer had the energy to remain truly mad at her friend.

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"Xavier," Alexa answered shortly -- but she felt herself soften at the memory of the artist and their knee-weakening night together. Alexa
was
still pissed at Holly, but the girls' snipefest seemed borderline trivial compared to Alexa's all-consuming love.

"Oh," Holly mumbled. In all the chaos, she'd also managed to forget about Alexa's hot date with Monsieur Shady. Now, Holly took stock of her friend -- the loose, tangled hair, the top on backwards, the unglossed, slightly swollen lips -- and realized that Alexa had only just come home this morning. After an obviously eventful night. But Holly also noticed a little-girl vulnerability in Alexa's expression a hopefulness -- that contrasted with her trashy walk-of-shame look.
She's
beyond
into this guy,
Holly thought, feeling a twinge of regret that she'd been so harsh on Xavier. Maybe he deserved another chance.

"Will you see him again?" Holly asked, trying to sound contrite. She could feel some of her tension with Alexa dissipating, though things weren't exactly warm and fuzzy yet.

"Tonight," Alexa sighed, and flopped back on the bed, staring up at the moldings on the ceiling. "I'm going to his glitzy gallery opening on the place des Vosges."

What Alexa failed to mention was that Xavier had no
clue
she was going.