French Kissing (Restless Hearts) (5 page)

“Follow your heart. Duh.” Payton sounded impatient. “Look, I think you already know what you want to do and you’re just scared. My advice is- get over it.”

It wasn’t the most thoughtful or insightful advice. It wasn’t even all that helpful. But I had a feeling that it was exactly the advice I needed to hear.

I had made Jake face his fear of heights; now I had to face my own fear.

“Your friend Payton may be right,” Macy admitted the next day at work. “But maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe you really do like Evan and you’re fooling yourself with this Jake guy. Using him to push Evan away.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?” It didn’t sound right to me, but I was beginning to accept that I was pretty clueless about my own life. “What if they are both actually good guys that I have a connection with? How do I choose?”

“I don’t think you’ll have to,” Macy said, her eyes widening as she looked at the door. “Evan might have just chosen for you.”

Another beautiful bouquet of roses was delivered to my desk. This one did have a card, but all it said was:
Thanks for a perfect evening.

I couldn’t believe that Evan sent me flowers two days in a row. It totally made up for him spontaneously leaving town. But it also had the effect of making it even more difficult to decipher my feelings.

Jake called later in the day to invite me to his tennis match on Saturday. It was the opening round so he didn’t think it would be very exciting for me, but I was thrilled by the invitation. Not only did I love playing tennis, I also loved watching hot guys play tennis. Especially one that was as talented as Jake.

Macy happily agreed to tag along. She was hoping to pick up a tennis player of her own.

Jake had reserved us excellent seats and it was a perfect day to watch tennis. The sun was out and there was a light breeze. We settled in comfortably and waited for the players to step onto the court.

“So he’s a good player?” Macy asked skeptically as she slipped on designer sunglasses.

“The best, actually.” I had checked the rankings in the morning and Jake was still in the number 1 slot. He was the guy to beat. “He has the fastest serve ever and an amazing forehand.”

“Is that code for something sexual?” Macy raised an eyebrow and smirked.

I just shook my head at her. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“And yet you also can’t stay away from me.”

“Like a bad addiction.” My breath hitched as Jake came into view.

He was wearing white tennis shorts and a white polo- standard uniform for his line of work. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze and he dropped his bag next to one of two chairs. While he unzipped the bag, his eyes scanned the stands, stopping only when they found me.

The smile he gave me was dazzling.

“Whoa,” Macy muttered, leaning forward involuntarily. “He’s beautiful.”

“Yes, he is,” I agreed, giving him a small wave of my fingers.

“Like Greek god beautiful.” She turned to me. “You completely undersold this guy.”

That was an understatement. I had been underselling Jake to myself because I had been convinced I was meant to end up with Evan. But Jake had been undeniably wonderful and there was no doubt that I had feelings for him.

Once the match started, Jake was all business. He kept his focus on the game, not in the stands. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. His skill and grace on the court was something to behold.

The match itself was a slaughter. Jake won every game, closing it out in three sets. Many of the fans left early, but I watched the whole thing from the edge of my seat. When it was over, Jake headed to the sidelines and looked into the crowd for only the second time. This time, when his eyes found mine, he didn’t smile.

He stopped and stared for what felt like an hour, but was probably less than a minute.  For me, it seemed like time was standing still. Then he looked away and I realized that I had been holding my breath the entire time.

“He totally has the hots for you!” Macy said, elbowing me hard in the side. “If you decide you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

Right at that moment, I absolutely wanted Jake Wellington.

He was busy after the match, showering and doing interviews. I sent him a congratulatory text and begrudgingly left without getting a chance to talk to him in person.

Ten minutes after I got home, my phone rang. It was Evan.

He had to pop back to Paris for a day to pick up one of his cameras and he wanted to know if I was free for the evening. It caught me completely by surprise, and the fact of the matter was that my evening was completely open. I had no good reason to say no to him, so I didn’t.

Almost immediately after hanging up with Evan, Jake called.

“Hey.” He sounded like his usual, collected self. “Thanks for coming today.”

“Thanks for inviting me.” I remembered that look he had given me and I wondered if he was going to address it. “You looked good out there today.”

“I always look good,” he joked. Then he cleared his throat and asked more seriously. “What are you up to tonight?”

I held back a groan. Of course this was happening. “I’m heading out to meet someone actually.”

“Someone?” He sounded like he already knew exactly who I was meeting.

No sense in lying to him.

“Evan. He’s in town for the night.”

There was a long pause on his end of the line. Finally, he said, “What is it about this guy? He comes into town for one night and you immediately jump to answer his booty call?”

“That’s not fair, Jake.” I tried to keep my tone level by reminding myself that he was just hurt and wasn’t trying to be a jerk. “You knew that I was seeing Evan. I told you that I have feelings for him.” Never mind that I also had feelings for Jake.

Another long pause.

“I guess I should let you go. Wouldn’t want to stop you from pursuing those feelings.”

“Jake.” I wanted to say something that would make this less terrible. “What about tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow?”

He scoffed. “I don’t want to be your consolation prize, Camryn. You seeing me only when this Evan guy leaves town again- no thanks.”

“You’re not a consolation prize, Jake. Really.” But that’s exactly what it felt like. I wondered, if Jake had called first, would things be different? Or would I still have dropped everything to meet up with Evan? “I like being with you.”

“Just not more than you like being with him.” He sighed. “Call me tomorrow.”

I sat and stared at the phone for ten minutes, wondering just what I had gotten myself into and how I was going to sort out this mess.

I exited Evan’s elevator two hours later with knots in my stomach. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, but Evan greeted me with a big hug and a long kiss.

“You look even better than I remember.” He looked me up and down. “Wine? I brought some back from Italy.”

“Okay.” I had already made a promise with myself on the way over that I wouldn’t have more than one glass of wine. Any more than that and I couldn’t guarantee that I would be able to make rational decisions.

Evan immediately started telling me about all of the restaurants he had gone to in Rome, complete with graphic detail of food and beverage. I tried to feign interest as I watched him fill a wine glass nearly to the top before handing it to me.

“When do you leave again?” I asked, simply to change the topic.

“Tomorrow afternoon. Quick turnaround.” He didn’t seem too bothered by the brevity, however. “Let’s get comfortable in the other room.”

That was easier said than done. Evan sat next to me on the couch, arm around me and rubbing my shoulder. I was surprised by the affection, but I can’t say it was entirely unwelcomed.

Even though I had been second guessing things with Evan, it still felt nice to be with him. He was attentive and sweet, and I was a sucker for a man with a great smile. But when he leaned over and kissed me, I immediately thought of Jake.

“Is everything okay?” Evan asked, astutely picking up on my lack of enthusiasm.

No. Everything wasn’t okay.

“Sorry. I’m just a little distracted tonight.”

Evan grinned. “I can help take your mind off things.”

Despite all of the promises I had made to myself about not acting rash tonight, I convinced myself to let him try. It would be nice to turn off the thinking part of my brain. But when Evan started to take off my shirt, my brain turned on again, instantly going back to Jake.

“Evan, stop.” I pushed his hands away. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t working.”

He looked at me with wide eyes, astounded. “What do you mean?”

“I think we should spend some time getting to know each other before we jump into bed again.” I shrugged helplessly. “Maybe try actually dating?”

“Dating?” His lips twitched, either from humor or annoyance. I couldn’t tell which. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

“Are you being serious?” I really couldn’t tell. “So far, our time together has consisted of me coming over at night, drinking some wine, and then having sex.”

Evan nodded. “Yes. Exactly. Dating.”

I froze. Was he being serious? He was smiling, but I could tell from his eyes that he meant what he said.

“I should go.” I put down my wine glass and stood up, smoothing down my shirt. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Camryn, relax. I was kidding.” Evan stood up and grabbed my elbow. “Don’t go. We can just sit and talk.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I really think I should go home.” I tried to politely extract my arm from his grip.

Evan stared hard at me, debating. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll call you cab.”

When it arrived, he walked me to the elevator, kissed me on the cheek, and told me to have a good night.

I expected that to be the end of things with Evan. I had shot him down and he hadn’t seemed too pleased about it. But he texted me the next day and said that it had been great to see me again and that he would call when he was back in Paris next week. The text certainly didn’t help with my confusion.

“I’m sick of your boy drama,” Macy announced on Monday morning. She had listened to my story with a perturbed look on her face. “Pick one. Set the other one free so I can date him.”

“I know, I know. Poor me.” Even I was tired of hearing about my drama. “What shall we talk about instead?”

“How about the photo shoot we going to this afternoon. It should be awesome.”

Macy and I had been chosen to represent Evelyn Rose Fashions at a magazine shoot. It was kind of a big deal, and a lot of our coworkers were jealous of our opportunity.

“Who is the photographer?” I asked, hoping it was someone ridiculously famous.

“I’m not sure, but Couture Magazine only works with the very best.” Macy glanced over my shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “More flowers?”

It was true. Another bouquet of roses was placed on my desk, much to the dismay of the single women around me. My desk now appeared to be hidden in a rose garden.

Another short note:
Sorry about last night.

Evan was certainly making it hard for me to stay mad about his standoffish behavior the previous night.

“Three days of roses in a row?” Macy’s eyebrows raised. “You must be amazing in bed.”

“Well, I am. But I’m not sure that’s what all of this is about,” I said, gesturing to the floral spread.

“You are being wooed.” Macy stood up to walk back to her desk. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Once he starts regularly getting the milk for free, the roses will stop.”

In a couple of hours, we were organizing outfits on a rooftop in the heart of Paris. Roses were long forgotten as I worked on quickly hemming a skirt. The models were busy getting their hair and makeup done and the photographer was busy studying the lighting. I don’t know why, but I was surprised that the photographer was female.

“That’s Clara Beringer. She’s in the top five for female photographers in Europe,” Macy explained as she detangled a stack of gold necklaces.

“I’ve never heard of her,” I admitted.

Clara was a typical French beauty; long, dark hair. Pouty lips. Curvy body. I was sure that she had no problem finding dates on a Friday night.

“Ladies!” She waved to both of us, her words heavily accented when she said, “A little help, please.”

So Macy and I stood in for the models while Clara made adjustments with her equipment.

“Two steps to the left, darling.”

We stepped this way, leaned that way. Lifted and tucked and turned. It was quite fun, actually, pretending to be a model.

Clara said as she looked through the lens, “You should be a model.”

“Oh, no.” I blushed hard. “I could never master the catwalk.”

“The camera loves you,” she said.

“You sound like Evan,” I muttered.

Clara lowered the camera. “You don’t mean Evan Carter?”

I hadn’t expected her to get the reference. But then I remembered that they were both photographers, so maybe I should’ve been more careful.