French Kissing (Restless Hearts) (6 page)

“I do, actually.” I tried not to be bothered by the way she looked at me. “Do you know Evan?

“We used to be involved romantically,” she said, lips pressed tight together.

“Oh.” Now I was starting to feel self-conscious. Not only was Clara beautiful, she also had photography in common with Evan. She understood him in a way that I never could.

Clara smirked. “Good luck, darling. He’s quite a handful.”

I wanted to ask what she meant, but the models were ready now and we were wasting precious daylight hours.

Clara was an efficient photographer. She hurried through the shoot until she got to the last outfit. “This does not look right,” she said, squinting into one of her monitors. She turned to me. “You. Put it on.”

“Me?” I squeaked. “Put the dress on?”

“Yes.”

She acted like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I was stupefied.

“Why?”

Clara gave me an annoyed look that I was sure she had perfected when she was just a baby. “Because I say so. Okay?”

Macy wisely grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the changing area. She hurried to strip the model of the dress while I stood stubbornly with my arms crossed over my chest.

“You better undress,” Macy said, giving me a worried look. “If you don’t cooperate, I think Clara might throw you off this roof.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” But I shot a nervous glance in Clara’s direction.

“Listen, Cam. Clara Beringer thinks you should be a model. Don’t ask questions, don’t put up a protest. Just do it.”

I didn’t have the energy to put up a fight. When Macy made up her mind about something, it was almost impossible to change it. So I hurried into the dress and begrudgingly took my place in front of the camera.

Apparently my uncomfortableness and annoyance were a good partnership because Clara insisted that whatever I was doing was working. She offered to show me the shots afterward but I was too embarrassed to look. Macy hovered anxiously over her shoulder and gave me a double thumbs up.

“These are hot!”

I quickly redressed in my normal, boring clothes. While Macy continued to scour the photos, I got busy packing up the wardrobe. We had the roof top reserved for only an hour more so we didn’t have a lot of time to mess around.

“Mace, we need to get moving.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright.”

She eventually came over to help, but not without also grilling me about my lack of desire to become a model.

“It’s just weird. That’s all. Most girls dream of growing up to do something like that and you are acting like you just had a root canal. Without drugs.”

“I know.” She had a point. Maybe I was overreacting. “I’ve just only ever wanted to be a designer. Modeling isn’t really my thing.”

“Well, those pictures tell a different story.” She grinned at me. “Besides, who says you can only do one? Why not be a designer
and
a model?”

I thought about what Macy said all night. The truth was that so far in Paris, I hadn’t been doing any designing at all. I had hoped that with my internship with Evelyn Rose, I would get a chance to show her some of my designs and get some tips. But the reality was the Evelyn was barely ever in the studio, and when she was there, she was far too busy to look at my sketches.

If I was going to pursue my dream, I needed to make opportunities for myself instead of waiting for other people to notice my talent.

The next day, I cornered Macy at lunch and showed her some of my designs. I made her promise to give me honest feedback, and I knew that she would. She wasn’t one to mince words, even if it meant saving my feelings.

“These are good, Cam,” she said, sounding surprise. “Really good. I would wear this stuff.”

For Macy, that was the highest of compliments. She was incredibly picky when it came to her wardrobe choices. She exclusively wore designer clothing, nothing off the rack. I wasn’t sure she even know how to say the word
sale.

“And you aren’t just saying that to be nice?” I asked nervously.

“Me? Nice?” She scoffed. “That’s not something you ever have to worry about. You should show these to Evelyn. She might be able to give you some advice.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m sure she gets this kind of stuff all the time. I don’t want to bother her.”

“Okay, but if you don’t try, you’ll never succeed.”

“But I also won’t fail,” I pointed out.

Her head tilted. “Then what was the point of doing it in the first place?”

I was really getting tired of Macy constantly pointing out how foolish I was being with everything in my life. First guys, then modeling, and now my life’s passion.

Because we had stayed late the previous night finishing up the shoot, I was able to leave work early. I could’ve done a dozen different things with my time, but when I really thought about what I wanted to do, I reached for my phone.

“You still have my number?” Jake asked when he answered the phone.

“Lucky you. What are you up to?” I took a seat on a metal park bench, watching the lunch crowd pass by. It was another beautiful Parisian day.

“Getting ready for hitting practice.”

I was disappointed. “Darn. Guess that means we can’t stand in line at the Louvre for four hours together.”

“Ha.” He quickly asked, “Why don’t you come?”

“To your practice? Why?”

“So that you can see me, of course.” He sighed like he was annoyed that he even had to explain it. “You play tennis, don’t you?”

I started to understand what he was really asking. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not playing tennis with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are the number one professional tennis player in the world, and I’m ranked second on a mediocre college team. If I wanted to feel bad about myself, I would spend the day with a group of French models.”

“Please. Stop being silly.” He said, “I’m sending you the address. See you in an hour.”

Before I knew what was happening, the phone went dead.

Reluctantly, I headed home to change into something athletic and took a cab to the address he sent me. I was certain it was a terrible idea, but I did want to see Jake, even if it meant making a fool out of myself.

When I stepped out of the cab, I hesitated across the street from the Athletic Club, taking a few deep breaths and catching a whiff of flowers from the floral shop to my left. Shoulders back, I crossed the street and entered the club.

Jake was waiting for me just inside the door, wearing hot pink shorts and a big smile. “I thought you were going to chicken out.”

“Me? Never.” I made big eyes at him. “Nice shorts. They let you get away with that here?”

“I’m their prized customer. I can wear whatever I want.” He nodded down the hall. “You ready to do this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jake made a quick stop to borrow a women’s racquet and then he was leading me onto a private court.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” I teased.

My first hit was clumsy, my swing uneven. The ball went flying over Jace’s head. He ignored it, calmly reaching into his pocket for another ball. My second swing was better- not awesome, but decent.

Within a couple of minutes, I had loosened up completely and was performing like the mediocre college tennis player I so proudly strived to be.

“Not bad, Ace,” Jake yelled as I slammed a winner past him.

“For a girl, you mean?” I used the side of my foot against the racquet to scoop up a ball without bending down. Feeling flirty, I asked, “So you are impressed by my stroke?”

“I was talking about your legs, actually. Not bad.” He gave me a pointed look. “Your stroke isn’t bad either, from what I can see.”

We were rudely interrupted by the door to the court swinging open. A tall man appeared, not looking the slightest bit sorry for the intrusion.

“Wellington. Put down the racquet and let’s go get pissed!” He froze, spotting me for the first time. “Well, hello.”

“Hi.” I squinted, trying to place where I had seen the man. “Merrick Cohen?”

“My reputation precedes me, I see.” He turned back to Jake. “What did you tell her about me?”

Jake approached the net. “Nothing. I prefer not to talk about you at all as I have a very weak constitution when it comes to vile things.”

“Hilarious.” Merrick’s eyes hardened. “I wasn’t aware that you were on a date. Should I count you out for drinks?”

Jake started to say yes, but I stopped him.

“We’d love a drink.”

Okay, I was being obnoxious. It was pretty clear that Jake didn’t want to go, and it was even clearer that Merrick didn’t want me to go. But Merrick Cohen was the most infamous tennis player in the world. He was constantly in the tabloids for his affairs with actresses, drunken tirades in LA nightclubs, and his childish and volatile antics on the court. He was utterly fascinating and I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to spend time with him firsthand.

“Alright then,” he said with a resigned nod of his head. “Let’s hit the pub.”

Merrick wasn’t actually British, but he liked to speak with an accent and use British slang anyway.

At first I had found it amusing, if not a little cute. But that probably had a lot to do with his lush blond curls and baby blue eyes. But after an hour and two beers, I had less patience for his sloppy accent.

“It was total rubbish,” he said, ending his rant about his most recent French Open loss. I had watched it on television- it was brutal.

“Where are you from, Merrick?” I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hartford.”

“Connecticut?” It was too much. “What’s with the accent?”

His eyes narrowed threateningly. “What’s with the hair?”

Instinctively, I ran a hand over my dark locks. Nothing seemed out of place. I assumed that he was just being a jerk.

“Merrick is a worldly sort of chap, right mate?” Jace’s words dripped with sarcasm.

“You looked rough on the court today, Wellington,” Merrick said, choosing to ignore it. “I shouldn’t have any trouble beating you next weekend.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot of trouble just making it to the match next weekend.” Jake didn’t smile or otherwise hint that he might be kidding.

“We’ll see.”

The two men stared at each other, looking so angry I wasn’t sure why they had even bothered with the drinks. If they were enemies, why did Merrick invite Jake for drinks in the first place?

“What’s with the attitude?” I asked Jake when Merrick had gone to the restroom.

“Merrick is a tool,” he replied easily. “He gets off on being a jerk.”

“Then why pretend otherwise? What are we doing here?”

Jake huffed. “You signed us up for this, remember? I was planning to say no.”

“Fair enough.” It still didn’t explain their twisted friendship though. “You don’t usually get so annoyed. Merrick might be a tool, but what did he ever do to you? Did he steal your girlfriend or something?”

“Yes, actually.” Jace’s face hardened. “Last year.”

“Oh.”

Now I felt like a complete fool. It was bad enough that I had put my foot in my mouth in a big way, but I had also injected myself into Jace’s personal life.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s in the past.”

“Who was she?” I had to admit, I was intrigued.

“You know Katrina?”

“Katrina Vellova?” I gasped. She was only the best female tennis player, and a successful model. Nearly all of my guy friends back home were obsessed with her.

Jake didn’t seem as impressed. “That’s the one. We started dating after last year’s U.S. Open. Three months later, I found out she was screwing Merrick.”

“She’s an idiot,” I said spontaneously. It didn’t take a genius to see that Jake was definitely the better man. By a long shot.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t seem to care. Trina is all about doing what she wants with little regard to the consequences.”

“You still talk to her?” I told myself that I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t.

“I see her at the tournaments. We keep up a civil façade.” He smiled tightly. “Same with Merrick.”

Now it made sense. “You don’t want to give the tabloids anything to print.”

“It doesn’t hurt that I was never in love with Trina. We had a little fun, but that was it. I moved on pretty quickly.”

“Heart of stone?” I asked lightly.

“Something like that.” He pointed to my empty glass. “How would you feel about bailing while Merrick is in the bathroom?”

I laughed. “Only if we also stick him with the bill.”

“Deal.”

We were still laughing a few blocks up the street. That was when I realized why I was so struck by Jake- I enjoyed the person I became with him.

“We should’ve ordered a bunch of stuff before we left,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

“Next time.” Jake had been quicker to compose himself and he was busy reading a message on his phone. “So I know the art thing didn’t work out so great last time, but any interest in stopping by my friend’s gallery later? I sort promised I’d make an appearance.”