Page 52 of No Pucking Way
God. Now I had a mental image of Greyson dressed for bed in nothing but whatever tattoos were hiding under his clothes…
It was hard for me to bring my attention back to the present. Probably because I needed coffee. “But now I have nothing to wear. In Paris.”
I was going to be extra schlubby, even more than the stereotypical American in Europe.
“Is that so?” He took a sip of his coffee. “Did you look for something to wear in the bedroom?”
I raised my eyebrows. “You are…”
I didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.
I was so overwhelmed by Greyson.
But it felt nice, too.
Back in the bedroom, I found clothes hanging in the closet. There was a beautiful flowing DVF dress I’d pointed out when we were window shopping and a cute pair of black Tieks to match. Practical but chic. I took a shower and then got dressed.
“You are ridiculous,” I told him when I opened the doors.
His eyes lit up when he saw me in a way that no one could fake. “And you are beautiful.”
I pushed my wet hair back behind my ears, suddenly feeling shy. Which was a little late, since I’d already let him take me to a whole new continent.
“What are we going to see in Paris in one day?” I asked.
“Did I steer you wrong on our last date? Trust me.”
“You keep sayingtrust me,as if we both know it’s a bad idea.”
He just chuckled. Before I could say anything else, the flight attendant opened the door for a French customs official. He checked the passports the attendant handed him—once again, I had so many questions—and then disappeared again.
“Your car is waiting,” our attendant told us.
“Thank you,” Greyson said.
The door was open to the pilots’ cabin, and I caught a glimpse of a few men in dark suits. They had serious faces, and I would bet money they were carrying. A sudden weight descended on me.
Greyson could make the world feel like a fantasy for me, for a while. But his world definitely wasn’t a fantasy.
Still, when we headed out to the car, excitement made my heart race. Paris, really?
We drove into the city and stopped at a little café, where we had croissants and the world’s best hot chocolate. We took a boat tour down the Seine, visited the Louvre and the Mona Lisa, then walked across the gardens at Jardin de Tuileries to the Musée de l'Orangerie.
“Another art museum?” I teased Greyson.
“I think you’ll like this one better than the Mona Lisa,” Greyson said.
“She’s iconic.”
“She’s also surprisingly small, and I almost had to throat-punch someone to get you in front of it,” he said dryly, since there had been quite the crowd gathered at the ropes in front of the Mona Lisa.
In the Musée de l’Orangerie, there was an enormous Monet exhibit. I wandered in front of the water lily paintings, feeling as if I’d been transported into his gardens.
“It’s so beautiful,” I murmured.
“I knew you would like it.”
“How?”