The Virgin Society Collection

23. Uncomplicated

23

UNCOMPLICATED

Finn

The warm night air floats down the cobblestone street, drifting seductively around us at a sidewalk table in Montmartre.

“And that’s how I found out about The Scene ,” Jules says as she tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, finishing the story. “From dancing with friends at Revel House. I heard about it and I had to go. I mean, role-play and all.”

“Do you do that a lot? Go out dancing?” I ask, gobbling up all the details I can get.

“I do.” She hesitates, then adds, “That’s how I became friends with Harlow…and Layla.” She says it almost like she doesn’t want to mention my brother’s fiancée to me. Or, more likely, any of our shared connections, in case they lead to other ones.

“Our small world,” I say, addressing the elephant on the sidewalk. “Pretty sure I saw you at my nephew’s engagement party several months ago. At a bowling alley.”

“David’s engagement party. I was there,” she says, a smile coasting across her lips. She remembers it too.

“Marilyn had moved out. We were getting divorced, and I saw you a few lanes over. I didn’t connect the dots that you were my friend’s daughter. I just couldn’t stop looking at you. You were so…captivating.”

She dips her face, but not like she’s embarrassed. More like she’s delighted. “Really? You were checking me out?”

“Apparently, I’ve had a thing for you for a while,” I say, and I should feel bad for lying by omission to my best friend. Hell, I should feel bad for lying period.

Yet here I am, doing it anyway.

And loving it.

I’m a bad, bad man.

Jules leans closer. “Well, I’ve had a thing for you since the night I met you. When we were strangers.” She lowers her voice to a playful whisper. “We could pretend we’re strangers again.”

That’s my kinky girl. “You want that tonight, don’t you?”

She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Or student and teacher. Or hotel maid and guest.”

I groan, then toss my napkin on the table. “How am I going to make it through a meal with you?”

“And we haven’t even had dinner yet,” she says as she lifts her glass of sauvignon blanc and takes a sip, running her finger along the stem when she’s done. Yes, after-dark Jules is coming out to play in Paris. The soft glow from streetlamps brings out her sexy radiance as much as the black dress that hugs her curves.

I try to picture her at a club with her friends, letting loose, moving to the music. “What do you wear when you go dancing?”

“That’s specific,” she says, amusement in her eyes after she sets down the glass.

“I want to picture you completely,” I say. If she’s going to rile me up, then she can rile me all the way up. “Set the scene for me.”

She lifts a flirty brow, shrugs a shoulder. “Depends on my mood. Sometimes jeans, sometimes a short skirt, maybe a bustier, often a wig,” she says, flicking her hair again.

“Like you had on the night we met.”

“They’re kind of my thing,” she says with a spark that tells me she’s enjoying this night as much as I am. I remember her telling me at my house that she didn’t date much. That dating was complicated. That describes our situation perfectly, but maybe we can be uncomplicated for a night in Paris.

“Perfume, wigs, costumes. The Jules picture is becoming more clear.”

“Is it, now?”

“You like pretty things and you like to play. You like to use your imagination.”

“You get me,” she says.

“I fucking do,” I say confidently. I want to see her in all of those outfits. Want to watch her dress up, get ready for a night out. “So you’re at this dance club, and you hear about The Scene, and you thought, I have to go meet a well-hung man in a phantom mask .”

She laughs, the sound carrying into the Paris night. “And when I saw you walking down the street, I knew you had to be swinging a horse cock.”

It’s my turn to crack up. “You were right.”

“I’m so glad I estimated correctly,” she says as candlelight flickers across her face. She looks different tonight—all dressed up and yet completely relaxed. Almost like how she was at dinner with Zach and me. At ease. Minus the cock comment. “So when my bartender friend asked me to fill in at The Scene,” she adds, circling back, “I basically said yes, now, and I’ll be there .”

“And that’s how we met,” I say as fairy lights in the sidewalk’s trees flicker above us.

She lifts a brow. “I like that version better.”

Translation: better than meeting over dinner with her father.

“It’ll be our new story,” I say, and it feels real enough. I’m acutely aware that our time here is make-believe. But if this is all we can have, I want it to matter. “Do you like your job? You seemed excited to work with Solange.”

Her face is a mix of emotions—intensity and passion. “I don’t want to show it in front of her, but yes. I’d love to be an EP someday. Honestly, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

My gaze drifts briefly to a gift bag at my feet. Something I picked up for her earlier and want to give to her later. Assured it’s there and safe, I look to her again and ask, “Young Jules imagined being a TV producer? What drew you to it?”

Her brow furrows, like she’s contemplating whether she wants to crack open this topic, but then she must decide she does. “I wasn’t allowed to watch TV when I was younger.”

Oh. Right, Tate is strict. “Your father,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to acknowledge that shared connection, but hating lies more.

“He said the world was violent enough, and we didn’t need to see more of it. Ironic, because Willa and I never wanted to watch shows like that.”

I sit up straighter. She doesn’t say much about her sister, but I’ve sensed they were close. “And once you watched TV you were hooked?”

“No turning back,” she says, laughing, then she leans closer, like she’s sharing a naughty secret. “I love stories. Especially visual ones. They just grab me and draw me in, and him keeping TV from me only made it more alluring.”

“Ironic,” I say.

“Yes, because we’d sneak out to friend’s houses…to watch TV.”

I laugh. “That’s hilarious.”

“Most of the time that’s what we did,” she says in a quieter voice, then her expression darkens, and like an echo, she adds, “ Most .”

“You miss her a lot.”

“I do.” She shifts gears abruptly. “And you get to work with your brother. That must be great.”

She doesn’t want to stay on the topic of her sister, so I go with her switch. “I do. We’re very competitive, and we prank each other constantly, but it’s a great partnership. And he’s been immensely helpful with advice and such since Zach came into my life.”

“Speaking of my Captain Dude friend, any new pics?” She wiggles her fingers, beckoning for my phone.

“Don’t you just know the way to my heart,” I say, grabbing the cell from my pocket, ready to share. “This one came in today.”

I show her a picture of David and Zach jumping into the lake off a dock.

She sighs appreciatively as she studies it. “Do you wish you were there? I bet you do.”

That’s a tough question. “I do, and yet this is exactly where I want to be,” I say, meeting her pretty eyes as I answer.

“Me too,” she says softly, and moments later, the waiter brings our dishes. He sets a plate of herb-crusted salmon with sautéed asparagus in front of me. For Jules, a cauliflower steak. “From my list. Since I’ve never tried this before,” she says, slicing into the vegetable that’s been seasoned to look like steak.

She takes a bite and I ask, “How is it? Does it meet your expectations?”

“It exceeds them. And it’s extra spicy. Speaking of, do you still need to replace your chili flakes?”

I laugh, remembering that I’ve still forgotten. “I do. I will. I swear.”

She shifts gears, asking, “You said Zach came into your life several months ago, but did you always want to be a father?”

This is not first-date terrain, but we’re clearly well past small talk. Even though this thing between us can’t go anywhere, I’m already savoring how very different talking with Jules is from talking to my ex. She’s open, she’s real, she’s honest. “I did. I thought Marilyn did too,” I say, my jaw ticking as the memories of my marriage slam into me. “But I was wrong.”

“She didn’t want to after all?”

Setting down my fork, I bite off the bitter truth. “We both wanted to have kids a few years ago. Or so I thought. She told me she was off the pill for all those years.”

Jules turns pale, clearly knowing what’s coming.

“But,” I say, tightly, “she was actually on it the entire time we tried to have kids.”

“That’s terrible.” She clenches her fist on the table. “I hate that she did that to you.”

I love her fierceness. Briefly, I picture her being that way with Zach, protective and passionate. It’s a fantastic thought, but there’s absolutely no room for it in my life, so I shove it away. “But, on the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t have children with her. I just wish I had seen through her lies sooner.”

“It’s not your fault. People should be honest with each other,” she says.

“They should.” Even though I know I shouldn’t act like this is more than a first date, I’m a little helpless with Jules. This is not what I’d expected when I walked into The Scene a month ago, pretending I was someone else. Now I’m letting her see more of me, and wanting that. Fucking craving it. This is bad, but still I say, “That’s why I wanted you to know.”

My heart is beating faster for her, and I don’t even know what to do with this swell of emotion.

“You know what else was on my list?” she asks.

“Tell me.”

“Have dinner with a handsome…Frenchman or American,” she adds with a sexy smile.

Narrowing my eyes, I growl my disapproval. “You don’t belong with a Frenchman.”

Her lips curve up. “I don’t?”

“Not. At. All.”

Her smile deepens, turning more playful. “Are you sure?”

“You’re having dinner with this American. And only this American.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. That’s the item on your list. Dinner with me,” I say.

“Well, you are handsome and you are American, so it fits…But maybe I should add a bossy American?”

“Yes. You should.” Because I love that list and I want to do all the things on it with her.

When we finish eating, she’s quiet for a beat before she says, in a soft, sensual voice, “I brought something you gave me to Paris.”

Without hesitation, I say, “Let’s go.”

I pay, then we’re out of there.