Chapter 22 #2
He doesn’t kiss me. I don’t know why I’m not surprised.
We follow him through the tide of people to the other side of the park, where the noise of the market fades away and the crowd thins out.
“Where are we going?” Jackson asks as we cross the road and walk between two buildings.
“To a bar.” étienne nods ahead at an external staircase that zigzags up the mountainside. “It’s my friend Charles’s birthday.”
He takes his time to pronounce the last three words, but I still detect a slur.
“How long have you been out?” I ask with a laugh as he starts taking the steps two by two.
“Since five.” He casts me a grin over his shoulder.
“Are you sure he won’t mind us gate-crashing?” Jackson calls after him.
“Not at all,” étienne replies.
Loud music and the sounds of a busy bar can be heard as we approach the top.
“I didn’t even know this was here,” I say.
“Most tourists don’t. But we locals know that it has the cheapest beer in town.”
étienne leads us into a dark, grungy room crammed with wooden tables and chairs. The Tour de France is playing on a muted flat-screen television mounted to the wall and Jackson’s head swings toward it as we pass. I don’t follow the cycling, but he and Albert do.
Candles burn away in red containers on most available surfaces and in the light of one I can make out Charles and Raphael, as well as Dion, the rally-car driver, with his curly brown hair and thick dark eyebrows—Mellie was very excited to hear I’d met him.
They’re crowded around a table in the corner along with a few other people, but there’s no sign of Lise.
I can’t help but feel relieved that it’s busy at La Terrasse on market nights.
étienne deposits Jackson and me at the table before heading to the bar with our drinks order. Everyone shuffles over to make room and I find myself sandwiched between Raphael and Jackson.
“We were near your kayak-hire place a couple of weeks ago,” I say to Raphael, trying to make conversation.
He nods. “I know. étienne said he wants to take you next week.”
“You’re going kayaking?” Jackson interrupts, surprised.
“Sounds like it,” I reply, trying to mask how pleased I am. “Did he say when?” I ask Raphael.
He shrugs. “It’s better to avoid the weekend. He asked if I can bring you back on the bus.” He means that he’ll collect us and the kayak from downriver so we don’t have to paddle upstream.
I find myself locked in a stare with étienne as he returns to the table. He places his hand on my shoulder as he passes me a cider and Jackson a beer, retaining a bottle for himself. His thumb very subtly brushes my collarbone and goose bumps spread outward from the spot.
I look up at him, wanting to tease him about making plans without me, but then his touch is gone and he is too. Disconcerted, I turn to see him pulling up a chair at the other end of the table beside a girl with curly dark hair. My neck feels stiff with the effort it takes to turn back to Jackson.
“I like that dress,” he says casually.
I stare at him. I’m not sure Jackson has ever complimented me on what I’m wearing. Telling me that my orange bikini will give a guy a heart attack doesn’t count.
“You’ve seen it before,” I reply. It’s the same blue, green, and yellow one that I wore on my first night here—it comes to the midpoint of my thighs, is snug around my bust, and has thick enough straps that I can still wear a good bra. It’s probably the most flattering thing I own.
“I know.” He brings his bottle to his lips, but keeps his eyes on mine as he drinks. “I liked it then too.”
“Thanks,” I reply edgily.
“I’ve always liked your style,” he adds, huddling in closer.
Raphael has turned back to Dion and everyone is speaking fast in French so I don’t feel like we’re being rude by talking among ourselves.
“No, you haven’t,” I protest with a laugh. “You used to poke fun at my swimming costumes relentlessly.”
“That was when we were kids,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. “I had no clue what I was doing back then.”
I remember Estelle loaning me a pretty bright blue bikini once—étienne had been trying to get me to go in the river and I finally gave in to pressure, but I hadn’t brought a costume with me. Estelle’s fit like a dream.
I chance a glance at étienne and see that he’s having an animated conversation with the girl at the end of the table. I deliberately refocus my attention on Jackson.
“And then along came Chloe in her red bikini,” I say significantly. “Your eyes were out on stalks.” I grab my cider and swallow down the nausea I still feel when I think of them together.
“Teenage hormones,” Jackson mutters. “They’ve got a lot to answer for.”
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t come that summer?”
My question surprises us both. Jackson and I have always danced around the topic of our feelings for each other.
“Yes,” he admits, staring at me.
“The summer before that, when we were sixteen…”
“And you were going out with Sam.”
“You remember his name?”
“Of course I do,” he replies. “I was jealous as hell. I was jealous of Nick too.”
His candid confession thrills me.
“You’ve always wanted what you couldn’t have,” I point out.
He snorts. “Yeah, that’s my problem,” he agrees. “I’ve learned my lesson now though.”
“Have you?”
“The headfuck of a roller coaster I went on with Chloe? She loves me, she loves me not…Always chasing after her, trying to please her, having her come around and then push me away. I’m too old for that.
The next time I settle down, it will be with a nice girl who doesn’t play games, and hopefully it’ll be for life. ”
Oh, Jackson, I think as he drains his beer, I’m not sure you know yourself very well.
Because all my instincts tell me that his head will still only be turned by what he can’t have. He was like that with Chloe—she treated him mean and it kept him keen—and he was like that with me too.
Suddenly I feel exhausted.
“You want another drink?” he asks. “Same again?”
“Yes, please.”
He gets up from the table. I glance down toward étienne and catch his eye. He pauses mid-sentence and lifts his chin. It feels like a very small and insignificant acknowledgment, but it causes the beautiful brunette he’s with to look over her shoulder at me.
I avert my gaze and, for want of something better to do, decide to go and use the bathroom. There’s a second room beyond this one and it’s just as crowded. I wind my way between tables and chairs to a door in the far corner.
Why did he bring us all the way here if he was just going to chat up another girl? I think with irritation as I reapply my lipstick.
On my way back through the opening dividing the two rooms, étienne intercepts me.
“?a va?” he asks as he comes to a stop right in front of me, hands oh-so-casually tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
I shrug, unsmiling, as my heart skips and skitters at his close proximity. I’m assuming he’s on his way to the bathroom so I sidestep him. But then he sidesteps right in front of me.
There’s a glint in his eyes, a tilt to his lips. This is the étienne who wants to play. This is not the same étienne who took me to his house and Chauvet 2.
I sidestep again and he mirrors me, his smile widening.
“So what were you thinking?” he asks.
“When?”
“At the market. You had this look on your face, like you were happy.”
“I was.”
“But you’re not happy now,” he muses, cocking his head to one side.
“Why are you so shit about replying to my messages?” I ask.
He purses his lips, momentarily sheepish. “You can bring the contract over on Sunday. I’m going to Les Saules that day too, if you want to come.”
“What time?”
“Eleven? But you’re not annoyed about the contract,” he says thoughtfully.
Two people walk past us. The opening we’re standing in is wide, but we’re still kind of in the way.
“I’m not annoyed at all,” I lie as I turn and put my back against the doorjamb.
He comes to stand right in front of me—close. He still has his hands in his pockets and his weight is on the balls of his feet as he looks down at me. His shoulders are slightly hunched, but they still have a nice square shape about them. He’s been squaring up to the world for a while now.
“The girl I was speaking to is Margot,” he says matter-of-factly. “Her boyfriend, Francois, is a graphic designer. He’s away this weekend but he’s back on Monday if you want me to put you in touch.”
“That…That would be great,” I say.
So he wasn’t chatting her up?
“You thought I wanted her.”
I shake my head and his lips quirk up. He glances in the direction of the bar where Jackson may or may not still be queueing and takes his left hand out of his pocket, placing it on the wall beside my head. My thoughts scatter as he meets my eyes again, leaning in even closer.
“You know I just had to let him think that he had a chance before I swept in and stole you away.”
“You’re so arrogant,” I breathe, but the rush I feel is addictive. I’m not at all sure he’s being serious, but my heart has taken off at a sprint.
He smirks and takes his other hand out of his pocket, reaching up.
“What are you doing?” I stare at him as he presses the tips of his forefinger and middle finger to the side of my neck, just below my jaw.
He meets my gaze, his expression steady. “Your breathing is shallow. I wondered if your pulse was racing.” He pauses. “It is.”
I shove his hand away, but he doesn’t back up.
“I make you nervous,” he states, his eyes sparking with interest.
“And?” I exhale shakily.
“So you admit it.”
I can’t look away. It’s as though he’s drugged me. He’s staring at my lips now, but I’m still glued to his gray-blue gaze.
“Does Jackson make you nervous?” he asks.
I swallow. “Not in the same way.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“He still looks at you like a friend.”
“That’s not totally true.”
“He likes you. He respects you. He’s fond of you. But he’s not hungry for you. And he’s nowhere close to being curious enough.”
“Curious about what?”
“About what you taste like.” My breath catches as he lifts his hand and presses his thumb to my bottom lip. “I’m curious,” he says quietly as my insides ignite.
My blood is roaring in my ears. What is happening right now? I snap out of my daze and place my hands on his chest, pushing him back by a few inches. “Stop messing around.”
“I’m not,” he replies flippantly. “Why don’t we really take things up a notch. For real. It would drive him crazy.”
Oh my God. Is he serious? I think he’s serious. He is. He’s serious.
I shake my head, feeling like an animal caught in a trap. “Too dangerous.”
“How?”
“Feelings.”
“What feelings? You want him.” His features harden as he looks toward the bar. “You always have. Hasn’t stopped you from being with other people.”
“What about your feelings?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about me,” he replies dismissively, as though the thought of falling for me is beyond him. “We’ll keep it casual. A holiday fling, like you said.”
“You’re drunk,” I whisper.
He leans right in, taking his sweet time about it, and says directly into my ear, “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”
A full-body shiver rolls down me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” an all-too-familiar voice interrupts.
étienne reels backward. “Nothing,” he says to Lise with an easy laugh, bending down to give her two very ordinary air kisses. He glances back at me as he walks with her to the bar, mouthing one word.
Yet.
I don’t sleep a wink that night.