Chapter 20 Cody
I’m pretty sure Luc is trying to seduce me, and if he isn’t, he’s doing a damn good job anyway. Having him in my house, parading around half naked, is more than enough to scramble my self-control. Just great. As if things weren’t complicated enough already.
Does he realize how little chance I have of resisting him?
My head keeps insisting I should wait, keep my distance, be sensible.
But my body? It’s already picturing what would happen if he decided to go all in .
. . the two of us in my bedroom, my excuses dissolving while I tell myself his apology was enough.
But is it really enough? Luc’s been trying hard to prove himself, but maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see. Honestly, why does a twenty-one-year-old guy whose main talents are acting confident and baking cakes have me wrapped around his little finger? What is happening to me?
Maybe it’s official; I want love. I long to love and feel loved, and I want Luc to be the one I can share that with.
Perhaps some part of me always thought I would find love in Europe, but my sensible side deemed it a romantic fantasy.
It’s just too typical, isn’t it? Falling in love with someone while working in an old European city.
Perhaps it is, but I believe it’s actually happened to me.
That could be why my brain turns to mush whenever he’s near.
I need a voice of reason, and I need it now.
There’s only one person for that, someone who always sees the worst in people: Joyce.
She’ll bring me back down to earth. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for as I open the chat app and start typing.
Cody: Guess what? Luc apologized. I let him into my house . . . and now I’m in
trouble.
Joyce replies almost instantly. It’s like she’s been waiting for this moment, ready to swoop in and keep me from caving. And honestly, she’s not wrong.
Joyce: No kidding. Is he still there?
Cody: No, he left on his own.
Joyce: What happened?
Cody: I offered him my couch because of the rain; he said no. He told me he needed to go home, so I offered him a ride instead, but he said he’d walk. He wanted to prove he can take care of himself.
Joyce: Look at that. Pretty Boy actually sounds sensible. Who would have thought?
I pause, staring at her text. She called Luc sensible. Is that because he really is or because I’m making him sound that way? I’m not sure I trust my judgment anymore.
Cody: Don’t tell me. I don’t stand a chance. I’m actually sad that he left.
Joyce: Just don’t do anything crazy like showing up at his house in the middle of the night. I feel like you might.
Cody: I can’t do that because I don’t even know where he lives.
Joyce: Good. Keep it that way for now. You need to be sensible too, alright? It’s only been a day. He still needs to prove himself.
Cody: Yeah . . .
Joyce: But I’ll say this; I’m positively surprised. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.
My eyes widen when I read the message. Wow, it sounds like even Joyce is starting to come around. Who saw that coming? Coming from her, those words mean a lot.
Cody: Seriously? I thought you hated him?
Joyce: Hate’s a strong word. I just didn’t trust him, and I still don’t, not fully. But if he apologized and actually walked away when he could’ve stayed, that says something.
Cody: So you think I should give him a chance?
Joyce: I think you should be careful. Let him prove himself. If he’s worth it, he’ll make the effort. And if not, well, then you’ve saved yourself a mess.
Cody: That’s easily said when you’re not the one falling in love.
Joyce: Seriously? Already? And they say women are the emotional ones . . .
I chuckle at her comment. Deep down, I believe Joyce is just as emotional as I am. She just knows how to hide it better, keeps herself more on guard than I do because of her past experiences.
Joyce: Just don’t do anything stupid.
Cody: I’ll try. Thanks for being a good friend.
I put my phone down and take some time to reflect on the conversation. It didn’t go the way I thought it would—not exactly. I expected Joyce would tell me I was stupid for letting Luc into my house. But if even Joyce thinks Luc is acting decently, then maybe it’s actually true.
After several minutes of thinking, I get up and start walking around the house, mostly because I’m too anxious to sit still. There’s another thought that keeps pressing at the back of my mind.
It’s been twenty minutes since Luc left, and he hasn’t texted me yet.
It’s stressing me out a little, given the low sound of thunder rumbling in the distance.
I hope that wherever that thunderstorm is, it’s far away from Luc.
I need him to arrive home safely more than anything else, because if something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.
It’ll be my fault for letting him turn down my offer to sleep on my couch and for allowing him to insist on walking home.
If he doesn’t make it home safely, it won’t matter if Joyce or anyone thinks his decisions were sensible.
Why didn’t I check the weather forecast before he left, instead of just going on the rain having stopped? That was dumb. I wouldn’t have gone outside myself without checking it, so why did I let him leave before taking a look? Why did I go along with him so easily?
It’s probably because I was confused and flustered.
I’m a grown man, riled up by the sight of a half-naked guy in my house.
In my defense, I hadn’t expected to see him like that.
How was I to know he’d immediately take his clothes off the second I turned my back on him?
I wasn’t gone that long, less than a minute to find him something dry to wear, and when I returned, he’d already removed his shirt and jeans. How did he do that so fast?
The look of mild surprise he carried when I re-entered the bathroom was one of the most attractive things I have ever seen.
It showed that he didn’t expect me to return when I did, so he didn’t plan for it to happen, but he also didn’t look shy or embarrassed.
He made it seem like it was the most normal thing in the world, like I was his boyfriend entering a room where he just happened to be almost naked.
And that, aside from looking the way he does, is the worst thing he could have done to me.
I want to be that boyfriend so badly. What will he do next to make it more difficult? Will he bring me cake again tomorrow morning, saying, “Hello, sweetheart?” The thought has me almost melting, but well, perhaps it doesn’t matter what he does or doesn’t do, because I’m already doomed.
The image of him standing in my bathroom, half naked, is printed on my brain.
I can’t ignore or forget it; my reaction to it is too strong.
Mostly physical, but also emotional. I want him here so I can claim his body in a way nobody has ever done before.
And I want to do it in a way that ensures he’ll fall in love with me.
It may seem challenging, but with our chemistry, maybe I can pull it off.
Especially if he’s already in the process of falling for me.
But who’s to say that’s true? The fact that I want to believe it doesn’t make it so.
What I do know is that, vice versa, I’m definitely falling for him.
I’m worried about his well-being, wishing he were here safely with me.
I like taking care of him— not to control him, but to keep him safe.
It doesn’t help with my nerves that there seem to be little reminders of him everywhere; an empty cake box in the kitchen, and two dirty plates and forks on the coffee table where Luc and I ate.
On the couch, there’s the shirt Luc left.
It’s dry, dark blue, and has the logo of a French band I don’t know.
The pair of jeans I grabbed for him to borrow lie disregarded on the bathroom floor. I grab them, along with his shirt, and take them into the bedroom with me. I quickly shove my jeans back into the closet but hang onto the shirt.
I climb into the bed, holding Luc’s shirt tightly.
He might think I’m weird if he saw me like this, taking in the scent of his shirt, but I don’t care.
Maybe sometime later tonight, he’ll do the same to my sweater, clinging onto it as he goes to bed, sniffing it until it feels like I’m there with him.
The idea is probably too good to be true, but it’s definitely nice to imagine.
I feel calm here, Luc’s scent filling my nostrils and a warm blanket covering me, but I can’t let it lull me to sleep.
I need to stay awake for his message. I don’t know how long his walk home is; it’s yet another thing I forgot to ask.
What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like a teenager in love, neglecting to ask all the important questions.
I’m not sure how much time passes, lying here under the blanket, accompanied by Luc’s shirt.
At some point, I’m no longer afraid I’ll fall asleep.
The thunderstorm seems to be coming closer, based on the bright flashes that become more frequent and the thunderclaps that follow each other more quickly.
My mind starts to spin. What if something happens to Luc?
Will he get stuck in the storm? Or what if he forgets to message me? What will I do then?
I don’t know where Luc and his father live, so I wouldn’t even know where to start searching for him.
My best chance would be going to the cake shop to see if there’s a phone number displayed somewhere on the window.
If there is, at least I’ll be able to call Luc’s dad and hopefully discover the address.
That would be a strange way of meeting his father for sure, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?
It’d be complicated and take a lot of time I won’t have in that situation, though, considering that Luc might be in danger. Also, speaking of which, how long should I wait? An hour? Two hours? I have no idea, and it makes me feel like an idiot.
I press my face into Luc’s shirt. I just need him to be okay.
That’s all. If he sends me a text message, I can relax and sleep, and then we can meet again tomorrow.
I can’t wait. Everything will be alright as long as that thunderstorm stays away, as long as no one hurts my baby and he makes it home safe.
After ten more minutes, my phone finally buzzes. Please, let it be him, I think to myself. I jump up to grab it and let out a deep sigh of relief when I see that Luc has messaged me.
Luc: I’m home.
“Thank God,” I mutter under my breath.
Cody: Good, I was worried. Did you notice the thunderstorm?
Luc: Yes, I heard it come closer, but I made it home in time.
Cody: I’m happy to hear that. I was afraid to go to sleep, but I will now. See you tomorrow, right?
Luc: Definitely. Good night, mon chéri.
I let out a contented sigh, put my phone down, turn off the light on the end table beside me, and snuggle up with Luc’s shirt. Lying here with his scent close by, almost feels like the real deal. If I try hard enough, I can pretend.
At least we had some moments of intimacy today.
First when I hugged him, then when he sat close to me on the couch, then when he kissed me on the cheek before leaving.
Lying in bed with his shirt pulled up to my nose is not the same thing, but it’s good enough for now.
Maybe tomorrow I can allow myself to touch him again.
For now, the most important thing is that Luc is safe.
He arrived home, texted me, and called me “mon chéri.” He also apologized and is really trying to prove himself.
I must say, things are really looking up.