Chapter 23 #4
“Anytime,” Bastien said sweetly. “You too…” he trailed off, and just as his words did, so did his gaze, landing on her lips. “Thank you. For…for that friends…thing.”
“Don’t say it like that,” Celine murmured.
His lips curled upwards. “Like what?”
“Like you mean something else.”
“Maybe I—”
A car honked outside and something snapped. They both stiffened, and, as if coming out from a daze, Celine noticed how dark it was behind the newspaper-covered windows. Fuzzy dots of light shone on the other side—the lights of the other establishments. It was evening already.
Celine straightened up immediately. She scrambled to her feet, brushing off a few sequins that had clung to her dress. “It’s getting late. You should drive me home.”
Bastien tilted his head, puzzled. He checked his wrist watch. “It’s barely six.”
“And it will be seven when we arrive.” Celine bit down on her tongue.
“Jacques—he will be waiting to take me out,” she lied, ignoring the urge to scratch her wrist. Ignoring the impulse that pressed at her to stay longer—indefinitely if she could.
Ignoring that look of pure disappointment on Bastien’s face.
Because the more time she spent with Bastien, the faster their relationship was beginning to change.
They had finally become friends. They were going to become partners.
Celine couldn’t do that if she started wishing they were something else.
Visibly reluctant, Bastien rose as well. “Alright, then. I’ll drive you back.”
· · ·
Three faint lights were illuminating the LeBeau residence when Bastien pulled up before the cul-de-sac.
“Walk me inside?” Celine said, faintly aware of what she was asking.
The entire drive she had joined Bastien’s daydreams about what their studio would look like, even laughing at his crude suggestions instead of rolling her eyes at his debatable taste.
A strange elation had overcome her and it had left her feeling all drunk and light-headed.
Bastien didn’t question her request and turned off the engine when the vehicle was inside the driveway.
Her parents wouldn’t see anyways. The light in the living room was so faint, it could only indicate her father was reading by the floor lamp, possibly already asleep, and her mother rarely bothered herself with what was happening outside. That was Francine’s job.
Stepping out, Bastien opened the door for her.
Motorcars rushing on the other side of the cul-de-sac filled the silence of the driveway.
A balmy breeze rustled the jasmine bushes that flanked each side of the house, coaxing a few white petals to break off and litter the pavement.
One of the cherry pits he had thrown at her window glinted right where Celine had chucked it back at him.
Bastien’s expression was that of amusement when she glanced at him over her shoulder.
She assumed it was directed at the cherry pit, until she saw where his attention had landed.
He was peering up at her bedroom’s window, faintly lit, following a shadow that passed behind the curtain. Clearly feminine.
“Jacques isn’t really waiting for you, is he?” he asked.
Celine cursed herself under her breath.
“Yes he is,” she insisted. And as much as she tried to resist this time, her fingers found her wrist.
“Liar,” he said, taking her hand before her nails could graze her skin.
“I might not be on such friendly terms with my brother, but I am close enough to him to know he is not that keen on dresses.” His hand slid up to the pale, sensitive part of her wrist, his thumb swiped gently over it.
For a moment she feared he would ask her why she lied, why she wanted to leave early.
But he only chided her about the scratches.
“You will rip your skin off if you keep at it. Don’t worry,” Bastien assured. “It’s not a noticeable quirk.”
And yet, he had noticed.
“What, you’ve just been staring at me?” Celine huffed. She didn’t like it that he could tell when she was lying now.
“Staring is a strong word—I’m not a creep, baby vamp. Admiring sounds nicer, no?”
Celine rolled her eyes, but she made no move to retrieve her hand and Bastien didn’t let go either. He continued to trace his thumb over the faint scratches, so slow she could barely feel him if it weren’t for the unfamiliar, yet pleasant tingle that travelled up her arm at his touch.
“I’ll see you for the next challenge then,” Bastien uttered, still looking at her hand. “Unless you need me earlier for the fitting.”
“Yes,” she replied absently. Her mind was elsewhere as she dragged her gaze from that cheeky strand of hair that fell over his eyes, to his grey irises, that faint dimple on the bottom corner of his mouth, and lastly, she paused on his lips. “I need you.”
“Oh?”
“Wipe that smirk off your face. You know what I meant.” Lingering there in the driveway, Celine was really, really beginning to wish she could just settle back into his car again and drive around the city with no aim and no worries.
She wanted to keep talking about the studio as if it was already refurbished and they were going to open it tomorrow. She almost asked him to return. Almost.
Her fingers twitched involuntarily, tightening around Bastien’s hand for a moment. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to wait until the next challenge to see him again, either.
“You will come to my birthday, won’t you?”
He hesitated for a moment, nudging the gravel with the toe of his shoe. At last, he said, “Of course, I will,” and leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek.
Celine’s breath hitched in her throat when his lips met her skin. The subtle smell of cigarettes and sugar hit her senses, and she turned her head to look at him, but Bastien hadn’t drawn back yet.
Their lips brushed.
“I’m sorry,” Celine said mortified. But his hands close on her elbows, stopping her just as she was retreating backwards.
“I’m not,” Bastien uttered and captured her mouth with his again.
The shock of his lips on hers again registered for only a brief second.
Then it fell away like a dimming star from the dusky backdrop of the evening as Celine held tight to his shirt, scrunching it in her fists.
She tried to send signals to her hands to let him go, to stop this, but Bastien’s kiss was slowly erasing everything from her mind, including her ability to do anything beyond kissing him back.
Every single one of her thoughts was so addled, she couldn’t even feel the goosebumps that travelled down her spine.
But she could feel that something had changed in the way he was kissing her.
There was a delicate tremor in his hands when he let go of her elbows to cup her face and deepen the kiss.
He was holding her more timidly. And yet, every flick of his tongue tasted sweeter, causing a concession of sparks to pop in Celine’s chest.
Bastien pulled away, just slightly, so he could say, “That first lesson is really paying off.”
“Mhm.”
“God, I’m a good teacher.”
“Yes, yesyouare,” Celine replied, and it all came out in a string of hastily uttered words, because she was hoisting herself on her tiptoes, throwing all of her weight at Bastien.
It was a gamble—whether he would catch her or not.
Regardless of the outcome, she lifted her hands up to his face, unable to remain stiff anymore, then dipped her fingers into the soft strands of his hair and met his lips again. She hadn’t realised how much she had wanted to kiss him again until now.
Bastien sighed into her mouth. He held fast to her waist, careful not to trip over the border lining the driveway. The shower of beads on Celine’s dress crinkled under his palm. His heart beat against hers wildly, erratic. And loud.
Celine could hear it in the quiet of the night like a ceaseless bell ringing in the distance. But when she flitted her eyes up to look at him, there was only an indecipherable expression on Bastien’s face.
“Count this as a second lesson,” he said breathlessly. “You start paying on the third one.”
Celine blinked up at him, her lips parted as if to speak. But her brain was struggling for purchase. All she found herself focusing on was her lipstick smeared all over Bastien’s mouth.
A shaky breath loosened from her lungs.
Bastien ran a hand through his mussed hair. “I-I’ll see you soon then,” he mumbled. “Goodnight, Celine LeBeau.”
“Good”—he was already in his car, driving off, before she could get the rest of the word out—“night.”
Celine stood there for several minutes, waiting for the billow of engine fumes to dissipate.
The night air nipped at her skin—she could hardly feel it.
Her bare arms were still burning where Bastien’s fingers had grasped, holding her tightly to him.
Her heart was racing on a track, going for the win.
Celine pressed her fingers to her lips.
What had just happened?
She glanced around as if to find an explanation on one of the pebbles in the gravel, but they yielded up nothing. She had gone insane. She was out of her mind to be kissing Bastien again. Nothing else could explain this.
Finally, a shiver coursed through her arms, and she pried herself from the driveway, heading inside. But she had barely taken one step when she stiffened, heart stopping on the spot.
Ana?s was standing on the threshold, mouth forming a wide O. A cigarette with a red lipstick mark around its filter was burning not far from where she stood.
Suddenly, she blinked off her stupor, her expression furrowing into the one she always had on whenever she stumbled upon a particularly juicy rumour. “Oh, la vache!” she screeched. “You and Bastien are having an affai—”
Celine clamped a hand over Ana?s’s mouth before she could scream the rest of the words to the entire neighbourhood, and pushed her backwards into the house.