Page 95 of From Fling to Ring

He nods. “Yup. I’m pretty sure it does, since bon-JOR is the only thing I know how to say, and that’s because I heard it from the guy who looked at my passport when I got off the plane.”

“What… why… how…” I sputter like a complete idiot.

“I think I’ll help myself to this chair right here, since you’re clearly not going to invite me to take a seat.”

He folds up his frame into the tiny wedge of space that’s typical in French cafes, which so does not lend itself to an oversized American athlete. He looks pretty funny, actually, and if I were not so confused, I might take a photo.

“Thought I’d add a little drama to your Parisian getaway.”

He’s got that right. It’s like we’re in this giant cloud of drama that’s coming at us from all sides that isn’t going to leave us alone anytime soon.

Funny how shit can follow you thousands of miles from home.

“Thanks. You know I love drama. Very thoughtful of you. Did you come all this way to ruin my day?”

Damn, that’s harsh. But I can’t seem to help it. Call it self-protection.

He nods. “Yes. That. And, you know, I missed your biting sarcasm.”

He flashes me a grin, that grin that first made me think no man can be nice and look this good, that later taught me I have to stop being such a judgmental, cynical pain in the ass.

“I thought about working on my romantic gestures to prove I’m not the player some author pegged me as for her book.”

“I hear ya. And I wanted to prove that the guy who made a bet to date me for ninety days didn’t win.”

“You got that right. Now I have to take a figure-skating lesson and skate around the rink in a dress.”

“I’d like to see that.”

He tilts his head. “I’m sure it will be all over the news. Not the details of the bet, per se, since I don’t want to look like the biggest asshole in hockey, but the part where I skate around in a dress is bound to be popular.”

“Maybe I can catch it on the internet here. I don’t think the French media will be covering it.”

He reaches for my croissant and tears off a corner.

“Hungry? You know, they have lots more croissants up there at the counter,” I say.

He’s wearing me down, dammit. I’m trying desperately to maintain my hard edge, and now that he’s sitting so close to me that I can smell his shampoo, I’m losing ground.

Fast.

“My French class starts in five minutes.”

“I can wait for you here.”

“Don’t.”

My sharp tone leaves him unfazed. Damn, he’s resilient.

“Fine. I’ll go wait over at Frenchie’s.”

“What? How do you know her?”

He grins. “From Petal, of course. She’s quite the cupid, you know.”

She’s also quite the former BFF. I am so not down with this, and I will be telling her that in a matter of minutes. She blew my cover and I’m not happy about that.

“What are you doing here, Tyler?” I finally ask.

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