Page 55 of French Kiss

I should get a grip. Some perspective.

No. I should stop thinking for once.

The deluge continued on the dark road, which reflected the café lights in its wet surface. I wanted to live in this city forever.

“We had three years. How did we not do this?” I asked, sliding back into my seat and holding onto his hand on the table.

“I was a coward, for one thing.”

“That’s not how I’d ever describe you.”

“When it comes to you, it’s absolutely true.”

“You never seemed the slightest bit interested in me,” I said.

“Then I deserve an Academy award for acting. And you were either dating someone or mooning over Maddox. If you’d as much as hinted that you were interested, don’t doubt I’d have jumped all over it.”

“I admit I was distracted. And after a while, it just seemed like we were meant to be friends.”

“And now?” he asked.

“Now my heart is racing, and I can barely breathe just sitting next to you.”

“So…”

“My hotel is basically across the street.”

“Convenient. Almost like you planned it.”

“You know I’m not a planner,” I said.

“Ha.”

Josh threw thirty euros on the table. The rain was still pouring down, but we only had to make it across the street and a few doors down to the Hôtel de Seine. “Make a run for it?” He grabbed my hand, and we dashed across the road. I barely felt the rain pelting me as we made for the awning over the front door of the hotel.

Once inside, we shook off the drops, and I asked for my key. We opted for the stairs instead of the tiny elevator, and by the time we got to my floor, we were both breathless. I opened the door, wishing I’d done a better job of organizing my stuff before I’d left the room.

I’d dumped open my bag to look for the shoes I’d packed on the bottom and left half my clothes hanging on the desk chair. The normal Josh absolutely would have had something to say about the mess or the decor of the room, but this version of Josh didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was focused on me, on us.

I suddenly felt a little panicked, looking at the bed, that queen-sized bed I’d requested with Maddox in mind. Would Josh wonder about that?

I was hyperaware of how small the space suddenly felt, and even though I wasn’t looking for an escape, I couldn’t push away the sudden sense of panic. I hated myself for always needing to put on the brakes and analyze my life beyond the point of any spontaneity. I didn’t want to think things through anymore. Thinking was exhausting.

Josh looked at me, and I knew he could tell that my brain was on the verge of exploding. “I know,” he said. “Like, if we sleep together and regret it, our friendship is done.”

“Maybe we should give our friendship more credit,” I said, because every time Josh spoke and I heard his voice, I was reminded how much more I liked him than anyone else I’d ever met.

How could sex possibly be a mistake? Because it ruins things, I told myself. It has that kind of power.

Then another voice in my head told me, stop it. Stop overthinking.

Josh walked closer, pulled me toward him gently, and kissed me as sweetly as he had on the boat. I felt a fire inside me ignite at the gentle brush of his lips, the light touch of his tongue, the way his hands ran through my hair, unhurried. He was drawing me in at a pace he knew I could handle.

I pressed a little harder against him, wanting to feel the heat of his body against mine. His tongue grazed my neck, and he kissed me softly behind one ear, in that soft spot that always made me go crazy. He already knew things about me without having to ask.

“You know your anatomy, Doctor Weitz,” I said, a little breathless.

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