Page 29 of In the Net
“That was my intention from the beginning. You’re the one who fired the first shot.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “First shot,” he repeats my words sarcastically. “If helping you avoid getting groped by some old guy is?—”
“He was twenty-seven!” I cut him off in exasperation.
Having no comeback, he just shifts his eyes to the side and tightens the fold of his arms.
“Whatever,” I breathe out. “I’d love to think this is the last time we’ll talk before we’re back home, but unfortunately, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. Just try not to ruin any more dates for me, and I’ll do the same for you.”
“Fine.”
12
SEBASTIAN
Sweat streams down my face while my feet pump against the gravelly pathways of the Luxembourg Garden. The sky above Paris is low and grey with clouds, and the humidity has my body covered in perspiration, my shirt wet and stuck to my torso as I fit in an afternoon run.
You better not be slacking off over there. The text Coach sent me this morning.
Truth is, I have been. After today’s conference session ended just two hours ago, I forced myself to put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and go out for a run.
The way I’m sucking in breath through the thick, soupy Paris air on this humid mess of a day confirms that my diet of pastries, baguettes, and coffee, along with my late nights of drinking with grad students I’ve met at the conference, hasn’t been great for my conditioning.
At least I have the stunning view of the Garden to take my mind off the way my body is struggling through this overdue workout.
The grey sky makes the Luxembourg Palace even more majestic, and the beauty of the Garden combined with thesubdued languor of the heavy, humid day somehow gives everything a picturesque feeling.
As beautiful as my surroundings are, though, for the last couple minutes a very different kind of sight has taken residence in my mind’s eye, stubbornly resisting my efforts to shake it out.
Harper’s conference presentation was this morning. Even though we’ve been trying to avoid each other, I couldn’t resist watching.
Her presentation was good. Really good. It was informative, interesting, polished—she really looked like she belonged at a conference where professors who’ve held PhDs and taught for decades were sharing their research.
Frankly, it made me self-conscious about my own presentation coming up tomorrow.
But it’s not the contents of her presentation that intrude on my thoughts as I run another loop around the Garden.
No, it’s what she was wearing while she was giving that presentation.
She wore a pencil skirt that hugged her hips in a way I can’t get out of my head.
The next couple strides of my run are awkward thanks to my dick stiffening behind my athletic shorts.
I stop on the side of the pathway and drop to hit twenty pushups. Along with my cardio, I need to give my neglected muscles a workout, too.
When I hop up from the ground, I look up to find that the clouds overhead have parted in the perfect place to reveal a spread of blue sky right above the Luxembourg Palace. The rays of the sun sparkle on the pond in front of it. It’s a breathtaking scene, and I take out my phone to snap a picture.
I send it to the group chat with my roommates.
Right as I hit send, a sudden sharp, twisting feeling pangs in my chest, because I have the urge to send a picture to Bryce, too.
I’ve felt that way with every photo I’ve snapped during this trip. Whenever we used to talk about things we looked forward to in our futures, I’d always talk about wanting to go on a trip across Europe, especially to visit Paris.
As well as my friends on the team know me, Bryce knew me that much better. He knew me like no one else really did, like only someone you went through your childhood and adolescence with as a close friend can. He’d appreciate what this trip means to me more than anyone else.
I wish I could share it with him. But I closed the door on those days myself.
As if on cue, the patch of sunny blue sky disappears. The dull grey clouds crowd together again, turning everything overhead into colorless monotone.
