Page 68 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“We’d want boxes to take away,” Dean broke in, tapping his mouth with his index finger. “I need to think. Tell me Madison has good leftovers in the walk-in.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Sawyer asked with a sigh. “My mind was set on Lebanese after you planted the idea.”
“You can still order,” Dean suggested, feeling a little guilty. “You could stop by the Lebanese take-out stall by that fencing school you nearly swooned over.”
“How can you not swoon over fencing?” Sawyer asked, striking a dorky dueling pose. “It’s a classic sport, one of great cultural—”
“See ya,” Kyle said, backing out of the room quickly.
Sawyer resumed a normal human standing pose. “Philistines. All of you. Go, have your leftovers. I’m going out to salvage my view of mankind.”
Like that would work. Dean glanced around the room. Everyone had left their gifts except those wearing them. The whole night had been a dud, and that made him the king of Dud-dom. He did not want to stay on the throne of Dud-dom. No way, no how.
So what now?
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Whatwouldturn things around?
Because Dean could not handle slinking up to his room. He’d get depressed. He tapped the kitchen table as he considered the situation. Maybe he should grab some leftovers with his roommates and then text Jacqueline last minute and see if she’d be up for a drink later on.
Sure, tonight hadn’t taken the happy path he’d hoped for, but he could dream a while and free-write some of his thoughts. That idea Kyle had suggested about themed boxes had him tingling and wanting to dig in more. If Jacqueline wasn’t free, he could go and watch the people at the grocery store to see what they were bringing home to drink as part of market research.
Along those lines, he knew he needed to find out whether a bakery could get an alcohol license. When he pulled out his phone, he punched the air with joy. Jacqueline had textedhim.A half hour ago. Now, that was a nice change of pace. He tried not to worry about keeping the whole cave thing from her. The quest to win her heart had to be his first priority. He brought up her text and translated it as he read.
Good evening, Dean. I wanted to tell you again how much I loved our night out at dinner and the cabaret. It’s all I’ve thought about. Well, mostly. I know it’s last minute, but would you like to meet up for a drink later?
His mouth almost cracked from the full force of his smile. Eagerness was a good sign. When he got really into someone, he wanted to spend every day with them nonstop. Was it too much to hope she was feeling the same way? Then another thought hit him, and the energy went straight to his groin.
Was she going to ask him home tonight? He’d been on his best behavior, wanting to get to know her better and feel like they were in sync.
She’d drawn a line in the sand upfront by saying no booty calls, but perhaps she trusted he wanted more from her. Well…
No one was going to have to twist his arm to spend a night in his dream girl’s arms. He wasn’t worried about her bolting in the morning or having any regrets. Not if she initiated things. Plus, he knew he was fun in bed. He’d never been one for just straightforward sex. There had to be some flirting and laughter in addition to groans and moans.
He thought about what he wanted to say before starting to type in French. French grammar could be a bitch sometimes. To him, written French was a completely different language than spoken French.
Hello, my beautiful Jacqueline! What a wonderful surprise! I’d love to meet you for a drink. What time works for you? And where? Because if you don’t have anything else in mind, I could grab a bottle of something and meet you by the Seine? It’s a great spot for kissing as the river rushes by.
He eyed the text, making sure his French autocorrect put in the right accents for certain words. Sawyer would like the last part about the river rushing. He’d bet Sawyer could get a ton of girls with his poetic and philosophical nature, if only his art stress didn’t make him so grumpy. Satisfied, he sent it and only had to wait a few seconds before she started typing back.
A bottle by the Seine sounds perfect. I know a great spot. Let me bring wine. I have a special vintage you can’t find anywhere. See you at nine in front of Charvin beside Pont Neuf. If you don’t know Charvin, your friend Sawyer will. See you soon!
Pocketing the phone in his jacket, he whistled as he headed to the walk-in. He stopped short when he found it packed with his roommates, eating turkey legs right out of their hands. “Sawyer already called you philistines as he left to improve his view of mankind. I’m going to add carnivores to the list. Where did you get those?”
Kyle held his drumstick up. “Madison is testing a recipe for the Christmas holidays since the French do turkey for traditional dinner. Want one?”
“It’s good,” Brooke said while chewing, a real rarity for her since she sometimes acted like she’d trained with Miss Manners.
“Would I turn down anything Madison made?” he asked.
“Thanks, Dean,” Madison said as she handed him one from the metal tray. “See what you think. Single-serving drumsticks at the restaurant are easier than the whole turkey. I’m going to include dressing on the side with apricot, walnuts, leeks, and white boudin laced with cognac, so try and imagine those flavors as you taste the turkey leg.”
He bit into it with gusto and struck a pose with his legs open and chest puffed out. “Do I look like Henry the Eighth in that controversial painting Sawyer loves to talk about?” he asked with his mouth full. “This is terrific, by the way.”
Brooke swallowed audibly and laughed. “God, I forgot how Sawyer used to go on about that painting.”
Kyle struck the same pompous pose as him. “The debate is as follows, ladies and gentlemen. Is the king who chopped off his wives’ heads holding arealturkey leg or are those merely his riding gloves?”
