My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(57)

But there it is. In black and white on the Internet.

And for one of the first times in a long time, I don’t have to picture anyone naked to navigate past this putting-myself-out-there feeling.

That’s a welcome change.





28





TWO TICKETS


Hazel

You can’t go wrong with a night in Paris.

Words I’ve lived by ever since I fell in love with this city when I first visited it with my mom. I’ve traveled here with friends a few times over the years, falling a little harder each time. That’s why I set The I Do Redo here.

Naturally, I was excited when Aaron and Cady sent the trip agenda a few weeks ago and Paris was the one stop where we’d disembark from the train and spend a whole day and night.

But now that I’m here, taking a shuttle bus with the group from a late breakfast in Le Marais to our hotel in the Eighth Arrondissement, I don’t feel excited. I feel a strange sort of dread.

As the van rumbles past the Louvre, my stomach lurches, and it’s not from the quick stop at the light as pedestrians from all over the world cross, heading toward the famous museum.

It’s the hotel arrangements. I wish I could hack into the hotel’s computer system and rearrange the rooms.

But there’s nothing I can do. I worry away at my cuticles as the destination looms closer. Soon, we pull over and clamber out of the shuttle bus. The maroon-uniformed man swings open the door with Hotel Particulier Eighth calligraphed across the gleaming glass. It’s a new hotel that opened after the one in the tenth was sold out every night.

“Bonjour,” I say to him, but I’m not feeling at all like Belle.

I’m jealous of her. I want that spring she has in her step as she carries bags of books through her quiet little town.

The spring in my step has gone missing, and I know why.

I just don’t know what to do about it.

As the group fans into the lobby, that feeling of dread intensifies, climbing higher in me. With efficiency, Amy handles the reservations, telling us the hotel arranged to check us in earlier than usual. One by one, she hands out the keys, starting with Axel and me.

“For you,” she says, setting a key card in Axel’s palm, “And one for you,” she says, placing one in mine, beaming with relief. “Finally. Sorry it took so long. We have everything sorted for the Copenhagen leg of the trip, so you’ll have separate compartments at last as we travel to Denmark. Jay extended his apologies too and he’s happy to comp you for another train tour another time, he’s said.”

That jolts me from my momentary funk, her first-name basis relationship with the billionaire. I steal a glance at Axel next to me, wanting to nudge him with my elbow, but all I have to do is lift a brow slightly. He lifts one in return.

“That’s so kind of Mr. Bettencourt,” I say when I snap my gaze back to Amy. I can’t bring myself to call him Jay. Then I smile, gripping the card for emphasis. “And this is great.”

“Much appreciated, Amy,” Axel chimes in.

I’m careful not to smile too much or look at Axel too long. No one needs to whisper or wonder what happened behind closed doors.

But I wish I were sharing a room with him tonight. Mine already feels lonely, and I’m not even in it. I wish I could bump into him as I head to brush my teeth, then bicker over who takes up more of the bed.

I don’t even know what our trip-only ground rules mean anymore. Did they apply to the first few nights only? Do they stop tonight? Why didn’t we think about this hotel situation earlier today? Oh, maybe because we were making out as the sun rose and we had to scramble out of bed in a rush.

Again.

As the door to the elevator opens, I try to sort through my thoughts about last night, this morning, and then all the days to come in New York as we share a brain and a heart over the fate of our characters.

But I’m tongue-tied as the door closes and I hit the button for the sixth floor.

Axel stabs the button for the fifth. The share-a-room part of the trip is over, and I already miss it so much my chest hurts.

When Axel steps off on the fifth floor and says casually, “Have fun today,” I can’t untangle the words to say, Wait! What are you doing? Sneak off with me. Let’s play hooky in Paris before I see Rachel later.

I only manage an awkward, “You too.”

“Brooks will be on a boat tour,” he says confidently. He’s so sure of himself. He seems so sure of what’s going on between us—what it is and what it isn’t.

I’m momentarily confused by his comment, till it dawns on me. He’ll be writing.

Something I should do too.

Maybe I can sort out my annoying emotions through words—they have always seen me through.



But an hour later, my room is too empty. The hotel is too quiet. I can’t concentrate on the story in front of me on the screen.

What is Axel doing in his room?

Ugh. I can’t obsess over him like this. I should talk to friends instead. Grabbing my phone, I click to my texts. I confirm with Rachel where I’m meeting her this afternoon, then click over to my thread with TJ. He’s an early riser, so he might be up.

His gifs from our last exchange still cackle at me. Fitting. I tap out a reply.

Hazel: I adulted so damn well that Axel and I are writing together again. Do I get cheese now?