Read Online Sleeping With Paris by Juliette Sobanet - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliette Sobanet
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boulevard Jourdan stopped and picked up a load of students. I crossed the street behind the Italian girls, admiring their long, silky black hair and the way they looked so confident, all dressed in their tight skirts and low-cut tops, excited for a wild night of study abroad debauchery.
As I climbed into the red, white and blue RER train that smelled of car exhaust and body odor, I squeezed into a free pocket of space and steadied myself against the metal railing until the bumpy train came to the Luxembourg stop.
On my way up the stairs, I breathed in the humid night air as I filed past the same two tight jeans guys, who were now laughing like hyenas and shoving each other around.
“ Mademoiselle !” I heard one of the boys shout in my direction.
I swiveled my head around to find them both staring at me with goofy grins.
“ Comme vous êtes sexy. Vous voulez coucher chez moi ce soir ?”
I took one last glimpse of their excruciatingly tight pants, and instead of giving in to my urge to laugh, I shot them a look of disgust before making a beeline in the other direction.
To give DC some credit, the preppy, collar-popping boys back in Georgetown did not stop random girls in the street to tell them how sexy they were and ask them to spend the night.
I forgot all about the French boys’ immature advances as soon as I had a chance to gaze around at the lively Parisian streets. I weaved past one of the leisurely cafés that lined boulevard St. Michel and fixed my eyes on a group of four French women feasting on a meal of cheesy crêpes, colorful salads,and my favorite ham and cheese sandwich—the croque-monsieur . Across the street, a tall, iron gate surrounded the Luxembourg Gardens, and a group of high school-aged girls and boys lingered at the entrance, tossing French slang and flirty glances at each other.
As I turned the corner onto rue Soufflet and spotted the towering Panthéon building at the end of the street, I realized I’d been in such a jet-lagged haze over the past week that I’d barely left my dorm room. There was so much life in this city, so much excitement. I made a pact with myself right then and there, that no matter how bad I felt about losing Jeff, I wouldn’t waste my year in Paris by moping around by myself.
After performing a balancing act with my heels on the uneven cobblestone streets that wound past the Panthéon, I spotted Lexi smoking a cigarette and showing some leg underneath the blue and white awning of the bar. I felt cute in my favorite red, strapless top, my dark, boot-cut jeans, and my black, strappy heels. But Lexi was dressed to the nines. She had on a short, black skirt and a skimpy, metallic-blue tank top which showcased her outrageous cleavage. She definitely wasn’t leaving much to the imagination.
Inside the smoky bar, Lexi led me downstairs, and we pushed our way through the crowded dance floor over to the bar where we ordered two rum and cokes.
“So, have you heard from that scumbag ex-fiancé of yours since you got here?” She took a swig of her drink, then a puff of her cigarette.
“Nope, not a word.”
“And you’re not trying to get in touch with him, are you?”
“No way,” I assured her.
“Good, because you don’t want to look pathetic. And you don’t want to be the one crawling back to him. I mean you’re in Paris, you’re hot, and you’re going to meet other guys, so you have nothing to worry about.”
I surveyed the dance floor and didn’t see anyone even remotely interesting. Oh God, did I really have to play this game again? Dress up, try to impress some stupid guy at a bar, take him home, hook up, wake up and do it all over again? What in the hell was I doing?
Then I thought of Brooke. Jeff having sex with Brooke while I was wearing his ring. And suddenly, my motivation to go buck wild in Paris came roaring back.
“Wanna take a shot and get moving on this meeting new guys thing?” I asked her.
“Hell yeah, girl.”
And
As I climbed into the red, white and blue RER train that smelled of car exhaust and body odor, I squeezed into a free pocket of space and steadied myself against the metal railing until the bumpy train came to the Luxembourg stop.
On my way up the stairs, I breathed in the humid night air as I filed past the same two tight jeans guys, who were now laughing like hyenas and shoving each other around.
“ Mademoiselle !” I heard one of the boys shout in my direction.
I swiveled my head around to find them both staring at me with goofy grins.
“ Comme vous êtes sexy. Vous voulez coucher chez moi ce soir ?”
I took one last glimpse of their excruciatingly tight pants, and instead of giving in to my urge to laugh, I shot them a look of disgust before making a beeline in the other direction.
To give DC some credit, the preppy, collar-popping boys back in Georgetown did not stop random girls in the street to tell them how sexy they were and ask them to spend the night.
I forgot all about the French boys’ immature advances as soon as I had a chance to gaze around at the lively Parisian streets. I weaved past one of the leisurely cafés that lined boulevard St. Michel and fixed my eyes on a group of four French women feasting on a meal of cheesy crêpes, colorful salads,and my favorite ham and cheese sandwich—the croque-monsieur . Across the street, a tall, iron gate surrounded the Luxembourg Gardens, and a group of high school-aged girls and boys lingered at the entrance, tossing French slang and flirty glances at each other.
As I turned the corner onto rue Soufflet and spotted the towering Panthéon building at the end of the street, I realized I’d been in such a jet-lagged haze over the past week that I’d barely left my dorm room. There was so much life in this city, so much excitement. I made a pact with myself right then and there, that no matter how bad I felt about losing Jeff, I wouldn’t waste my year in Paris by moping around by myself.
After performing a balancing act with my heels on the uneven cobblestone streets that wound past the Panthéon, I spotted Lexi smoking a cigarette and showing some leg underneath the blue and white awning of the bar. I felt cute in my favorite red, strapless top, my dark, boot-cut jeans, and my black, strappy heels. But Lexi was dressed to the nines. She had on a short, black skirt and a skimpy, metallic-blue tank top which showcased her outrageous cleavage. She definitely wasn’t leaving much to the imagination.
Inside the smoky bar, Lexi led me downstairs, and we pushed our way through the crowded dance floor over to the bar where we ordered two rum and cokes.
“So, have you heard from that scumbag ex-fiancé of yours since you got here?” She took a swig of her drink, then a puff of her cigarette.
“Nope, not a word.”
“And you’re not trying to get in touch with him, are you?”
“No way,” I assured her.
“Good, because you don’t want to look pathetic. And you don’t want to be the one crawling back to him. I mean you’re in Paris, you’re hot, and you’re going to meet other guys, so you have nothing to worry about.”
I surveyed the dance floor and didn’t see anyone even remotely interesting. Oh God, did I really have to play this game again? Dress up, try to impress some stupid guy at a bar, take him home, hook up, wake up and do it all over again? What in the hell was I doing?
Then I thought of Brooke. Jeff having sex with Brooke while I was wearing his ring. And suddenly, my motivation to go buck wild in Paris came roaring back.
“Wanna take a shot and get moving on this meeting new guys thing?” I asked her.
“Hell yeah, girl.”
And
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