Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“And we haven’t even had dinner yet,” she says as she lifts her glass of sauvignon blanc and takes a sip, running her finger along the stem when she’s done. Yes, after-dark Jules is coming out to play in Paris. The soft glow from streetlamps brings out her sexy radiance as much as the black dress that hugs her curves.
I try to picture her at a club with her friends, letting loose, moving to the music. “What do you wear when you go dancing?”
“That’s specific,” she says, amusement in her eyes after she sets down the glass.
“I want to picture you completely,” I say. If she’s going to rile me up, then she can rile me all the way up. “Set the scene for me.”
She lifts a flirty brow, shrugs a shoulder. “Depends on my mood. Sometimes jeans, sometimes a short skirt, maybe a bustier, often a wig,” she says, flicking her hair again.
“Like you had on the night we met.”
“They’re kind of my thing,” she says with a spark that tells me she’s enjoying this night as much as I am. I remember her telling me at my house that she didn’t date much. That dating was complicated. That describes our situation perfectly, but maybe we can be uncomplicated for a night in Paris.
“Perfume, wigs, costumes. The Jules picture is becoming more clear.”
“Is it, now?”
“You like pretty things and you like to play. You like to use your imagination.”
“You get me,” she says.
“I fucking do,” I say confidently. I want to see her in all of those outfits. Want to watch her dress up, get ready for a night out. “So you’re at this dance club, and you hear about The Scene, and you thought, I have to go meet a well-hung man in a phantom mask.”
She laughs, the sound carrying into the Paris night. “And when I saw you walking down the street, I knew you had to be swinging a horse cock.”
It’s my turn to crack up. “You were right.”
“I’m so glad I estimated correctly,” she says as candlelight flickers across her face. She looks different tonight—all dressed up and yet completely relaxed. Almost like how she was at dinner with Zach and me. At ease. Minus the cock comment. “So when my bartender friend asked me to fill in at The Scene,” she adds, circling back, “I basically said yes, now, and I’ll be there.”
“And that’s how we met,” I say as fairy lights in the sidewalk’s trees flicker above us.
She lifts a brow. “I like that version better.”
Translation: better than meeting over dinner with her father.
“It’ll be our new story,” I say, and it feels real enough. I’m acutely aware that our time here is make-believe. But if this is all we can have, I want it to matter. “Do you like your job? You seemed excited to work with Solange.”
Her face is a mix of emotions—intensity and passion. “I don’t want to show it in front of her, but yes. I’d love to be an EP someday. Honestly, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
My gaze drifts briefly to a gift bag at my feet. Something I picked up for her earlier and want to give to her later. Assured it’s there and safe, I look to her again and ask, “Young Jules imagined being a TV producer? What drew you to it?”
Her brow furrows, like she’s contemplating whether she wants to crack open this topic, but then she must decide she does. “I wasn’t allowed to watch TV when I was younger.”
Oh. Right, Tate is strict. “Your father,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to acknowledge that shared connection, but hating lies more.
“He said the world was violent enough, and we didn’t need to see more of it. Ironic, because Willa and I never wanted to watch shows like that.”
I sit up straighter. She doesn’t say much about her sister, but I’ve sensed they were close. “And once you watched TV you were hooked?”
“No turning back,” she says, laughing, then she leans closer, like she’s sharing a naughty secret. “I love stories. Especially visual ones. They just grab me and draw me in, and him keeping TV from me only made it more alluring.”
“Ironic,” I say.
“Yes, because we’d sneak out to friend’s houses…to watch TV.”
I laugh. “That’s hilarious.”
“Most of the time that’s what we did,” she says in a quieter voice, then her expression darkens, and like an echo, she adds, “Most.”
“You miss her a lot.”
“I do.” She shifts gears abruptly. “And you get to work with your brother. That must be great.”
She doesn’t want to stay on the topic of her sister, so I go with her switch. “I do. We’re very competitive, and we prank each other constantly, but it’s a great partnership. And he’s been immensely helpful with advice and such since Zach came into my life.”