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I nod. “Yes. That can be our break.”

He laughs. He says, “Good, wouldn’t want to think I could be replaced that quickly.” He grabs my hips and I bite my cheek to keep from gasping. I instinctually put my arms around his neck. This kiss is stronger, and his tongue is, like, right on my lips, and I tighten up in panic. What if I’m shit at this?

“Relax, pretty Lizzie.”

I have no filter. “How?” I’ve kissed boys. I want him to teach me how to kiss him. So that it’s ours.

His fingers dust my jaw and his thumb feathers over my lower lip. “Open your mouth slightly next time and follow what I do.”

“Why are you being like this with me?” It just slips out.

“You’re killing me. You’re gorgeous but have no idea that you’re awkward and fascinating in all the right ways. You listen like you care what I’m saying. That’s hot.” He smiles.

“I do care what you’re saying, but right now I’d super like to try that open mouth thing you mentioned. I’ve had bad luck with it in the past.”

He pulls me closer. “Then consider me your good luck charm.”

“This is happening. I mean, to me. This is amazing. J’ai dû venir à Paris pour faire un bisou français, qu’y a-t-il à détester là-dedans?”

He smirks and says, “And I had to come to Paris to find the perfect girl to French kiss. So can we get to it already?”

“Oui, s’il vous plaît.”

His mouth is gentle against mine and he teases the tip of his tongue on my bottom lip. I open slightly. At first, it’s tickling and searching for mine. Then we get closer, and this is really hot. I let my tongue chase his in and out of his mouth. Then he does the same to me. And a noise comes out of me I’ve never heard before. A small gaspy, breathy moan, as if this is the most perfect thing. My moan doesn’t lie.

He rubs his thumb on my cheekbone and says, “That was really sexy. Did you mean it to be?”

“Sure. Who knew I was sexy?” I try to joke, but he speaks just before his lips are on mine again.

“I did. The moment I saw you in that room.”

The kiss goes on for most of the night and I can’t even feel my body. It’s floating in a state of bliss. Forget school, culture and religion. Screw geography, and my grades, college, and my career path; this is what I was born to do. Kiss Danny Danson.

DANNY

It took four days for her to become my preoccupation in France. Fuck school. It’s all Lizzie, all the time. We spend all our free moments walking and hanging out. We’ve checked out our neighborhood or partied with our friends every day. And then we kiss. Then each night, after we say goodbye, I jerk off—a lot. I’m so wrapped up in her. Usually, my focus is making sure my back is always covered, both on and off the field. Maybe it’s Paris and being so far away from my real life, or maybe it’s her. It’s the best feeling in the world to be free of those worries.

I blow off my afternoon thing and find her before she enters her seminar. She’s dressed up in a purple dress with orange palm trees. Somehow this pattern is uniquely her. She’s always so nervous about a million things, but underneath, she’s this clever, strong human waiting to be unleashed. I feel it and hear it when I’m with her.

I get in her face and say, “Come with me.”

She glares and sidesteps the door so others can enter, then whispers, “I have a lecture.”

“So? You don’t need class, but I do need you.” She grins and I can barely stand not kissing her. She ducks her head into the classroom.

I stand and wait for her. I toss my weight back and forth. I got my last college offers today and I have shit to sort out and she calms my head. I’m so fucking happy I get to make the commitment decision here, away from everyone, especially my dad.

I know what I want to do, and I know what my father wants me to do. And I know what the recruiting manager wants me to do. They’re not the same thing. And I don’t want to be that far from Ma. My older brother, Robbie, deferred his hockey scholarship to Minnesota for a year to train and watch over Ma while I’m at prep school. I want to step up so he can go in the fall.

My father divided his sons into three sports and drove us hard. He calls us his 401K. My little brother, Law, is a baseball savant and I’m a pretty great quarterback.

Lizzie puts her hand on my arm and I say, “Come on, genius.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can’t just walk away. It’s not like college where we can pick and choose classes. There’s attendance.”

I cage her against the wall leaning in close. Her hair tickles my lips as I whisper, “Repeat after me: I’m sick.”

She gasps. “I’m sick.”