French Kisses

un

a/n:
Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Surprise? I sincerely apologize for taking a year to write the first chapter, however, I think the year will be worth your while. Also, here's a little trailer I've made for the book. Thank you all for your patience, enjoy.

f r e n c h
k i s s e s

An eight-hour time difference is just the right amount of time to feel jet lag and find your lips against another's. An eight-hour time difference is just the right amount of time to test a two-year-long relationship. An eight-hour exchange breeds attraction, infatuation, and love.

Eight hours is all it takes, three words and the world appears to shake.

-

Talk was cheap.

And so were the conditions of ambush, the sudden lip-to-lip encounter between two supposedly unavailable people in an airport in Paris, France at sunrise. It hadn't been New Year's Eve and yet I had found myself lip-locked with a complete stranger, however, the tenderness of the kiss reminded me that it wasn't a new year's drunken one. In fact, the kiss was like no other kiss I had ever received, it was both quick and passionate, myself unintentionally kissing back after a split second. The kiss ended shortly after, both he and I took a small step back away from one another, examining one another face to face.

Relief washed over my face at a closer examination of him, from looking at more than just his lips. He had looked to be around my age; however, he stood several inches taller than me and had a satisfied grin on his face.

"I," I began to say, getting cut off by yet another close encounter, this time it wasn't between lips. I was pulled in close to him, his breaths mingling with mine. He held me tightly, his arms around me in a protective way, a way that Zac had become accustomed to in the past year.

A good minute passed full of staggered breaths before he released me from the sudden embrace. He backed up from me after the moment, giving me space for the first time that morning.

"I'm from France," he said, his accent strong and his voice deep.

"I could tell from the kiss," I replied, conversation coming naturally to me, communication always having been my strong suit.

He gave a chuffed grin and picked up my carry-on in which must have dropped in the past few minutes, giving it to me. I grasped onto the travel bag tightly, unaware of what to do in the situation. I had never been in such a random situation; my body was fixed in a stiff uncertain position.

His gaze started with him staring at my face to him staring at the ground, a rosy pink tone slightly became tinted on his cheeks once he realized that I had caught his lingering gaze.

"I sincerely apologize for kissing you," he began, brushing a hand through his brown hair, "it's just, there was a man well over your age peering at you for the last fifteen minutes, following you physically and with his eyes... I just assumed the role of your boyfriend so that he would piss off."

I relaxed my body, believing the odd French man. I looked around me, making sure there were no more lingering eyes. I hadn't been aware that I was prey to some predator.

"Thank you," I said so that he was the only person who could hear, suddenly very cautious and aware of my new surroundings.

His eyes reached mine and he gave yet another warm smile, one just about no words could possibly explain in its justice.

I returned the smile; no red flags went up from his presence.

"That wasn't your first kiss now was it," he questioned, concern laced in his voice.

I blinked, twice, at the statement. Even though I had clearly heard him and understood the question, it was just an embarrassing question in which I wasn't expecting.

"It wasn't my first," I replied.

He sighed a deep sigh of relief; obviously very concerned that he may have taken my first.

"Good, I didn't want a stranger's sloppy kiss to be your first," he said, adding a chuckle.

I shook my head lightly, knowing that his kiss was anything but sloppy.

In fact, it was better than my first. Our lips naturally intertwined as if they were two matching jigsaw puzzle pieces. His kiss brought a sense of passion I had secretly been yearning. Zac and I's kisses simply routine kisses given out of habit when one left or went to bed. Passion only brought to the mix when he was under the influence.

"I'm Laurent by the way."

"Arden Michaelson," I introduced, holding out a hand for a customary handshake.

He shook his head and gave a chuckle, "we've kissed. I think we're past such niceties."

I nodded and put my hand down, more than ready to get out of the crowded airport.

"Where are you coming from?" he inquired, leading me to baggage claim, he rolled his carry on and I held mine.

"Los Angeles, California. I'm studying abroad in Paris. And you?"

"Rome, Italy. I was on holiday with my family," he answered, finding the baggage area for my flight.

Silence arose between us as we waited for my luggage, myself finding a reason to talk. For I never liked pure silence between two people.

"Would you mind showing me around Paris some time?" I asked, shattering the silence, knowing very well that having a local show me around would be helpful.

"I would love to after all I know how daunting the city can appear to be," he replied after a moment of time in which he was debating whether or not to play tour guide to some girl he just kissed.

I found my two large bags on the conveyor and he helped me get them off like a gentleman. I asked if he too had any luggage he needed to grab, Laurent simply replying that he traveled light.

"How about you taste something French other than my lips?" he asked, looking down at me with a cheeky grin.

I gave a smile and he received his answer.

He took one of my bags from me and took a hand of mine too. Our fingers were interlocked and he held onto me firmly. But, not in a romantic way, he held my hand in a way in which he could give me direction and show me what Paris was truly made of.

And I let him.