A million city lights twinkled, and Cassie's brown eyes glimmered as she took them all in. "Oh, Paris, I love you," she whispered. The 20-year-old American brunette practically skipped out the hotel's revolving glass doors and opened her arms to the crisp evening air. Her maroon pumps clattered along the walkway as she fast-walked to the sidewalk and into the heart of the city, passing a quaint little rustic-wood café and regal-looking old stone statues whose grey eyes gazed serenely at the soothing azure depths of the Seine River, whose banks lay a few blocks away.
In between water and stone, the streets were coming alive. Droves of well-dressed young people were smiling, holding hands, chatting in smooth-flowing streams of French parlance, all making their way to any one of Paris' myriad bars and dance clubs. And Cassie was out here among them. Her lips, glittering with shiny pink lip gloss, stretched up and out in a hearty smile as her head flicked back and forth from one group to the next, making the lustrous, silky-smooth brown hair cascading halfway down her back bounce atop the form-fitting white blouse that enclosed the soft, squishy melons of her ample breasts. Her supple thighs flitted back and forth with her fast, enthusiastic pace. Her knee-length, sky-blue skirt girding her ample hips fluttered, teasing at the shapely slopes of Cassie's rump underneath them.
Cassie wasn't in Paris alone. Her parents were back at the hotel, probably relaxing by the pool after a full day of touring the Louvre and local shops with Cassie in tow. Cassie had spent hours with them traipsing the museum's corridors, while Mom snapped photo after photo of Cassie and Dad—Dad making goofy faces or poses, or reindeer antlers behind Cassie's head, at every opportunity. She accompanied Mom while Mom gushed over every little trinket in the stores and told sweet little stories about her and Dad's first trip to Paris. Would have been sweeter if Cassie hadn't heard the same stories umpteen times before.
Cassie rolled her eyes and chuckled quietly, looking back on the day. She loved her parents to pieces. But a girl's gotta catch a break from Mom and Dad some time—especially when out on vacay. Well, that's what tonight is for, she mused, heart rate skipping with anticipation. This is Cassie time.
Up ahead, a set of wooden doors with soft light behind them beckoned. "La Candelaria" Cassie read on the overhead sign. This one was in Yelp! Yes, this will do, she thought to herself. She entered through the open door and slid her butt down onto one of a half-dozen empty seats at the bar.
"Bon soir," said a middle-aged, bearded, grizzled-looking bartender. "Voulez-vous une carte?"
"Er—" Cassie paused. Oh, carte—that means menu!, she remembered. Cassie had taken a year or so of French back in the States, but like most American girls, she was far from fluent. "Uh, oui, si'il vous plait."
The bartender nodded, stone-faced, and handed her a menu. Cassie's smile vanished, and her brow furrowed, as her eyes meandered around the countless lines of French-only text. Liqueur, said one subhead. Okay, I know what that means, she thought, then pointed to a random entry—"Je... voudrais ca, s'il vous plait."
The bartender smirked. And answered in English: "And do you know what it is? You don't?"
"Show me," said another male voice. Cassie looked to her right. A muscly, 6-feet-tall twentysomething man with a chiseled chin, shiny cropped dark hair, and a ruddy olive-oil complexion plopped down next to her and peered at the menu. Cassie smelled a rich, musky cologne wafting from his chest. Her eyes quickly darted up to his face, and she blushed. He looked at her with kind, dark eyes. And a very handsome face. He pointed with one finger to another item further down the page. "Order this. You will like. Trust me," he said.
Cassie cringed. She was so embarrassed! But, yet, excited, too. Exciting to so suddenly have a cute French guy for company.
"Gimlet?" she sounded it out.
"Yes. Ginger and gin. Is the best," he said, then he addressed the bartender in French, ordering a Gimlet for Cassie and a vodka and tonic for himself. Cassie fished out a few Euros, but the young man pushed her hand away. "Non, mademoiselle. I buy this round."
"Merci beaucoup," she said to the friendly male stranger, smiling awkwardly. She clasped his hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Vous etes gentile."
"Of course," he said, smiling back. "I am Nicolas. And over there—" he pointed further down the bar to another young lad sipping a glass of red wine—"is my friend, Michel."
"I'm Cassie," she answered, giggling softly, butterflies flittering around in her stomach. She studied Michel more closely. He was about Nicolas' height and in very good shape, too, but leaner, and fairer-skinned. Light auburn hair and hazel eyes. And devastatingly handsome.
She sipped her drink. Ooh, that's nice, she thought, as the sugary, syrupy fluid washed down her throat and a warm buzz flooded her temples.
She looked again at Michel, then at Nicolas. And then a troubling thought crossed Cassie's mind as she looked at Nicolas: Hmm, I hope they're not, you know--- "Are you guys, um, together?"
Nicolas laughed. "Together? Do you mean, we are gay? We make love? Mon Dieu, non! We like girls," he said. Cassie said a silent prayer of thanks to the universe. "We play football. How you say, soccer? We drink tonight for our win over team Bordeaux today."
"That's awesome!" Cassie beamed. Many things were awesome, very suddenly. So, so many.
Michel ambled over and extended a hand. Cassie, putting down her drink after a few more sips, eagerly took it and shook it with gusto. "Hiii," she gushed, her soft, fleshy cheeks going rosy. The gin was working its magic on her. Well, the gin and the double-serving of male hotness that now surrounded her.
"Nicolas says you play football?" Cassie said.
