Diary of a Crush: French Kiss (11 page)

‘You’ll have to translate the menu for me, Edie,’ he said plaintively. ‘It’s all in French.’

‘I know it’s a crazy notion, but that might have something to do with us being in France,’ Trent pointed out from across the table.

‘Do you speak French?’ Dylan suddenly asked me.

I started to say something idiotic about my French A-level, when I heard Nat hiss at Trent, ‘Only with her tongue!’ and I collapsed into hysterical giggles.

‘Are you on crack?’ Dylan enquired, raising one of his eyebrows like I was the most amusing thing he’d seen all year.

I shook my head. ‘No… It’s nothing, Nat just said something funny.’

Dylan moved even nearer to me, if that was at all possible. He smelt of lemon verbena and washing powder and it made me feel lightheaded. ‘I thought about you all afternoon,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘I think my heart’s still racing.’

I knew I was blushing. Did I say blushing? What I actually meant was my face was doing a good impersonation of a pillar box.

‘Don’t go all shy on me,’ drawled Dylan. ‘You look really cool tonight. Not that you don’t normally.’ His voice suddenly shifted off the sultry setting. ‘Anyway, can you understand, like, any of the stuff on this menu?’

I managed to gain control of myself somehow and spent the next fifteen minutes translating the menu. Simon was persuading people to order disgusting stuff like snails and Nat and Trent decided that if people wouldn’t eat it, they’d have to do a dare instead but I stuck with a plain omelette and chips.

There was a bit of an awkward moment over the drinks. Like, most of the art students are nineteen so they get to drink beer and wine but Tania wasn’t very happy about the idea of Mia and me being near so much alcohol. I told her that Mum and Dad have been letting me drink watered-down wine since I was twelve, and after a little sulking from me and some shouty persuasion from the others she gave in.

While we waited for our food to come, Dylan talked to me in a low voice about some paintings he’d seen in the Louvre by an artist called Titian. All the time he had his hand on my leg, just above my knee. Not in a sleazy way, but it was getting harder to concentrate on what he was saying. His voice was just this pleasing hum in my ear, and his body was turned towards me. It seemed like my whole being was centred on the warmth of his hand on my leg. Then his finger started tracing a path along the edge of the slit in my dress. The very high slit in my dress. I wriggled in my chair and Dylan put his hand back above my knee. I still wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. I took another sip of my unwatery wine – it really had gone straight to my head.

‘I want to kiss you so much…’

‘What?’ I gasped. Then looked around quickly to see if anyone had heard.

Dylan gave me a measured look. ‘All I can think about is when I’m going to get to snog you again.’

I giggled nervously. I can be such a
girl
at times.

‘Have I embarrassed you?’ he said softly.

‘Sort of.’

Dylan shifted in his chair and then put his arm around my shoulders. In front of everyone! And all I wanted to do was rest my head in the warm place where his neck met his shoulder and stay there forever.

‘I was just wondering.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you could, um, go and powder your nose. I could meet you outside the Ladies and then we could have another session. You’re driving me mad.’

‘Dylan! Stop it. I thought we were just meant to be friends.’

He gave me another one of his looks. Really he should patent them; he’d earn a fortune. ‘Yeah, well, we can be friends who kiss each other.’

I was saved by our food arriving, but I’d lost my appetite. I poked at my omelette with my fork, while everyone else was making a big deal about the snails, which had turned up in this bile-green sauce. It took precisely thirty-seven seconds (I know because I counted them) before Nat started giving out dares.

Most of the art boys’ forfeits seemed to consist of downing glasses of beer in one. I nibbled on a chip and hoped that no-one would notice me.

‘Edie, you can’t have omelette and chips in a French restaurant,’ Simon suddenly announced.

‘Yes I can!’ I said indignantly. ‘It’s like a French omelette and French chips. French fries even!’

‘Dare! Dare! Dare!’ Nat and Trent started chanting. They were going to be coming home in a jam jar if they kept that up.

‘OK, I’ll do a stupid dare,’ I muttered when the chanting got louder. ‘But I’m not downing any alcohol in one. And I’m not doing anything that involves food that I don’t like.’

‘Hmmm, that kind of rules out most things,’ said Simon.

‘You’ve got to kiss the person sitting on your right,’ Paul suddenly declared to loud cheers from everyone. And, of course, there was something entirely Dylan-shaped sitting on my right.

I made my sad bunny face at Shona but she just raised her glass at me. After I’d killed Nat and Trent, Shona was next on the list.

Dylan slouched back on his chair and curled his tongue behind his front teeth. ‘You chicken then?’

I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. I leaned forward, grabbed his face and gave him a long, slow kiss on the mouth. Dylan’s whole body went rigid but just as he relaxed and opened his mouth, I pulled away to loud applause.

I glanced at Dylan from under my lashes. He was running an unsteady hand through his hair but when he caught my eye, he licked his lips and looked like he wanted to have me for dessert. It was strangely unsettling.

The rest of the meal wasn’t so exciting, although from the venomous looks that Mia was shooting in Shona’s direction, I had a horrible feeling it was all going to kick off later.

Anyway, like Nat had said, Martyn was cool about us going on to a club. Tania wasn’t. She wanted Mia and me to go back to the hotel with her and Martyn. For once, I was with Mia all the way.

‘Look, it’s not fair,’ Mia yelled. ‘I go to clubs all the time at home.’

‘Me too,’ I added. ‘I’m not going to drink anything, I just want to have a dance.’

‘I have a responsibility to your parents,’ said Tania pompously. ‘I can’t let two underage girls wander round dubious nightspots on their own.’

‘But we won’t be on our own,’ I pointed out.

‘I’ll keep an eye on Edie,’ Shona said. ‘I know her parents and they trust me. I can’t speak for Mia, though.’

‘Well, if Edie’s going to a club, then I am too,’ argued Mia.

‘Fine,’ said Tania wearily. ‘But I want you back at the hotel by midnight. Don’t make Martyn have to come and get you.’

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I beamed. ‘And I promise I won’t be any trouble.’

She didn’t seem very convinced.

We ended up in a club called Les Inrockuptibles. It was small and smoky with scruffy little booths around a tiny dancefloor. Dylan was talking to a group of his art boy buds and occasionally glancing over at me when a genuine French garçon asked me to dance! I stayed on the dancefloor for ages, dancing to Les Beatles and some groovy French stuff from the Sixties. Stéphane introduced me to his friends who spoke bad English to me and I spoke bad French to them, but we seemed to understand each other. Vive la différence!

Stéphane bought me un Coca-Cola light and I led him over to the booth where Shona and Paul were sitting.

‘This is Stéphane,’ I said. ‘He’s French.’

‘Hi. Bye,’ shouted Shona over the music. ‘I’m going to the bar.’

Paul, Stéphane and I were having a slightly stilted three-way conversation about pop music, with me translating for both of them, when Mia sauntered over and slid into the empty space next to Paul.

‘I want a word with you,’ she said ominously.

‘Um, I thought you might.’ Paul looked extremely uncomfortable.

I started to tell Stéphane about what was going on with Shona, Paul and Mia while I tried to keep one ear on what Paul and Mia were saying.

‘Shona est très triste,’ I was saying. ‘Maintenant, Paul et Shona embrassez, er, beaucoup.’

Stéphane was looking dead confused; my tenses were going all over the place.

‘Look, Mia, you know I’ve always loved Shona,’ I heard Paul say. ‘I’ve never stopped wanting to be with her.’

‘All right, all right,’ Mia replied. ‘But I still want to be friends with you, Paul, I really care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘Mia est une grande vache,’ I told Stéphane.

Mia got up. ‘You know where to find me if you need me,’ she said sweetly before walking off.

Paul gave a sigh of relief and looked at me hopefully. ‘That went surprisingly well,’ he commented.

‘Yeah, too flaming well,’ I added. ‘She’s up to something.’

Paul shook his head. ‘I know you and Mia don’t get on but she can be quite caring.’

I snorted in disbelief, which I realise with hindsight isn’t the nicest noise to make in front of reasonably attractive boys.

Stéphane touched my arm. ‘Edie, I ’ave to return to my friends,’ he said in his cute French accent. ‘I will see you later for more dancing, yes?’

‘Yeah,’ I smiled. ‘I’ll come and find you.’

‘I can see you’ve pulled.’ Shona was back with the drinks. ‘How did it go with Mia?’

‘Fine,’ said Paul. ‘I told you she’d be cool with it.’

‘Yeah, right,’ muttered Shona. ‘You can be so dumb sometimes, Paul.’

I started sliding out of the booth, I didn’t want to have to hear Paul and Shona’s first, post-getting-back-together fight.

‘And where do you think you’re going, missy?’ Shona asked. ‘What are you doing chatting up young French men when you’re meant to be besotted with Dylan?’

‘Shona!’ I growled. ‘I’m going out with Josh. And I was just practising my French and I am so not, as you charmingly put it, besotted with Dylan. We’re just friends. We’re just doing the friend thing and…’

‘Edie, you little fibber! What was that tongue thing back in the restaurant?’ Paul spluttered. I could see that him and Shona getting back together was not necessarily a good thing. Like, now there’d be two of them ganging up on me.

‘I’m not going to dignify that remark with a response,’ I said grandly and flounced off to the toilet.

The ladies’ toilet was full of foxy French girls being sophisticated and well, French. I fought my way to the mirror and applied some more lip-stain. Usually I’m dead pale but I had a flush to my cheeks from the dancing and my eyes looked huge in my face. I looked quite womanly and as I usually manage to resemble a twelve-year-old, that was really saying something.

As I came out of the loo, Dylan was leaning against the wall. He was all angles and tousled hair. My insides seemed to melt away to nothing. I walked over to him as if he’d telepathically ordered me to.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he told me with the merest hint of a smile. ‘Who’s the French boy?’

‘Oh, you mean Stéphane? He’s cute, isn’t he?’

Dylan glowered at me.

I couldn’t help myself. ‘You wouldn’t be jealous, would you? ’Cause, like, friends don’t get jealous when their friends pull cute French boys.’

‘No, I’m not jealous,’ Dylan all but snarled. ‘I was worried about you. He could be Paris’s most successful serial killer for all you know.’

I really didn’t want to laugh. It would only encourage him. ‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘Oh go on, admit it, you were jealous.’

Dylan shrugged. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit.’ Now there was a definite and easily recognisable smile playing around his lips.

‘So…’ I said, half turning in the direction of the main room. ‘D’you fancy a… EEEEEP!’

Dylan had suddenly snaked his hands round my waist and was lifting me onto a pile of crates that were stacked in the corridor where we were standing.

‘What did you do that for?’ I asked him in a squeaky voice.

‘So I won’t get neck ache when I kiss you,’ he said with a leer.

I gulped. ‘Are you gonna kiss me then?’

‘Yup.’

Our faces were completely level for once. Dylan was standing so close to me that nothing could have come between us, but he didn’t kiss me. Our lips were almost touching and I could feel his breath on my mouth. We stayed like that for a second and then with a groan I reached for him.

I could have died from his kisses. I wrapped my legs around his and pressed myself tight against him as his tongue danced inside my mouth. One of his hands was stroking my leg and my fingers were clutching at his hair.

At one point, as we came up for air, he said softly, ‘I don’t ever want this to stop,’ before he captured my mouth again.

It all started to get really heavy. I was pushed right back against the wall and I could feel Dylan’s heart racing against my chest and his hand inching further and further up my thigh. With a great effort, I pulled away slightly. Dylan started to nibble lightly at my bottom lip.

‘What’s the matter,’ he whispered.

‘You’re going too fast,’ I whispered back. ‘I think we should stop.’

‘Just one more kiss,’ Dylan muttered, stroking a hand down my hot face.

‘This is all wrong,’ I told him breathily. Why couldn’t I have just kept my big mouth shut? OK, it might be wrong for about a million reasons but right now I was in Dylan’s arms and that was all that really mattered.

‘I don’t care,’ Dylan said and started kissing me again, but he kept his hands on my shoulders and stopped pushing against me. I lost all track of the time, I wasn’t aware of anything but Dylan’s mouth wreaking havoc on my nervous system when I suddenly realised that something was tugging at my hand. I tried to shake it off but then I was yanked off the crates and only Dylan’s hands catching me round my waist stopped me falling.

‘Edie! We’re going now,’ snapped Shona, grabbing my hand. ‘Time to say bye to the nice art boy.’

‘She’s fine where she is,’ Dylan insisted, shooting Shona a meaningful look.

‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ said Shona pointedly. ‘I’ve got your coat and bag, let’s go.’

‘But I don’t want to go,’ I whined as Shona started dragging me down the corridor. ‘I want to stay here.’

‘Tough! You’re going.’

‘I’ll come back with you,’ decided Dylan, following us back into the club.

‘That won’t be necessary, thanks,’ Shona told him, pulling me towards the door with her horrible freaky strength from swimming three times a week. I dug my heels in but it was no good. She’d have dislocated my shoulder if I hadn’t kept up with her. ‘Maybe you should have some water, Dylan, you look like you need to cool down.’