I closed Ruby's apartment door behind me.
"Yeah, your mum provided the contact details, as you know."
"Mmm, you realise I'm accommodating you because she likes you?"
She followed up with a smug half-grin.
Ruby said, "Every letter from her the past four months repeated: Be ready for Luke!"
I dropped my bag beside the old-style sofa. My cheeks warmed and flushed with embarrassment, so I rubbed them, pretending they were cold from outside.
I checked Ruby between my fingers in fleeting, furtive glances. Until I convinced myself that her stunning eyelashes were fake, each darkened lash whip-lengthened in their Jezebel allure.
The brunette made us coffee in the kitchenette. Her tongue passed deftly over her bottom lip as she stirred two mugs. Ruby played me as I ogled.
"Oh boy, what to do?" she jibed, passing me a black coffee.
"Find you a Parisian girlfriend?"
I wanted to bluff the feisty pixie. However, I lacked recent sexual exploits to draw on, and my head slid to the mug in my hands.
"There are still puppy eyes about you. Of course, you can't help glancing at any attractive girl once too often, but you must take a reality check. I'm getting more than my fair share of Parisienne pecker."
Ruby never hid her sexual exploits [ except from her mum!]
The truth of her hospitality jolted me—purely a family onus.
"Oh, don't drown your face in your coffee."
Ruby exposed my shyness; she stirred my habitual hesitation in the company of girls. I peeped at the absolute cutie before focusing on the chunky mug between my clutching hands. My fingertips tapped before I sipped.
The brunette sustained a one-way conversation.
"Geez, are you worried about the keen sounds of sex? I know the walls are thin in these apartments."
Ruby's eyes sparkled to herself, her perpetual success bedding men as she gulped a mouthful of caffeine. Then, her finger circled the rim of the cup.
"Bad luck, perv. I get it all in a stunning Seine penthouse."
"The haircut," I ventured, plus her arresting temptation in snug denim.
Modesty and memory of her pony-tailed whipped verbal backlashes halted my stating the obvious: her booty-shaped divine.
"Yeah, I agree with you for once. I followed the advice of a girlfriend at work."
Her chirpy voice and randy sparkle made me think, girl on girl.
Ruby changed tack fast, as I remembered her speed with a sabot racing sail.
"Let's organise a place for you to crash."
She yawned.
"God, you arrived late!"
The brunette set me up on her worn sofa, providing a blanket.
The unthinkable flashed, sharing her bed.
My pounding heart stated Ruby paraded lush. My mind grounded me that sex needs reciprocation.
The pixie's butt strutted to her bedroom—no brunette backward glance.
"Thanks, Ruby."
Muttered, too quiet for her to hear.
Her bedroom door clicked shut.
After flicking the lounge light off, I berated myself in dark silence.
I woke early, feeling refreshed. The pixie slept or alone-timed, studying in her room. I scrounged for breakfast items in the cupboards. A rummage in an empty fridge chasing leftovers revealed nothing: the girl slept here and ate where?
Maybe her man's place?
At least as a guest, I could shop and find bread, rolls, or pastries. I grabbed the key from the hook. A pair hung; forlorn, worn, thinning metal, devoid of keyrings.
I met the fresh morning. In an unfamiliar neighbourhood, I wandered to locate a bakery. Selecting fresh bread, satisfied, I rushed back to the apartment. As I climbed the stairs, my eyes shot up and caught Ruby's sea blues glaring at me in her fast descent. My vision dipped to the prominent breadstick poking out of a shopping bag. The brunette shrugged before she reached my step.
Ruby stated, "You're wasting your time if you're trying to butter me. I'm too busy for you, boy."
She read my hopeful thoughts. The easy-to-guess ones. Male fantasy and opportunity in the company of an attractive girl. My head drooped south because I had planned breakfast together in her apartment.
"Create a surprise; give me a thrill," she glanced into the open brown paper bag.
Now, on the same level as me.
"The jam is a good choice, but the condoms are missing."
I clutched the shopping tight, the paper crumpled under my fingers.
Recovering, I held satisfaction regarding my choice of jam. You rarely go wrong selecting strawberry conserve.
Ruby scattered my thoughts, especially her condom quip.
My mind recalled our troupe in high school. A specific day when we picked strawberries in the Victorian countryside. Another day and the shock contents of a brown paper bag, condoms. A troupe day in a park when we found the stash and cash.
"Oh, don't take it personally, sunshine," she asserted as she sailed beyond me.
"As you know, I'm pacey, and you are not my type. So enjoy your breakfast, explore Paris, and catch you late or not."
Ruby directed most of this at me when she paused on the lower landing.
Flippant and clear, she said, "Have some handy sunshine. A hot young cleaning lady could service your loins, except—oops—sorry, can't afford one!"
In a flit, she dashed.
I trudged the stairs.
Her voice carried up the stairwell.
"I still wonder who took the condoms. It wasn't me, and I never thought, beyond teasing, it was you."
After another flight of stairs, I paused outside her apartment door. My mind drifted to years ago, in a public park.
The condoms! Who took them?
At the time, I surmised, Ruby, perhaps Josh, not Coral.
I picked at the crust on the breadstick. Then I mulled over Ruby's type.
My hand burrowed in my pockets; damn that thin worn apartment key.
The brunette and any steady boyfriends were outside my knowledge. Her long-term type, no ideas stirred.
Instead, I recalled one-off teenage rumours relayed by Josh. At college, Ruby pursued Coral. I fancied a vague conjecture surrounding her Paris lover! I wondered, too, about Ruby and her desire to pursue other lasses.
Where Coral nested in her mind, only the brunette knew.