PREFACE
I am a French author and my English is very bad, be nice 🙏
Enjoy the story, not the writing 😅
She bumps into me as I enter the grocery store, trying to protect herself from the torrential rain. She turns around to apologize. To really apologize: she looks at me but doesn't see me. I am wearing my helmet. She smiles at me and at her reflection in the visor.
- I am sorry!
She apologizes when no one else would have bothered. She's not from here. She has an accent. She is French. A few brown streaks are plastered on her face. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are reddened by the cold. Her lips are swollen from running her tongue over them to drink the drops of rain.
I would like to drink them with her.
Her black sweater sticks to her skin. I guess perfectly the shape of her chest. She is not wearing a bra. I nod and, as if waiting for confirmation that I'm okay, she turns away from me and goes into the store to warm up.
I get on my motorcycle parked in front of the food store window. Through it, I see her wandering between the shelves, a basket in her hand. She helps herself to a pile of pasta packages and chooses only penne pasta. She takes ready-made sauces; pesto and tomato with herbs. Then toilet paper and tampons.
Last minute shopping.
In front of the fridges, she reviews the selection of Ben & Jerry's. Her lips pursed as she spotted the brownie jars. They are at the top of the shelves. Her sweater rises as she reaches for one. My eyes catch the little jewel hanging from her belly button. Then the sweater returns to its place and she closes the fridge door. She took two jars.
Her favorite ice cream.
She goes to the counter to check out. She smiles at the clerk. She pays and I read on her lips that she wishes him good luck. Then a good evening.
She is nice. She is happy.
Nothing has been taken from her - nothing stolen.
Then she heads for the exit. A bell tinkles when she opens the door. She observes the empty parking lot plunged in the dark. There is no moon tonight. She hesitates to go out; the rain has not stopped. Then she notices my presence. Her face turns towards me. She is, for a moment, surprised to see me still here. But it doesn't last. Her face relaxes and she smiles at me. Again.
She is beautiful. She has the charm we know from French women. But she is not cold, nor distant. She is warm. Warm and welcoming. And I begin to feel cramped in my jeans.
Her eyes fall on my bike. She looks interested. I imagine her on it for a moment, while I make the engine roar under her buttocks. But she quickly turns away and wishes me a good evening, with her French accent:
- Bye!
I observe her running under the rain to join an old blue pickup. Quickly, the blushes light up and the engine roars. Then, she leaves the parking lot until she stops at a stop sign.
My brain is firing on all cylinders. My hands itch and twitch with the urge to turn on the engine and take her on a chase. Not watching her anymore is annoying me, suddenly.
Where will she go next? To meet some friends? A boyfriend?
I grit my teeth.
Or just go home and curl up with a TV show and some Ben & Jerry's brownie?
Did she turn on her radio station inside? Does she listen to music while driving? What are her favorite songs?
The blushes come back on and she starts driving again. I hurry to turn on my engine and race to make up the distance. I'm careful to leave two or three cars between us. She hasn't left the main road once. She continues until the city center. Quickly, we arrive in the student district. We pass in front of the university, then we continue until we reach the university residences. She slows down and stops in front of a gate.
Me, I go away.
I know where you live.
