"You couldn't leave the wine?"
Dubious myself, I question the skepticism in his query as well as the shock of my action. "We paid for this wine." I search both his eyes for any other credible reason for me not to have grabbed it.
"We paid for the food as well."
"Then why didn't you grab it?"
Marcel rolls his gum around his mouth. The scent of cinnamon follows the warm draft of the wind as his chew becomes more inflated. Clearly challenged, I watch Marcel try to puzzle together an appropriate rebuttal.
In search of a response, he may have fallen upon one that he felt can't be shared. As the thought passes, he acknowledges it with a scoff and smirk. Shaking his head free of the idea, he resumes watching his path. What do you have to say, Mr. Marcel?
"I think the wine is more important." I take a sip from my glass as I do a little dance.
"Public intoxication is still a thing."
"Ooh." My dance party comes to a halting conclusion, making Marcel laugh at the seriousness in my face. "Okay let me put this away." Grabbing a tissue from my purse, I stuff it into the neck of the bottle.
In search of an exit strategy, I'm pleased to find a vendor along the street. I snatch up a plastic cup for the wine in my glass.
"Does this look more acceptable?" I ask, leaving the glass behind.
"You're hilarious."
"Resourceful. Hey! I heard a couple talking about rollerblading at night. They were saying how different and less busy the city is. Can we do that?"
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Then, you're gonna have to set this down, darling." He plucks my plastic, wine cup to leave it on a nearby bench, but not without taking a final sip himself.
My face shrinks, unhappy that after running from damn birds, I still lose a few ounces of wine. Then, I feel the weight of the bottle under my arm. Oh yeah. We're good.
"Okay." He rejoins me, wrapping his arm over my shoulder.
"Marcel." I whine. "I wasn't going to get drunk."
"Two shots knocked you out cold in The Netherlands."
"It knocked you out too and long!" I stomp, making him chuckle.
"Our tolerance is shit." He concedes. "But we need... our balance and–" He pinches my chin to pop out my seized lip. "I told you about that." His hushed ridicule refers to my pouty ways. This has been a part of me for 26 years, do you think I'm going to stop now? "We need our balance and coordination for rollerblading."
"Eh." I bite my finger, but Marcel blithely swats my finger away from my mouth. How well do you do with choking, because you're about to be tested? With nothing nice to say, my lips tighten before going ahead with my earlier thoughts. "I'm beginning to rethink this. You're clumsy and I don't need you getting hurt."
"I'll be holding on to yooou." He coos as if that's the best idea in the world. Are you kidding me?
"Damn, why you wanna drag me down with you? One of us has to survive."
Until tonight, Marcel and I decide to take a break from the city. I'm currently sitting on my balcony with nothing else draping my body other than a bathrobe. I was going to settle for a nap, but I opted to relax and unwind under the Parisian sunset. I even pulled out my black journal with the word, Moments written in gold on the front and spine.
With my feet resting on the rails, I flip a page to continue scribbling down my thoughts. That's when I hear the unmissable click of a shutter. There was no point in trying to hide my smile, because he already caught it on film. Over my shoulder, I spy Marcel on my bed with the perfect angle of me, my activities, and the Eiffel Tower.
"I was wondering if you were going to watch this with me."
"I wouldn't miss it." He sits his camera down as I stow away my journal. He can't let that go unnoticed. "What are you doing?"
Well, I was in the process of lifting my leg to slide my journal under my ass and out of your sight.
"Unwinding." I slide my hand down my draped thighs, feigning innocence through a smile and a false stretch. "Hi." I giggle, smiling bigger at the fact that he saw it all.
"A diary?" He drags a seat beside me. With an exaggerated sigh, Marcel plops down, slouching, allowing his arms to rest in his long, spread lap.
"A journal."
Dropping his head, Marcel's eyes rise to skim down the smooth expanse of my bare legs. "A journal? Cute." He locks his fingers together as he lightly bounces a knee. His gaze lingers, just adding more fuel to the fire inside of me and daring me without a word.
"Whatever." I forfeit his game to steer my gaze towards the tower.
"Anything about me?"
Though the words leave his mouth, they feel reluctant. I should have seen that one coming, but somehow, my jaw lowers in awe. Failing to close it, my tongue closes the space and sits at the roof of my mouth.
"I don't talk about my journal." I pull the hidden book from underneath me.
"I'll respect it. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Why?"
"Just checking."
"How about you?"
"I'm good." His approval is vowed over the glistening city. "I couldn't be any better." He looks over to me.
LET'S ROLL
"How's that?" Through my lashes and another grunty pull, I ask the essential question.
"Loose. Make it tighter." He requests as I fasten the buckle of his rollerblade. "Perfect."
Once I steady myself on my blades, I extend a hand to Marcel. As I help him up, my wheels begin closing the space between us, until I turn my skate outward.
"Whoa!" He struggles already, doubling over and grabbing my waist. I take his arm before he has the chance to fall. With a loud laugh, he stands and nudges me away. "I'm kidding."
"Turn your back and I'll push you flat on your face."
"Be sweet, Angel. Wanna race?"
He circles me, trying to impress with his amateur blading skills. Although his skills may be mediocre, his legs have the gift of being longer than mine. I'm going to lose to his long strides.
"You're a dancer." He reminds me after catching my doubt. "If you don't want to, that just tells me you're chicken." His warm breath splays over my ear as he lowers his voice to direct the taunt.
"Go ahead and provoke me. Ever heard the saying, don't poke a sleeping bear?"
Pinching his fingers together, he brings them to his face to accompany his high-pitch squeak. "All I see is a weeeeee cub. Bear nothing. Teddy bear... maybe." He scoffs.
My sigh is smoke after being tainted with a competitive fire. Forceful and focused, I assure the disheveled strands of my ponytail behind my pointed ears.
"Where to?"
"That fourth light post." Marcel points. I use my finger to count up four posts.
"I can do that."
"On 3." He lowers himself by bending a leg and extending the other behind him. Would you look at this id– "3!"
"WHAT?"
Rooted in my spot, I watch as he takes off. YOU CHEATER. Fumbling, I get myself in gear enough to push myself off my back skate. Just as I'm fast approaching, Marcel checks on his lead. He tries regaining his speed, but he's too worried about mine. Trying to sabotage my threat, he nearly catches one of my swinging arms.
"NO!" I squeal, dipping out of the contact to pass the fourth post. Without another push, I straighten up to glide down the sidewalk.
"You cheated." The loser announces.
"You cheated!" I throw an accusatory finger his way. "You were supposed to count to 3, not just say 3. Who does that? Cheaters!"
"My rules." He disappears behind me to hold my waist.
"And you still lost. I'd like to call that justice." I give my skate a push to keep me gliding. Marcel releases my waist to skate beside me. "I should make you eat something. How do snails sound?"
Marcel's eyebrows rise in surprise, wondering where that hell that bet came from. "We never agreed on that!"
"Tripe?"
"I'm not eating anything."
"Tongue? Do you like tongue?"
"Angel..."
"You'd eat me?" My head tilts as he jaw shockingly clashes against the cement.
Marcel searches our surroundings for accountable witnesses. In an effort of catching his hitched breath, Marcel doesn't allow his eyes to fall upon me. He thinks he's the only one that can be overly flirty. HA! Waiting for his courage to restore, I guiltlessly keep my pace against the concrete.
"You okay?" I lean forward, trying to get a glimpse of his face. "You look like you're about to have a stroke."
"You need to calm down... right now." His voice is stern.
"I am."
My brows turn up, putting on their best purity facade. I didn't do all that well, because Marcel can't even glare at me long enough to solder his true objection.
Is it the pout? Maybe I should have left that out, but how could I with how your order took on a deeper register?
The poor lad runs his ringed hands down his reddened face. "Behave yourself, please."
I bite my lip as I pick up my speed, passing him. "I apologize. It must be the Pinot." I give false blame.