I nod into his chest, thinking this moment couldn’t get any sweeter. I then look up at him and he gazes down at me, our foreheads touching. While we turn to the music, we talk, appeasing — for now — my endless fascination with him.

“I haven’t been out of Paris for anything other than business or family visits for ten years,” he shares with me.

“What about those weekends away on the coast?” I ask, remembering him telling me that he likes to do that.

“I was always working on them,” he says swiftly. “They were a change of scene, but not a change of behaviour. This,” he indicates our surroundings, “is different. This is the first time I’ve been able to leave the city and also leave work behind.”

“You’re not itching to check your emails?” I tease.

“I’ll do that while you’re sleeping,” he teases me back. “When’s the last time you went on holiday?” he then asks me.

I think back. “Last August. Jerry and I went to London for two weeks,” I say, remembering the trip that I took with my insolent ex-boyfriend. “We took the train, so I didn’t have to face my fear of flying,” I add.

“Did you have fun?” he asks quietly.

“Not really,” I admit, recalling the details. “I wanted to go to Italy, but he booked everything behind my back. Not a good behind-my-back like you bringing me here,” I hasten to add. “A sneaky behind-my-back because he knew I wasn’t interested in spending two weeks being his chaperone to a series of football matches that he just had to see.”

Logan looks at me in disbelief. “He’s such a fucking idiot,” he exclaims, making me smile and nod in agreement.

“He was a pain in my ass that holiday,” I say, and then I blanch. “Not literally,” I add, horrified.

Logan laughs, his dimples distracting me from yet another careless choice of words. “I didn’t think it was a literal comment, baby,” he says, bringing his lips closer to mine, “but I’m glad to hear you clarify it,” he chuckles.

Steering the conversation far away from me and Jerry and anal sex, I say, “The summer before London, Amber and I went back to the States. I took more sleeping pills than I should’ve,” I admit, “so I don’t remember much about the journey there or back. But while we were there we drove from my hometown in Florida to her hometown in Oregon.”

“Wow,” Logan breathes. “I bet you two got up to no good,” he rightly assumes.

I laugh and confess, “I’m very good at sweet-talking cops out of giving me tickets.”

“That’s a good skill to put on your resume. I tried it once,” he jokes, “it didn’t fly.”

“It might’ve if the cop was a woman,” I think.

“She was,” Logan laughs. “But I was driving high with a car full of drunk teenagers and I doubt any amount of sweet-talk would’ve gotten me out of that predicament. That was arrest number two,” he adds. Two of seven, I remind myself. “And in hindsight it was a very good thing that I had a huge, muscular female cop pull me from my vehicle and pin me to the ground.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” he reveals.

My eyes widen. “You didn’t even have your license!”

He shakes his head. “Young. And very dumb,” he says.

I stare at him in awe, amazed that such a destructive teenager could transform into the man before me. His words stoke my curiosity. “Alright, Leary, what is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

He considers for a long moment. “I’ve got a few things in mind,” he grins, “but I think the stupidest thing my friends and I ever did was train-dodging.”

I shudder at the name.

Reading my response correctly, Logan continues, “It’s exactly as the name suggests: we would wait until a train was close, too close, and then we’d sprint across the tracks.”

I gape at him. “You’re right — that is stupid,” I say, shocked. Then, just to be sure that old habits don’t die hard, I ask, “When’s the last time you did that?”

“About seventeen years ago,” he assures me.

“Any fatalities?” I wonder.

“No, fortunately. But my brother told me that my friends and I started the craze, which continued for years after I moved here. A couple of kids have died since then. I didn’t start the craze, by the way,” he tells me. “People were doing it years before I ever did, but that’s just something Taylor likes to tell me to make me feel responsible.”

“That’s not very nice,” I frown. “None of it is: you risking your life, other kids dying, or Taylor being mean.”

Logan laughs, and warns me, “He can be mean, baby. That’s why I spend most of my time ignoring him. What about you? What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

“Date Jerry Cassidy,” I say without missing a beat.

Logan laughs and nods his agreement. “I think that’s worse than train-dodging,” he says.

“You might be right about that,” I sigh, lamenting my early twenties, when coasting through life in an unaware daze was my norm. I’m so glad things have changed, I think, gratefully looking up at the biggest change to occur since Jerry and I broke up last year.

“Do you think he’s nursing a black eye?” Logan asks, referring to their dustup two nights ago, during which Logan punched Jerry after Jerry called me a whore.

“I certainly hope so,” I say immediately. “But I don’t want you to feel bad about that. He deserved it,” I reiterate.

Logan nods again. “I know he did.”

“Good,” I smile. “Now can we talk about something nicer than the prick?”

With a smile on his face, Logan brings his lips to mine and kisses me deeply. I surrender to it, brushing my tongue forcefully against his. Jerry is forgotten in an instant.

A few intoxicating minutes later the heavens open and Logan and I are drenched in the cool March rain, before we are able to make it back inside the hotel.

I’m shivering and goose-pimply by the time we stand on the top floor landing where Logan fumbles with the room key before admitting us.

I peel myself out of my dress and hang it carefully, hoping that the water won’t do any lasting damage. In my underwear, I walk into the bathroom and find Logan plugging the bathtub and turning on the faucets. Perfect idea, I think gratefully. We both strip fully, and he then holds out his arms for me to walk into. I do so eagerly.

“Oh, you feel so good,” I moan, relishing his warmth.

“I’ve heard you say that before,” he chuckles.

“In entirely different circumstances,” I grin at him in the mirror.

His mobile phone starts ringing from within the pile of clothes on the floor. Ducking down to find it, he reads the caller ID and tells me, “It’s my mom.” He answers it. “Hi, mom,” he says affectionately as I take a seat on the side of the tub. He sits on the toilet lid, his arms resting on his knees as he leans forward.

“Logan, darlin’, how are—” She abruptly stops talking. I hear her tapping several buttons before saying, “Uh, dear, you might want to turn your video off, I just caught a glimpse of your testicles.”

I start laughing so hard that I almost fall into the bathtub.

Logan immediately raises his hands, muttering, “Oh, shit!” Clearly he didn’t realise it was a video call! There’s a large frown on his face, until he sees me, and mouths, “It’s not funny!”

I can’t even respond; I just nod.

“Oh, no!” Mary-Gene sighs.

“What?” Logan sounds alarmed.

“The damn cameras frozen,” she tells him, and I crumple from my position, falling to the floor in a hysterical heap.

With amusement, Logan tells his mother, “You’ve made Gemima fall over, she’s laughing so hard.”

“Oh my word! Is she there? Let me see her,” she says in rapid speed.

Composing myself as best I can, I stand and pull on a bathrobe, before walking a few paces and perching myself on Logan’s lap. I wave into the camera before realising that it’s probably still frozen. The thought sends another peal of laughter through me, and Logan pinches my waist in retaliation.