A Nice Fling is Hard to Find

Sunday morning, July 15th, 2:00 A.M.

OH. MY. GOD. This is a disaster. A GIGANTIC disaster. My life is ruined.

I don’t even know where to start.

Okay, so after we got dressed in our finest (almost finest—I was in too much agony to wear my adorable red strapless sundress, so had to settle for a loose black cotton shirt over leggings instead). I put on the guava and dragged Becca outside to meet the Russians.

“What if Vlad’s sketchy?” Becca asked, “Is it really a good plan to hook up with him? You barely know him.”

“You’ve only known Harold for a few days.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“He’s American!”

Oh, please. “What is up with you? You’re usually encouraging me to do crazy things.”

“Am I?”

“Um, yeah. I’m in France aren’t I? And have you seen the color of my boobs?”

Anyway, regardless of what Becca thought, the smile Vlad gave me when I stepped outside . . . well, it made me feel quite confident that he would be Mr. Fling. There would be some kissing action tonight, no doubt about it.

There would not, for obvious reasons, be second base action. My second bases were quite furious with me at the moment.

Tommy, freshly showered and sporting a pale brown button down shirt and beige pants, had already joined them, so I sat between them and said, “Hello boys.”

And then I noticed the bottle of cheap Champagne on the table.

“Cheers,” Tommy said and poured me a glass.

“Be careful,” I told him, glancing around the garden. Alcohol was definitely not allowed on the trip.

“There is no drinking age in France,” Vlad said in his cute Russian accent as he took a gulp.

A second later Joanna popped up and we all froze. “I see you,” she said, covering her eyes. “But I’ll pretend I didn’t. Since it’s a holiday.” She wiggled her index finger. “One glass and that’s it.”

I’ve never actually had champagne, but this seemed as good as any time to try it. Since I’m in France. Where Champagne comes from and all. I think. We all toasted and clinked and sipped.

Then Harold and the Pennies joined us so we clinked and toasted and sipped some more.

I tried to focus on the plan—chatting up Vlad.

He told me he was backpacking across Europe for the entire summer, and that his next stop was Zurich. Then he was planning on going to Juan-les-Pins in the Riviera.

“You should come to Nice instead,” I said, extra flirty. “We’ll be there next week.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, inching closer to me. He smelled smoky and sexy.

“I heard the beach in Juan-les-Pins is much better,” Tommy said, out of nowhere. “Do you know the beach in Nice is all rocks?”

Um, hello? We’re trying to encourage him to join us not convince him to stay away. I gave Tommy my best butt-out-annoying-boy glare, but he totally ignored me. Then he tried to convince Vlad to skip the Riviera all together and go straight to Spain.

Why, you wonder, was he talking crazy? Oh, you shall see.

Joanna returned with Pierre and Mike and then the entire Teens Tour France! Group, plus the two Russians headed down to the wide Champs Elysees for the parade.