Read Foreign Love (An International Sports Romance) (Love in Shades) for Free Online Page B

my plate. “It’s good, no? La recette de ma grande-mère ,” she says proudly.
     
    Well, then – I guess I’m having more quiche Lorraine. I try not to roll my eyes.
     
    Then, she turns back to her conversation with girls at the table. A handful of dancers from the Opéra are having dinner here tonight. They’re bitching and moaning about the newest production that they’re rehearsing for. They’re complaining about the lead dancer. They’re complaining about the long hours rehearsing. They’re complaining about the fucking costumes they have to wear.
     
    And I just want to yell at them. Scream at them. Tell those ungrateful bitches that I would do anything to be on stage dancing. In any damn costume I can get my hands on.
     
    But, I can’t even stand en pointe without being grounded by the fiery throbbing in my knee.
     
    I can’t just sit here. Listening to them talk about the happenings at the Opéra is only depressing me further. Reminding me of the fact that I can’t be there. I can’t dance because my stupid, stupid kneecap won’t stay in place.
     
    “ Je m’excuse ,” I say quietly as I push my chair away from the table. The girls barely notice when I slip out and slink back to my room. I lie in my bed and stare out my open window at the perfect Parisian sky. A million stars twinkle down. And for some reason, that makes me think of Lucien and the golden glitters in his eyes.
     
    I guess it was an asshole move, me slipping out of his apartment the way I did in the early hours of the morning. He’d brought me indescribable pleasure with his mouth and I repaid him by running off without saying goodbye.
     
    But that man makes my heart do complicated things. And I don’t like complicated.
     
    I do wild and carefree and no strings attached.
     
    So, when woke up at 4:30 in the morning and saw the text from Geneviève telling me that she was at home, I took the opportunity to sneak out of Lucien’s bed. He’d been an absolute gentleman, carrying me to his bed and tucking me in when I’d fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from the intense orgasm he’d gifted me with. He’d then gone to sleep on the couch instead of taking the opportunity to curl up next to me. And I ran away from him the minute I realized what had happened.
     
    Still, my body is begging me to make my way back to his apartment and finish what we started.
     
    I lie restless in my bed, staring at the sky, listening to the periodic surges of laughter coming from the kitchen. Those girls are complaining about every little aspect of the production. But at least they can still dance. They can slip into their pointe shoes and pirouette across the stage in front of a crowd of hundreds of people.
     
    Me? I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I get the surgery – if I get a metal rod implanted into my leg – my dance career is over. If I don’t, then my kneecap will eventually slip out of place again and I’ll be forced to quit dancing anyway.
     
    I lie back against my pillows and let out a puff of air. Life is so fucking unfair.
     
    I slide my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and see that it’s only 8:23 p.m.
     
    I can’t just lie here for the next twelve hours staring at the ceiling. I roll out of bed and snatch my messenger bag out of the tiny bedroom closet. I grab a few t-shirts, a sweater, two sundresses, some sandals and a handful of underwear and shove them into the bag. I retrieve my sketchpad from my desk and my toiletries from the bathroom counter before I pad quietly to the door, hoping not to draw any attention. No one seems to notice as I slide into my sneakers, sling my bag over my shoulder and slip out the door.

Chapter 14
     
    Lucien
     
     
     
    My head is still pounding from the conversation I had with my agent this evening. “Lucien. In all honesty, you are in no shape to play professionally right now. Let us be realistic. You will not be ready for the Olympic Games, mon gars . It starts