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exchanged numbers, and she promised to call me later in the week so that we could have a girls’ night out.
    Once Luc brought me out into the refreshing night air which had cooled considerably, I realized just how drunk I was. I had forgotten how easy it was to get drunk on French wine—it goes down so smoothly that you don’t realize how much you’ve had. Luc placed his arm around me as I stumbled up the stairs and strolled with him along the river, its dark waters now shimmering underneath the moonlight.
    “Thanks so much for taking me out tonight . . . I really needed this,” I stammered, stifling a giggle. I always broke into uncontrollable giggles whenever I was drunk. I hoped I wasn’t annoying Luc and tried to get the laughing fit under control.
    “What is so funny?” he asked as he burst into laughter. I realized then that Luc was drunk too.
    He kept his arm squeezed tightly around my shoulders as we crossed the bridge that led us back over to Place St. Michel. In my drunken state, Luc’s arm around me suddenly made me sad. It made me think of Jeff and how this easily could’ve been my first night in Paris with him—strolling down the Seine, his strong arm around me, gazing out at the city lights glistening along the river and getting ready to start our adventure in Paris together. But we weren’t together anymore. Jeff didn’t love me anymore.
    And maybe he never really had.
    A few salty tears escaped and rolled down my cheeks.
    Luc turned to me, shocked. “What is the matter?”
    “Nothing, nothing.” I wiped the tears away. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this.”
    “What happened? Why are you sorry? I do not understand,” he replied, looking a little scared. After all, he had just met me, and we had spent a great evening together. Poor guy. I was sure he was looking for a little action—not a drunk, sobbing American girl.
    “It’s just that I . . .” I tried to regain composure. “I miss home.” I thought about stopping there, but the alcohol got the best of me. “The truth is, my fiancé left me. Well, I left him. But he deserved it . . . that bastard,” I howled. “He was cheating on me, and we were supposed to move to Paris together, but I just found out about it . . . so I came alone.”
     “Come here, sit down with me.” Luc held on to me and led me over to a bench facing the river. “Zis just happened?”
    “Mmhmm,” I mumbled.
    Luc hugged me tightly and held on for a while. He let me cry on his shoulder while he stroked my hair.
    “That is horrible. I am so sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
    “Thank you.” I hiccupped again and tried my best to stifle the tears.
    After the embarrassing cry session which Luc handled extraordinarily well seeing as how he had only known me for five hours, he led me back to the metro station, and we took the train home together. I don’t remember much of the ride or the walk back to our dorm, (I think I was fading in and out of consciousness), but I do remember that Luc kept his arm around me the entire way home. By the time we made it back to my room, I’d calmed down. I was still really drunk though.
    “Thank you so much Luc . . . I’m really sorry. I had so much fun with you tonight,” I blabbered.
    Just as Luc was starting to say something back, I leaned in and kissed him like a crazy woman right there in front of my door. Despite my puffy, swollen eyes which, no doubt, had streaks of mascara pouring out of them and my bright red, irritated nose, he kissed me back. I had no idea what made me do that. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Lexi’s words about French lovers, maybe it was the way he’d taken care of me that night, or maybe it was because I felt totally and utterly desperate. Whatever it was, before I knew it, I had unlocked my door and was making out with Luc inside my little dorm room.

 
    Five
    mardi, le 28 septembre
    Jet-lag + Broken engagement + Cute French guy + Five glasses of wine =