Forget by N.A. Alcorn Read Free Book Online Page B

well.
    Jesse’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Alexandre?” he asks. “What exactly do you need him for?”
    “I . . . I . . . Well . . .” I clear my throat, reigning in my stutter.
    Lindsay slaps my back.
    I glare at her.
    “Just trying to help,” she answers with a shrug.
    “I need to talk to him. Apparently, he has something for me,” I finally spit the words. Stuttering is not an attractive trait, but sometimes it sneaks out when I’m really nervous or anxious about something. It’s one of the reasons I prefer producing someone else’s music rather than being the one singing on stage. No one wants to hear someone butcher their favorite song by stuttering through the chorus.
    “Well, Alexandre is not here today. He’s actually in London for a couple more days. He plans to be back by next Friday. And what exactly do you need to talk to him about?” His curiosity is obvious in the questioning tilt of his head.
    “It’s nothing that you need to worry your pretty little head about.” I raise a pointed brow, tossing his words back. “So you know him?”
    He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
    “Is he a nice guy?” Lindsay asks.
    “I mean, he’s not too nice when you’re his son and choose to drop out of college to work on your music career, but other than that, I guess you could say he’s a nice guy.”
    “You’re his son?” The familiar relation is shocking. What are the odds?
    He nods. “Yeah, I’m one of his sons.”
    “One?” If he looks like this, then what in the hell do the other sons look like?
    His tall frame leans against the bar. “I have an older brother.”
    I scan the bar for pictures or clues as to what Alexandre looks like, as well as his other mysterious son. Nothing stands out. “So if I come back next Friday, your father will be here?”
    “Yeah, he’ll be here. He loves this pub more than his kids. And the man is stubborn as a bull, refuses to hire any help during the daytime hours,” he answers nonchalantly, and then busies himself with other bar patrons orders. The bar conversations revolve around sports, in a language I can actually understand, and I wonder if this has become a “home away from home” kind of place for English-speaking visitors.
    I brush a loose curl out of my eyes, and Lindsay grabs my hand, staring down at the black ink on my palm. “What is this?” she tilts her head to the side, scrutinizing the masculine script. Then her eyes are on me, assessing my face for clues. “Who’s Dylan and why do you need to call him?”
    I pull my hand from her tenacious grip, sliding it underneath the bar. “It’s nothing . . . kind of a long story.” Okay, so I didn’t tell her about the picture scandal that occurred my first day here. The damn ordeal was far too embarrassing and one that I’d rather forget.
    She waves her hand in the air. “As you can see, I’ve got time for a long story. I’m staying in Paris for a week. I’ve got nothing on my agenda except spending time with my Brookie.”
    I sigh. “Seriously, it’s embarrassing.”
    Jesse slides a Bloody Mary in front of Lindsay, flashing a devilish smirk. “This one is on the house.”
    “Thank you,” she says, batting her eyelashes and doing all of the things girls do when they are Lindsay and want to screw the bartender on top of the bar.
    I’m thankful for the reprieve. I watch them exchange glances while Jesse helps an older couple that walked into the bar a few minutes ago. Au Fait is a laid back kind of joint where everyone seems to know each other. If I lived in Paris, I could see myself coming here for a drink a few times a week just to chat with familiar faces and enjoy a reprieve from my bumbling French.
    “That’s fucking delicious,” Lindsay exclaims with wide eyes after taking her first sip.
    “I know, right?”
    “And you’re not getting off the hook that easy. Spill it, sister. I need to hear all the details about this guy named Dylan.” She turns her