Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

In the late morning, we met up with the other four at a chocolate room on rue Rivoli. The boys grumbled about fitting their long limbs and broad shoulders into the limited space, but I noticed they ate plenty of the food.

Afterward we strolled through the Tuileries, the royal gardens that had become a public park before the Louvre. They seemed to stretch on forever, filled with manicured bushes and graceful statues and low pools of glinting water. Rachael had extremely strong opinions about what to do in Paris, which mostly consisted of art and food, and the rest of us were content to drift after her as she argued with Ryan about directions.

So we followed her down through the glass pyramid and back up into the palace. Bright wooden floors matched up with marble walls and grand arches, while high above egg-and-dart crownings lined the glass skylights. Endless art and people filled it, so much it was hard to know where to begin. We went heavy on the Egyptian, Near Eastern and Classical work, and then did a hit-and-run tour of the rest.

A crowd milled in front of The Mona Lisa, which, as I’d been warned, was kind of small and dark, but it was worth it, especially for the two girls who took one glance and then buried their heads in their phones in order to make it their statuses.

But I liked the next chambers better, light and airy despite the burgundy walls. If I turned around I could see a straight shot back to the Winged Victory, framed through a series of arches. These rooms were all filled with paintings I’d studied in art history classes. There was The Coronation of Napoleon and another portrait of Josephine reclining on a moss covered rock, as she was likely wont to do. Now I studied a suspiciously white Dido of Carthage as she chatted with Aeneas, pre break-up and suicide.

To my surprise, Ryan Carter came up as I stared at the huge expanse of paint. “So, archaeology.”

“Um.” I glanced at him a little nervously. Ryan was the golden boy of the New York Leopards, a triple threat quarterback. I’d never spoken directly to him, and despite spending the past couple months in close confines with one of his teammates, the fame and celebrity still shell-shocked me. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s what I wanted to do as a kid. Egyptology. Bet you get that a lot.”

I peeked at him quickly, but he still looked dead ahead at the painting. He was right, of course; half the people I encountered told me they’d wanted to be an Egyptologist. It was the kind of thing I usually just grinned and bore, though sometimes I wanted to jump down their throats and explain there was a huge difference between thinking and starting to do something and actually, say, doing it.

Not that I would ever say anything like that to Ryan Carter. “It’s not uncommon.”

He let out a breath of laugher. “Nice way of putting it. You finding a lot over there? At Kilkarten?”

Oh, boy. He knew about Kilkarten. “Not yet. I mean, we’ve found the basic stuff you’ll find digging anywhere in Ireland, but no burials or building remains.”

He nodded at the painting. He kind of looked like one of the busts we had walked past earlier, an idealized youth from the Classical Era. “Rachael really likes you.”

What did I say to that? “Thanks?”

“Because you’re smart and focused and dedicated to your work. That’s what matters to Rachael.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound like it boded well. “And I’m guessing you’re telling me this because you value other things.”

A small smile slipped out. “I figure it makes sense to check up on anything not part of the pattern.” He paused. “And so I wanted to know if you’re dating Mike out of convenience.”

Because I wasn’t part of Mike’s pattern. I turned so I stared straight at Carter, and waited until he turned and faced me. He stared me down, blue eyes cool, and I could see why opposing teams faltered under his steadfast gaze. Instead, I locked my shoulders and lifted my chin. “It’s not out of convenience.”

His eyes didn’t even twitch as they studied me, just scanned back and forth, like he was trying to read every move I’d made in the past and everything I planned for the future. “Good.”

I let out a breath. “Okay. I’m just gonna, go...” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.

“Cool.” He locked his hands behind his back and turned back to the painting.

Holy shit, I didn’t want to get on his bad side.

I walked over to Mike. I almost wanted to make a joke, like “Your quarterback just interrogated me about my intentions towards you.”

But instead, I slipped my hand into his, and tugged slightly until he looked my way with a questioning lift of his brows. I raised my mouth to his lips. “Hey. I like you. You know that, right?”

He kissed me.

* * *

All the walking-and-stopping of the museum starved us, so we followed Rachael up to the Marais to get falafel. The Marais felt like Williamsburg, or maybe the West Village—trendy and hipstery and filled with boutiques. Rachael led us next by the Hôtel de Ville, the massive and stunning seat of Parisian government, then through winding streets toward the two tiny islands in the middle of the Seine. She got distracted by the Mémorial de la Shoah, turned bright red as she tried to dissuade the rest of us from feeling like we had to go in with her, and muttered to herself when Ryan grabbed her arm and towed her inside with the rest of us following. Then she squeezed Ryan’s hand hard enough that that I could see the white imprints from her fingers and nails.

We crossed a bridge onto a tiny, practically pedestrian island, where we stopped for ice-cream and to watch several street musicians. Then it was onward across another bridge to Notre Dame, which we came up at from behind, giving us the chance to admire the swooping flying buttresses and a small garden filled with roses.

While we waited in line in the grand plaza before the cathedral, the boys started wrestling. It began when Ryan started ribbing Mike about Notre Dame, Mike’s alma matter, and Mike had come back with some equally snarky remark about Ryan’s and now all three of them were jumping and turning, displaying a strength and flexibility that appeared almost unreal. People stopped to watch—not people who knew they were celebrities, just casual tourists struck by the beauty of their bodies, by the amazing abilities of the human form.