“James, I swear, dating men in Paris is like dating hell in the United States. For a city that's filled with love, these guys have no idea how to treat a lady."
I abhorred hearing her talk about other men, although I secretly smiled each time she told me about a date gone wrong. None of them had been horrible; they just weren't me. Cora had yet to figure that part out; she assumed it was the men, when in fact, most women would have swooned at the accent alone.
“They dress like pop stars, James. A guy shouldn't look better in skinny jeans than his date. And they pair them with fitted shirts. It's like boy band gone wrong."
I couldn't help but laugh. “Cora, not every guy in France dresses like Justin Bieber."
“The ones I've met do."
“Maybe it's the industry you're meeting them in. Aren'
