A/N: Actually, this is a really short story, I'm realizing. The SpaMano one is going to be short, too.

Sorry this took so long!

And sorry the chapter are so short, I think. Eh. Not really. I hate reading long stuff online.

One more chapter in this story.


"Tell me about him."

"He's tall, blonde, and American."

"Which kind of American?"

Anne laughed, leaning in and raising her eyebrow mockingly. "There are kinds of Americans?"

Frances nodded sincerely. "There's the worthless, attractive type, and the fat rich type."

"He's the fat rich type. Without too much fat. He's…" Anne sighed, "He's smart, eternally optimistic, and has a great career. And a nice car."

"And he's not too fat?"

"No! I wouldn't date the wanker if he crushed me."

"I can't believe they still make American's like that. I thought it was a discontinued model circa 1956."

"And I thought morally ambiguous Frenchmen were an outdated model circa… forever. Since film made them popular."

"That would be around… 1910?" Frances grinned, sipping his wine. "And may I remind you that I am not the only one with morals that may be more or less gray in nature?"

It was late into the dinner, and Anne knew they were going to go home together. She had already ignored two calls from Alfred, so why not finish the deal? In Anne's experience, dinner was sex. If she could convince a man to spend money on her, it would be no problem convincing him to sleep with her.

By the time that Anne's back was pressed against the wall next to the door of Frances' apartment, she had found out three important things about him.

1. He was very much French. Not that there was any question, but he had answered it. Not French-Canadian, but Parisian.

2. He had a tendency to bisexuality. It varied depending on who was asking.

3. He was a fantastic kisser with no morals.

As Anne moaned slightly, Frances led her through the door of his flat and tossed her gently onto the bed, making sure to turn the bedside photo of a young man with a face that resembled his around. No fling needed to see that, especially not this British woman who was batting her eyelashes at him like a Las Vegas prostitute fresh on the job.

Just as Anne had found out three important things about Frances, he had three mental notes about her.

1. She had a boyfriend, and no qualms about telling him. Said boyfriend must be incredibly tolerant.

2. She was very good at covering up what Frances suspected was cripplingly low self esteem.

3. She expected breakfast in the morning.

They made love in the usual style, with no flowers or fluff. And when they were done, Anne rolled over onto her side and fell promptly asleep, snoring slightly. Frances just laughed and wondered if she really would be there the next morning.