I'm a little distracted by this English French American Boy Masterpiece.
Stephanie PerkinsThat guys. Sideburns. You like him?"
My back squirms. "You've asked me that before."
"What I meant was," he says, flustered. "Your feelings haven't changed? Since you've been here?"
It takes a moment to consider the question. "It's not a matter of how I feel," I say at last. "I'm interested, but ... I don't know if he's still interested in me."
St. Clair edges closer. "Does he still call?"
"Yeah. I mean, not often. But yes."
"Right. Right, well," he says, blinking. "There's your answer.
Tags: relationships st-clair anna-and-the-french-kiss anna-oliphant
I'm sorry," he says.
"What? Why?"
"You're fixing everything I set down." He nods at my hands, which are readjusting the elephant. "It wasn't polite of me to come in and start touching your things."
"Oh, it's okay," I say quickly, letting go of the figurine. "You can touch anything of mine you want."
He freezes. A funny look runs across his face before I realize what I've said. I didn't mean it like that.
Not that that would be so bad.
Tags: humor embarrassing st-clair anna-and-the-french-kiss anna-oliphant
His eyes lock on mine."Anna,I promise that I will never leave you."
My heart pounds in response.And Étienne knows it,because he takes my hand and holds it against his chest,to show me how hard his heart is pounding,too.
Tags: anna etienne st-clair anna-and-the-french-kiss etienne-st-clair
And I realize ... it’s okay. It’s okay if St. Clair and I never become more than friends. His friendship alone has strengthened me in a way that no one
else’s ever has. He swept me from my room and showed me independence. In other words, he was exactly what I needed. I won’t forget it. And I certainly
don’t want to lose it.
Tags: anna etienne st-clair anna-and-the-french-kiss
I risk a glance, and St. Clair stares back. Deeply. He has not looked at me like this before. I turn away first, then feel him turn a few beats later.
I know he is smiling, and my heart races.
Tags: anna etienne st-clair anna-and-the-french-kiss etienne-st-clair
When I come back, the club is packed. There's hardly any standing room. Anna snagged a wooden bar stool, one of the few seats here. St. Clair stands close to her, facing her, and he smoothes the platinum stripe in her hair. She pulls him even closer by the top of his jeans, one finger tucked inside. It's an intimate gesture. I'm embarrassed to watch, but I can't look away.
He kisses her slowly and deeply. They don't care that anyone could watch. Or maybe they've forgotten they aren't alone. When they break apart, Anna says something that makes him fall into silly, boyish laughter. For some reason, that's the moment that makes me turn away. Something about their love is painful.
Wow. See? You can’t say that’s not impressive.” I recognize the names, even if I don’t know what they all did.
“I didn’t.” He reaches for his wallet and pays our admission charge. I try to get it—since it was my idea in the first place—but he insists. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he says, handing me my ticket. “Let’s see some dead people.” We’re greeted by an unimaginable number of domes and columns and arches. Everything is huge and round.
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