Excuse my French

trente. je t'aime

"You were actually on time today," I commented off-handedly to Luc as I tossed his phone over to him. (I'd been scrolling through his social media feeds to see if there was anything incriminating, but I was glad—and a little disappointed, to be honest—to find that he was perfectly harmless. Not really. I mean, at least there weren't boobs all over the place.) "That's a change."

Luc caught his phone with one hand, which was really difficult to do, actually, since my aim was completely off-kilter (basically, his phone was headed way left of where his head was). He smiled, showing me his dimples. "Only for you, babe."

"Don't call me babe," I retorted, sending him a sharp glance over my shoulder. I paused. "Well, if I were a so-called feminist, I'd say that you're objectifying me, but—"

"A baby is certainly not an object," Luc said, finishing my thought. He frowned and leaned his chin on his hand. "Unless the person's seriously messed up."

I laughed, leaning my head back so that it was resting on the top of the armchair. It really did feel nice to have the school library all to ourselves (for once, even the librarian was away, probably to brew himself some nice organic mint tea or something like that). I stretched my arms above my head, and soon enough, there was that satisfying crack in my shoulders.

"You never fail to amuse me, Mercier." I watched him from my odd vantage point. His warm eyes twinkled as he watched me, fiddling with my copy of Madame Bovary. "Tuck in your shirt, please."

Luc's uniform was impishly disheveled—his blue tie was loosened around his neck, his shirtsleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up, and his dress shirt was untucked. His hair was tousled. (He'd been rough-housing with his rugby teammates, apparently. It probably went more along the lines of beating up the members of the freshman rugby team, if I was right.) I caught my breath.

Luc's grin grew. "We're done with school, remember?"

I really needed to get my mind off his golden eyes because I honestly could not think of anything intelligent to say or do. Clearing my throat, I licked my lips. "Then why are we in the school library?"

Luc glanced around us. There was absolutely no one with us. "Because it's convenient."

Everyone else we knew was finalizing some coursework matters, so that made sense. (Lila had gotten into a hassle with her Spanish teacher about her extra credit work, and Olivia just had some questions about who-knew-what for Psychology.) I mean, why not spend the time we had now?

"Well, get started, would you?" I stared pointedly at my book in his hand.

Luc sent me one last jaunty smile, his dimples seeming to laugh at me. "Fine." He located my owl bookmark, cleared his throat, and began. "Elle se demandait tout en marchant..."

↔

It was really funny how far I'd gotten from "what the hell is the passé simple?" to this easygoing, comfortable feeling I had with Luc. I was starting to enjoy hearing his smooth French accent (even though I still didn't understand all of it). Yes, it was a little late in the book (we were on the last chapter, in fact) to like it, but that was okay.

I'd reread over the summer.

With Luc, of course, although he'd probably demand more payment from me. (I still hadn't really paid him completely, but there was still the summer and next year...)

"Il vient de recevoir la croix d'honneur." Luc paused, maybe to show me that the book was now over. He bit his lip slowly. "Woah."

I frowned. "He is going to receive the cross of honor?"