The Unread Reader who hosts one of my favorite book blogs! This is a fun weekly thing where you post about any fictional boys you may be crushing on. For more info, check out the Unread Reader's post here.
Oh. My goodness. I honestly can't even remember loving a character from a book this much before. After reading Anna and the French Kiss, I wanted an Etienne St. Clair of my very own. Why is he so awesome? Oh let me count the ways...
- He's American and French--but has an English accent (which, come on, is kind of a deal breaker right there)
- Has hair that's "dark brown and messy and somehow both long and short at the same time"---"it's artist hair. Musician hair. I-pretend-I-don't-care-but-I-really-do hair."
- Is confident, sometimes cocky
- Is short (and like Napoleon Bonaparte because they have that in common)
- Often shows the "classic boy-pulling-girl's-pigtail syndrome"--but always defends Anna
- Is really funny
- gets jealous whenever Anna talks about Toph or Dave
- is genuinely nice and fun to be around ...and many many more reasons... but you'll have to read the book to find out!
He and Anna have such amazing chemistry, and I absolutely love the fact that they start as friends first. Watching their friendship/chemistry build up was great and soon, I was practically yelling at the two of them to kiss!
“A moment of reserve. 'That was it? The whole story?'
'Yes. God, you're right. That was pants.'
I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. 'Pants?'
'Rubbish. Crap. Shite.'Pants. Oh heavens, that's cute.”
"Har. Bloody. Har."
He smiles. "Oh, I see. Known me less than a day and teasing me about my accent. What's next? Care to discuss the state of my hair? My height? My trousers?"
"French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused."
“Most people in Atlanta don't have an accent. It's pretty urban. A lot of people speak gangsta, though," I add jokingly.
"Fo' shiz," he replies in his polite English accent.
I spurt orangey-red soup across the table. St. Clair gives a surprised ha-HA kind of laugh, and I'm laughing too, the painful kind like abdominal crunches. He hands me a napkin to wipe my chin. "Fo'. Shiz." He repeats it solemnly.
Cough cough. "Please don't ever stop saying that. It's too-" I gasp. "Much."
"You oughtn't to have said that. Now I shall have to save it for special occasions."
"My birthday is in February." Cough choke wheeze. "Please don't forget.”