Josh glanced at her, and then back at me. “Astrid,” he said, in French of course, “now I have to point two things out to you. (A) ‘photographic memory’ is two words, and (b) you don’t have a photographic memory.”
“Partially photographic,” I dismissed. “Big difference.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve heard it. I’m just reminding you. So stop jumping down my throat.”
I glared at him, and then turned to the girl. “If you’re considering asking for his number,” I said coldly, “forget it. He’s a real jerk.”
She looked stunned. I hesitated. Didn’t they talk like that in France or wherever the heck I was? Maybe not. I grabbed a laughing Josh’s hand and tugged him in the direction of the exit. “Oh, shut up,” I muttered.
He was grinning, shaking his head at me. “Jealous, Astrid?”
I stared at him. “Heck, no!”
I mean, I guess Josh was cute, with those sparkling eyes and carefree manner and everything, and truthfully girls were always going after him, but I didn’t think of him like that. He was too… Josh. He’d been my best friend since I was a kid, and I couldn’t imagine it differently.
Now he just laughed, and led the way out. I was immediately hit by a blast of hot air, almost as if I had stepped into a Dutch oven. Or possibly a French oven. I pushed my long dark hair away from my face, gasping for air. “Gosh!” I said, amazed at the intensity of the heat. “It’s August! Isn’t this heat like illegal or something?”
“Astrid,” said Josh, sounding like he was trying to remain patient, “please try to act like you’ve been in France before.”
“Uh… Right.” As if I could forget! I tightened my hold on my bag as a dark-looking figure walked in front of us. “And don’t call me Astrid. It’s Angelique, remember?”
He glanced sideways at me. “Is that French for ‘angel’?” he deadpanned. I raised an eyebrow – where was he going with this?
“Because if so, it’s a complete lie.”
I glared at him.
“But anyway,” he continued quickly, “that goes for you, too. Call me Georges.”
I grinned. “Zhorzh,” I drawled, over-enunciating the French sound of his name; in other words, deliberately annoying him.
“Idiot,” Josh muttered.
“Where to now?” I asked, changing the subject.
“That hotel, remember?” Josh was rolling his eyes again. It really didn’t become him. And it was annoying.
YOU ARE READING
Delta: A Spy Novel
Action♥ Astrid ♥ Gunshots. Karate moves. Flipping through languages so fast that my brain struggled to catch up. These had been as familiar to me in the six years I had been in training as a school bell or sound of a teacher's voice might be to anyone el...
Chapter Two
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