Dont touch me (A Princeton Love story)

Chapter 2

(Y/N's pov) 

*Paris France Airport*

"Bonjour suis ma. Puis-je avoir voter billet s'il vous plait?" The French woman asked me could she have my plane ticket.

"Oui, Oui bien, sur." I told her, yes of course.

"Merci. Protifez de voltre vol." She said thank you and to enjoy your flight.

"Je vais, je vous. Remercie." I thanked her, and told her I would. Down here in parie, you pick up the language. Me, I had no choice. My mother went to Paris when she was my age(which was forever ago... Don't tell her I told you that). But she is still very fluent in French. So it'll be like our own language. I can't wait to get home and actually understand half the stuff she says. I plugged in my headphones, blasting music loud. Somebody sat next to me a few minutes later, tapping my shoulder, and killing my vibe.

"Parles-tu Francis?" He asked me if I spoke French.

"Oui." I told him I did. He sorta smiled.

"Good to know." He said. Still smiling, but it had a cocky edge to it.

"You speak English." I said more like a statement of the obvious. He nodded.

"Most of the people on this plane speak French. And are also very nosey." He implied

"So your saying if we talk in English, they won't understand us." I said stating the obvious again. He laughed as if I said something funny.

"Je pourrais demander, ce qui est si drole?" I asked what was so funny. 

"Oh, alors etaient en francais maintenant?" He asked if we were back to speaking French now I shrugged.

"Cela depend de la meteo vous voulez le francais curieux de vous entendre." I told him it depended on weather he wanted the nosey frenchman to hear him. That part turned some heads towards us. I had the smile of satisfaction on my face. I put my headphones back in while he struggled trying to explain to the angry French people what I meant. I knew this guy wouldn't be bothering me anymore. I enjoyed the rest of my plane ride without any disruptions.

*your house in Los Angeles*

I got home around 5:01pm. I was stupid tired, and couldnt wait to tell my mom that...in French. I opened my front door and guess who I see, on MY couch, with MY butter pecan ice cream. Jacob Perez. I was at loss for words.

"Hey, so, how's it goin?" He asked trying to sound nonchalant.

"Maman! Pourquoi est-Jacob icon avec mon j'ai avez creme?" I yelled asking my mother why Jacob was here with my ice cream. She was upstairs.

"English honey, we have guests." She called down. I sighed, walked over to Jacob, and snatched my ice cream.

"Hey, I was enjoying that." He said and I went into the kitchen. He followed close behind.

"Ya know, life would be so much easier if you just asked instead." I said. He rolled his eyes.

"Story of my life." He mumbled before leaving the kitchen. It's not that I'm not happy he's here. I am really. It's just, I mean, I don't know. I'll never understand him. And I think I just made things akward for myself. I went and joined him in the living room. I could tell he was think'n bout something.

"Penny for your thoughts." I said he looked at me'n smiled.

"You better make that a nikel chica." He said. That used to irritate me when we were kids but now, now it just makes me feel warm and safe. There's no doubt he's my best friend.