He twists his lips as if considering the prospect. “She’s pretty hot, actually.”
“I thought so.” I think for a moment. “Great boobs.”
He nods, thinking about it too. “Probably not a good idea if we are going to travel together. Would make for an awkward twelve months.” He wrinkles his nose.
I imagine him dodging both Kimberly and Bernadette, and I giggle. “Would make for some excellent viewing for me, though.”
He smiles over at me. “You’re a cool chick, Grumps.”
“I know.”
“Need any help with your vibrator?”
“You were doing so well.” I gasp as I throw a cushion at him.
He bursts out laughing, and I do too.
Maybe he’s not that bad.
CHRISTOPHER
I sit at the bar of the hostel and scroll through the employment section.
I need to find a job, and stat.
My three-day shift at the taxi company is over, and we have decided that we’re going to work on weekends in Barcelona and travel through the week to different destinations.
Monday, we leave for San Sebastián.
Which is a major problem because I have $300 to my name. Actually, $297 after this beer.
How the fuck do people live without money? It’s so shit.
“Hey.” I hear a voice and look up. It’s the kid. He’s arrived for his shift tonight. He walks behind the bar and puts his apron on.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Thanks for the other night,” he says as he fusses around and begins to clean.
“That’s okay.”
I watch him for a moment. He won’t look at me.
“Just so you know, I kicked his ass when we got outside,” I add.
He smirks as he stacks the glasses high. “Where did you learn to fight?”
I shrug. “I have three older brothers who think they are always right. Punching their faces in comes naturally.”
He smiles as he continues to do his chores.
“Do you live around here?” I ask him.
He nods. “Not far.” He picks up the broom and begins to sweep.
“How long have you worked here for?” I ask.
“Hmm . . . two or so years.”
“You started when you were twelve?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The things he must have seen.
I watch him as he works. This kid intrigues me. So capable and independent.
“Do you live with your parents?” I ask.
“My grandmother.”
I wonder where his parents are.
“Got any brothers and sisters?”
“No.”
“Oh . . .” We fall silent, and he keeps on working.
“I live in London,” I tell him.
He nods but doesn’t reply.
“Originally from New York.”
His eyes shoot up. “What’s it like?”
“New York?”