“Where is the bank?” I ask.
“Just down here.” He holds his phone up and follows the map.
“How did you lose your card again?” I ask.
“Oh . . .” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“How?”
He pulls me along by the hand. “Let’s just say I had an unpleasant zoo experience on my first night here.”
I frown as we walk. “What does that mean?”
“I went home with this girl, and when she undressed, she was so hairy that I thought I was with a gorilla, and I went in the bathroom to call my brother and freak out, and I left only to find out that she had stolen my card and wiped my bank account clean,” he blurts out in a rush.
I blink, horrified.
“I know.” He shakes his head.
“What’s wrong with hair on a woman?” I ask as I’m dragged along.
“Oh my god . . .” He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.”
“Well?”
He shrugs. “I don’t like it . . . and it’s my prerogative not to personally like it.”
“What?” I shriek. “What do you mean you don’t like it?”
“I mean, normal hair . . . fine. Never cut, never waxed . . . growing-a-vegetable-patch-down-your-legs-style, no fucking way.”
I giggle . . . jeez, that reminds me, I need a trim. Hmm, better buy some scissors.
Maybe a home wax kit?
We get to the bank, and he walks in and over to the counter. “Take a seat.” He gestures to the chair.
“I’ll come.” I stand beside him as he talks to the teller.
“Hello, I lost my card and ordered a new one. I got a text this morning to say it was here at this branch, ready to be collected,” he says.
“Okay.” She smiles. “Identification, please.”
He slides it over, and she enters the information into her computer. She waits, and then her eyebrows shoot up. As if surprised by something, she looks between him and the screen. “Mr. Miles?”
He cuts her off. “Yes. Card, please.”
“Just a minute.” She toddles off.
“What’s wrong with your account?” I whisper.
“She’s mortified by the lack of money in it,” he whispers back.
I giggle. “Aren’t we all.”
He gives me the side-eye.
“I am paying for breakfast, after all.” I widen my eyes at him.
He smiles. “This is true, you are.” He rolls his lips. “And then I’m buying you five-minute noodles for lunch.”
The lady comes back and begins to type on her computer again.
“It’s two,” I whisper.
“Two what?”
“Two-minute noodles.”
“Oh . . .” He nods. “Great marketing.”
I frown. “How?”
“Well, you instantly know what it is.”
“Not instantly,” I whisper. “Two minutes.”
He chuckles and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. The lady hands over his card. “Sign here, please.” He signs, and then she gives him another thing to sign. “Sign here.” She gives him a big smile. “That’s it. You two lovebirds have a great day.”