“You have a harem, Christopher. Why would you care about me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he snaps. “I don’t.”
“Okay, fine.” We arrive at our hostel and walk up the steps.
“Fine,” he says. “Go shave your pussy.”
I begin to fume. Is he fucking serious?
“I will.”
CHRISTOPHER
I sit at the bar of the hostel. I got ready and came straight down here. Don’t want to be anywhere near that annoying woman. I lift a beer to my lips and tip my head back. I mean, if she wants to fuck around . . . then it’s on her. But she can’t come crying to me when her knight in shining armor turns out to be a cockhead.
I’ll be busy.
I see a small person coming through the front doors, and I smile. Here he comes.
“Hey,” he says happily.
“Hi.”
He puts on an apron.
“How did you go getting your phone fixed?” I ask.
He shrugs as he begins to pick up the glasses and load them into the dishwasher. “I didn’t go to the store yet.”
“Oh . . .” I watch him for a moment. “I went into one today and asked how much it is going to cost to get it repaired.”
“What did they say?”
A man comes and stands at the bar. “One minute,” Eduardo says to me. He walks over to the man. “Was wird es sein?” （Translation: What will it be?） “Pilsner.”
“Drei Euro.” He gets a beer and opens it and passes it over.
The guy pays him and walks off. Eduardo comes back to me and begins loading the glasses again.
“How many languages do you speak?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “A few. Only what I pick up in here.”
“So anyway, about your phone.”
He keeps loading the cups, seemingly uninterested.
“The guy told me that it’s too old to get fixed. They can’t get the parts.”
His eyes flick up. “I knew it.” His shoulders slump in defeat.
I slide the box over. “I got you something.”
He frowns. His eyes rise to meet mine. “Why?”
“I just”—I shrug—“felt bad that I distracted you and you dropped your phone.”
He keeps loading glasses. “You didn’t distract me.”
I tap the box. “Open it.”
“I’m good.”
“Open it,” I demand.
He exhales heavily and opens the box. A brand-spanking-new iPhone stares back at him.
His mouth falls open, and his eyes flick up.
I smile broadly. “Surprise.”
His face falls, and he slams it back at me. “I’m not like that, okay?”
“Like what?” I frown.
What’s he talking about?
“Stick your phone up your fucking ass.”
“What?” I stand, offended.
He storms past me and out into the kitchen.
What did I do? I thought he’d be excited . . . oh. Then it dawns on me.