He thinks I want favors for it.
Sadness falls over me. This poor fucking kid. What must he see here?
I close my eyes in disgust.
He walks back out and begins slamming the glasses around.
“I don’t want anything in return. This isn’t a bribe. I was just being nice, that’s it. I’m not like that either.”
He wipes the bench down so hard that I’m surprised he doesn’t break it in half. He walks around to the tables and puts out drink coasters as I watch him.
Fuck.
How can I fix this?
“Okay, if you won’t accept it, you can work it off.”
His ears prick up, but he still won’t look at me.
“I have jobs that I need help with, and I can pay you an hourly rate.”
“Like what?”
Fuck . . .
“I need a Spanish translator.”
He frowns, his interest piqued.
“I have to find a job, and I need someone . . . to translate for me.” I can tell he’s interested. “All my roommates need help too. You could help us find jobs or something?” I shrug. I’m totally flying by the seat of my pants here.
“How many roommates?” he asks.
“There are six of us, boys and girls.” I hold my two hands up in surrender. “I swear this is not what you think. We just need a translator. That’s it, nothing else. We will set an hourly rate, and you can work it off. Completely professional.”
He twists his lips, and I can see he’s interested in the offer.
“Anyway, think about it.” I slide the phone back toward me and put it away. His eyes follow it as I put it back in the bag.
I hear a low whistle from the German table, and I glance up. Hayden has just walked into the bar.
Wearing a skintight black dress that shows every last curve. Her long honey hair is out and full, and she looks fucking delicious. My cock instantly twitches in appreciation as she walks over.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m your next meal.”
My eyes rise to hers. “Maybe you are.”
Chapter 9
HAYDEN
We stare at each other. The air crackles between us, and I open my mouth to reply, but for the first time in my life, I’m shocked to silence.
He did not just say that.
“Hayden, meet Eduardo.” He gestures to a young teenage boy that I hadn’t noticed working behind the bar. I think it’s the same one he had a fight over the other night.
I turn, embarrassed. “Hello.” I smile.
“Eduardo is going to be our new translator.”
I frown as I look between the two of them. Did I hear that right? “I beg your pardon?”
“I broke his phone, so I got a replacement one, but”—he pauses for effect—“he has to work it off,” he replies sternly. “So . . . he’s going to help our room members out.”
I smile, the deal he’s made taking shape in my mind. “Okay, that sounds like a great plan. We could really do with the help,” I say as I play along.
Eduardo looks between us, seemingly excited. “I’ll find you jobs,” he says with a strong Spanish accent. “I know a lot of people here in Barcelona.” He stammers as if trying to talk me into it.