The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(29)

“What?”

“I think Bodie has a thing for you.”

I screw up my face. “No, really?”

“I think so.”

“Kimberly asked me if you were available.”

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?”

He nods.

“Best city in the world.”

He smiles. “I’m going to go there one day.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and flicks through the photos until he gets to the one he wants to show me. It’s a skyline pic of New York at dusk.

I smile as I look at it. “You’ll love it.” I pass his phone back to him, and he goes to put it in his pocket but misses, and it falls on the floor.

He scrambles to pick it up, and his face falls. “Oh no,” he cries. He throws his hands up in the air. “I broke the screen.”

“What?” I frown. “Show me.”

He holds it out for me to see, and the screen is smashed to smithereens.

He slams it down on the counter and puts his two hands in his hair in despair.

I stare at the phone. It’s ancient, super old. It’s a wonder it even works.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s just a phone screen.”

“I saved for two years for this phone,” he cries. His nostrils are flared, and it looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“Oh . . .” I pick it up. “Maybe we could get the screen fixed?” I try to make him feel better.

“You can’t get parts for this phone. It’s too old.” He slams a pot down on the counter. He’s genuinely devastated.

“Eddie,” a man calls from the front.

He looks up.

“Move the bottles of water from the store. I have a truck coming in with more stock.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Hurry up about it,” the guy calls.

I frown as I listen to the cold orders.

The kid rushes to the front to move the stock, and I sit in silence, the weight of his world sitting heavily on my chest. He works like a dog and has to save for two years for a piece-of-shit phone.

Poor fucking kid.

“I got us a job,” Basil announces as he slouches onto a stool beside me.

“What? Where?”