The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(35)

“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.”

“Thanks.” He smiles. “We will.”

We walk out of the bank; his arm is still around me. And it’s not weird, and it’s not awkward. In fact it feels very natural to have him touch me. Which is weird in itself because I’m not regularly a touchy person.

Perhaps it’s because I know it’s just in friendship and nothing more.



We amble through the giant shopping district; my arm is linked through his. We’ve had the best day of all time. It’s late afternoon, and somehow Christopher and I have wasted hours and hours. We had breakfast, then we went shopping, and we both bought a book.

“I’m not sure what five-minute noodles taste like, but I’m sure our lunch was better,” Christopher says.

“It sure was.”

“You know”—he glances down at me—“that is the first time a woman has ever bought me lunch.”

“No . . .”

“True.”

I frown up at him. “Don’t you go to lunch dates?”

“All the time.”

“And you always buy the women lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I just do.”

I roll my eyes. “God, you must date some dummies.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Paying your own way is about self-respect.”

He frowns as he contemplates my words.

“It doesn’t matter if you are a beggar on the street or a millionaire; if a woman doesn’t ever offer to pay her own way, then she’s not with you for the right reasons.”

He raises his eyebrow as we walk along, remaining silent.

“Don’t you agree?” I ask him.

He offers an excuse. “But if one has more money than the other . . .”

“It doesn’t matter, Christopher,” I huff. I hate that these women would take advantage of him like this. “If you think that because they offer their bodies to you on a platter that you have to pay for everything . . . you are not dating them. You are paying them for sex. It’s as clear as day. How don’t you see it?”

He twists his lips as we walk along, still not saying anything.

I wonder, Is that how things work with him? Does he get taken advantage of because he’s kind?

“Oh, I want to look in here.” He pulls me into a shop. “I’ll be quick.”

I glance up at the sign above the door.

PHONE WORLD.

“Hello,” he says to the shop attendant.

“Hi.”

“Do you repair screens for . . .” He quickly looks through his photos on his phone and then holds it up to show him. “This phone?”

The guy narrows his eyes as he studies the picture. He screws up his face. “No, no, too old. Can’t get parts,” he says in a heavy Spanish accent.

“Oh.” Christopher’s face falls.

“Who has that phone?” I ask.

“Eduardo.”

“Who?” I frown.

“The kid from the bar.”

“Oh . . .” How does he even know that?

Christopher looks through the glass cabinet at all the new phones. “How much is this one?”

I frown. What’s he doing?

“Nineteen hundred euros.”

Christopher winces. “Ouch.”

I tap him on the leg. He doesn’t have the money for this. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

“He saved for two years for his phone,” he whispers. “I broke it.”

“How?”

“He dropped it when I passed it back to him.”

I try to make him feel better. “Then you didn’t break it.”

“Yeah, but I feel like shit. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He points to the phone through the glass. “I’ll take that one, please.”

“Okay.” The guy begins to bundle it up, and I look up at him in shock. He’s flat broke, and here he is buying a new phone for a kid he doesn’t even know.

“Chris,” I whisper. “You can’t afford this.”

“It’s okay, I’ll transfer it out of my savings,” he whispers. “I’ll get another job this week, don’t worry.”

But I do worry because I know that underneath all that player bullshit is a good, kind man . . . who people take advantage of.