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“Hardly. The average age of the population here is like sixty. Although you’d probably think the B-and-B owner is cute. He looks around our age. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a Michael Phelps-type body.”
Well, that right there had me perking up. Living vicariously through her and all that. “You don’t say?” I felt my slow grin start to stretch across my face. But the truth was it was all for show. I was pretty sure there was something physically wrong with me, as in my arousal switch had never kicked on.
Sure, I’d noticed plenty of attractive people, but I’d never felt any inkling of desire, no need to ever go out, to let a man touch me, kiss me. And I’d never told Darragh that. It was this secret I harbored, not because I was embarrassed, but because I really did think there had to be something wrong with me. What twenty-three-year-old had never felt the slightest flare of need and lust? What woman my age had never even kissed a man?
So yeah, I was good at acting like I was interested and wanting more details, but it was all very lackluster for me.
“Maybe I should make a trip to Scotland and put on my charm with the bed-and-breakfast boy. He’ll fall for my witty sense of humor and stunning good looks,” I teased.
Darragh snorted again, but then it turned into a laugh. “Yeah, he’s nice and all, but…” She shifted slightly and looked over at something out of the camera's view.
“What?”
She focused back on me and shrugged. “I don’t know. He just comes off as a little bit weird.”
I felt my brows pull low. “What do you mean ‘weird’? Like how?”
“I don’t know. I’m being stupid. He’s really nice. He’s not Scottish, but I’m not sure where he’s from. I can’t place his accent.”
“I’d comment on him being a sexy foreigner, but if he’s making your weird-radar go off…”
“No, no. He’s harmless. I’m sure it’s just different cultures, a language barrier, and me being in another country for the first time that things just seem weird. I’m probably the one who seems strange to him.”
I felt the worry that had been clawing up my back start to dissipate. I could imagine the culture shock Darragh was facing right now.
“But I’m actually going to brave socialization and eat dinner at one of those pubs.”
I sighed in mock jealousy. “Eat something exotic. Like haggis. Is that considered exotic?”
I furrowed my brow as I thought about the Scottish cuisine. “I don’t know, but try it anyway and report back to me.” I laughed when Darragh wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t know if I’m brave enough to jump right into the whole Scottish meals thing right now. I was thinking—hoping—I could get some fries and a cheeseburger first.”
“Okay, well, try it all for me. I’m living vicariously through you.”
We stayed on the video chat for another five minutes, although I could have stayed there all day. When the call ended and I tossed my cell back on the bedside table, I burrowed under the covers, closed my eyes, and prayed for sleep.
Maybe in my dreams I’d go on an exciting adventure and figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with my life.
2
Evelyn
If somebody would’ve looked at me as I made my way around to the tables of Bosco’s, the bar I waitressed at, they’d think I was some damn social butterfly. They’d see a confident girl with a carefree attitude, maybe even assuming I liked to party, always with a smile on my face. They’d think I was a hard-core extrovert for sure.
In truth, being around people drained me, not just mentally but also physically, emotionally. I hated it, much preferred to be isolated in my studio apartment and staring at the wall than tossing back shots with strangers. Darragh got that, because she was just like me in that regard.
So being a waitress at a busy bar in the city was like someone skinning me alive. I’d been working at Bosco's for a good chunk of time now, and before that, I waitressed at another bar. Same old path where my employment was concerned, especially when it came to the grabby male hands and sexual harassment.
Pasting on a faux smile for these drunken assholes who thought they had some kind of right to try to grope and slap at me with their big, meaty paws was like getting your teeth pulled without any anesthesia.
And then there was Ritchie, the owner of Bosco’s. I wanted to kick him in the balls more times than I could count because of his slimy gaze on me, his subtle manipulation, and his very clear sexual harassment he tried to cover up as “playful banter” between his coworkers.
Although I probably would have found another job easily enough, I wasn’t skilled enough to get something that I wasn’t already doing. And that was fending off the pricks at the bars. Besides, waitressing gave me good hours, the tips were incredible to help save toward schooling, and at the end of the day I had to think about my future and where I was going with it.
So here I was, five, sometimes six days a week, waitressing from six at night until two in the morning.
“Hey, darlin’.”
