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“Why those two cities?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know. I had traveled to France, once, with Jake, to visit his grandparents.
“Simple, the people,” he chirped confidently.
“Okay, I like that…the people.”
“Be right back with that margarita,” he said, walking away.
He returned with my drink and a book. I took one sip, the tequila making its presence known in my mouth. “Whoa, nice job. Take this, please,” I said, handing him a hundred-dollar bill. That’s the part about having money I like the most, besides taking beautiful women out to dinner—being able to hand people who are working every day an excellent tip. I had dreamed about that when I didn’t have anything. I wanted to be the guy who took good care of the people who made me smile, especially the folks who might not dig the job they have but made an effort.
“Thank you, sir, or Mr. Bradshaw,” he stammered.
“It’s Dwayne to you, mister?” I stood, extending my hand to his and offering him a big smile.
“Ben here, not as cool as ‘sticky fingers’ but…”
“Cool enough, Ben.” I sat back down as he asked me to sign his wallet, then said every time he took it out, he’d remember my ball skills, but mostly my generosity. Damn, this kid was making my day. Then he handed me a book—the front cover had a green, white, and red flag in the forefront with foliage-covered mountains in the background.
“That’s for you. I just bought it because I was thinking about taking a couple of months off to travel through Mexico, but I can get another one easily. My friend works at the local bookshop. It’s an awesome book about Mexico’s history and culture. Also, there are several feature articles about locally owned businesses. I highly recommend skipping all the resorts Americans usually go to and head to Mexico City. You would seriously love it. It’s the oldest capital in the Americas, and it’s pretty safe. There may be some petty crime, but in general the people are so hospitable. I wrote my Insta on the inside cover. I mostly post pictures from my travels, best places to eat on a budget, where the hot people hang out…that kind of thing.”
I chuckled. “Kind of a road map for single guys traveling?”
A big grin spread across his red cheeks. “Well, I highlight where the hot guys hang out, too. I’m kind of an equal opportunity fun guy,” he added, his eyes on me as if waiting for a reaction.
I shrugged my shoulders just a bit. "Makes it easier, whoever you click with. Thanks for this. I’ll look it over, but are you sure?”
“Oh yeah, I’ll follow you on Instagram, and if you ever need travel advice, contact me. I usually focus on the cheap places, but my mom’s one of those high-end travel agents, so I can hook you up.”
“Thanks.”
“I have to close down the bar now. Are you good, or can I get you another one for later?”
“That would be great.” As he stepped away, I opened the book, expecting it to be filled with pictures, but it was almost all print, some maps and a few photos. Fuck, nothing but words, pretty much useless to me. He set a second double tequila margarita down on the table, I thanked him again, shook his hand, and watched him pack up the portable bar, rolling it through the back door.
Then, I heard the clicking of heels from above me. Curious, I looked up to see a woman wearing a pencil skirt, suit jacket, and high heels with shiny black hair fixed in one of those old-fashioned up-dos, I guess I would call it a chignon. Her back was to me, and she shifted her hips back and forth like she was trying to steady herself. I thought she must have been leaning against the wrought iron railing. I was pretty sure, because of the shuffling of her feet and the way she was breathing, that she had been spying on me, listening to my conversation with Ben. When I’d twisted to look up to her, she must have turned away so that I wouldn’t be able to see her face. From behind, she looked like a woman from a different era, like a proper schoolteacher or secretary you would see in an old movie.
“What are you reading?” I shouted, my head back against the couch, eyes focused upward. I saw her back stiffen, and she turned just slightly enough for me to see she was holding a large book, one that looked like some kind of encyclopedia. This place had a bunch of old-fashioned, leather-bound books stacking the shelves. When she didn’t turn around, I yelled up again, “So, did you learn anything interesting while you were eavesdropping?” I let a huge-ass grin take over my face, waiting for her to turn around. “Yeah, you, pretty librarian.” I was taking out my edginess on a woman I’d never met.
“No, no, I, I…” Her words spit out wrapped in the most adorable accent—something Latin, but I had no idea where it was from. Swirling around with that big book in her hand, holding it over the rail as she peered down, she replied: “No, no, I wasn’t spying, no, I just overheard.” Her bold red lips were forming into an O as she frantically tried to explain.
I tugged on the collar of my leather jacket, staring up at her. Man, she was one hot secretary in that super buttoned-up way. I wanted to unbutton it. “I get it. My dashing good looks distracted you from your evening reading. It happens.” I chuckled, my head still bent back, staring up at her.
She giggled. I swear even her soft laugh had an accent. Then she let out a shriek, “Oh no,” but before I could see why, that damn big-ass book dropped from her hands, landing smack on my face. My face!
“Shit, shit,” I yelled, the clickety-clack of her heels running down the steps mixing with her screaming, “No, no, no, no.”
The book's spine hit my nose, bouncing off my face to the floor. I felt the warm liquid on my lip, my tongue touching it, tasting blood, my freaking blood, making me bend forward. Shit, did I just get a bloody nose from a goddamn book? I hate books. I cupped my hand over my nose, then tipped my head back. I’d had enough bloody noses in my life to know what to do. Could this day get any worse?
Then I heard her panting, “Oh no, oh no, I’ll be right back.”
“Just get me a napkin. It’s fine, I’ve had a million bloody noses, I play football…”
I heard the shuffling of her shoes as if she were scurrying away, probably grossed out. If I weren’t so pissed at Jake, I’d have texted him. His last text to me had been, going upstairs to call Rakell, open to chat anytime. I almost picked up my phone and wrote, get your ass off the phone with your love, and help my damn ass, but I wasn’t sure if I could stomach his humor right now.
I needed to figure out what to do. How was I going to get the hell out of here and walk through the lobby with blood running down my fucking face without folks noticing? “Thanks, bunches, Chica,” I grumbled, my eyes shut, putting pressure on my nose.
“That’s not appropriate. Do not call me Chica,” she said flatly with an air to her tone that sounded like perhaps she thought I was a buffoon, which further sparked a bit of irritation in me since, essentially, she’d just slung a huge book directly at my face.
I kept my hand over my nose, peeking open my eyes as she knelt on the couch beside me, bracing herself with one hand leaning toward my face. Her large, round, black eyes were between shock and concern, her full lips pursed, her expression tight and pained. “You are injured,” she stated, placing wet brownish paper towels, the kind you find in a school bathroom, over my nose, between my eyes.
