Page 57 of Only One Tour Bus

Must be Asha’s good influence.

The woman herself is running a wee bit late. Not late for the bus, which isn’t due for fifteen minutes, but late since tour guides should be down before anyone else.

I’m nodding at something James is saying (I’m not really paying attention; I hope I didn’t nod to something immoral), when Asha walks down the stairs.

Then I pay even less attention to James. Because she looks stunning. The dress she’s wearing today probably has some absurd pattern on it, but I’m not paying any attention to that. I am paying attention to how low-cut this dress is, revealing soft, large cleavage.

The group is as distracted as I am by her arrival. But not for the same reasons. I hope. They bloody better not be.

A chorus of greetings and well-wishes rise to greet her, and she smiles at everyone as a group while somehow making everyone feel greeted and appreciated.

“Good morning! I hope everyone had a great few days! I’m so sorry to have missed them.”

“We just hope you feel better!” Kevin says. Bloody kiss-ass.

“I am! I don’t have any more symptoms except for some lingering nasal congestion which will only make my French better. I just hope I didn’t get anyone sick.”

That’s charitable, since one of these germ factories got her sick in the first place, I’m sure of it.

“Laura’s going to pull up soon. She can’t wait out there forever, so we have to load the bus quickly. Let’s get ready,” I say to the group. I get a bunch of disappointed looks that I’m breaking up the reunion, but they came to see Europe, not to spend all their time in a lobby.

Even if I can understand the disappointment of having time with Asha interrupted.

Everyone gets in the bus and Asha and I stand in the front of it as we get going, explaining the plan for the day trip to Versailles.

“Today we’re visiting a royal residence and site of the French government during the seventeenth century, which grew from Louis XIII’s humble hunting lodge in 1623 to the luxurious and excessive château you know and love under Louis XIV, which could hold up to 5,000 people at one time.” Asha winks at me, and I know she wants credit for including facts I’m sure she thinks are boring. “Which means the château is big, to fit all those people. So big that the king ate cold meals since the kitchen was so far from the dining room. Don’t worry, another king solved that problem by building a kitchen in his rooms.” She can’t resist adding a fun fact.

“Marie Antionette had a quaint, three-story retreat on the property which included a secluded cave area which apparently had a moss bed. And two entrances. Maybe one for her and one for a lover,” I say, giving her a pointed look. See, I can be salacious, too.

When we’re done with the rest of the introduction, we turn off the mics and then both linger awkwardly in the front of the bus, not knowing where to sit. Are we sharing a bench seat? Should we keep to our own sides of the bus?

I take the coward’s way out and sit down first but scoot over to give her space if she wants to join me, leaving the choice up to her. If I wanted to put a good spin on this besides craven cowardice, I could say I’m leaving the choice up to her so as not to pressure her. I’m a modern-day knight in shining armor.

I could say that, if I knew it wasn’t cowardice. Cowardice to avoid the risk of rejection and her asking why I’m invading her seat.

Asha sets her backpack down in the seat across the aisle from me, and I stifle the disappointment that I tell myself I have no right to be feeling.

But then she drops down into the seat next to me.

“Did you see? Roshni and Camila are noticeably more affectionate and focused on each other than they were when we started this tour!” Asha whispers in my ear.

I don’t want to talk about someone else’s relationship. But I also like that Asha leaned in close to have this discussion, those breasts I was admiring earlier now pressed firmly against my arm. Sure, there’s two layers of clothing between us, but that doesn’t do as much to dampen the effect as I hoped. They’re still soft, and molded to my body.

And even though I don’t particularly like how out of control I feel around her, I also don’t want it to end. So I break my rules against interfering in others’ personal lives and lean in closer.

I grunt. “I guess a romantic Parisian dinner is hard to argue with.”

“We did this.” Asha holds her hand vertically between us, and I stare at it for a second before realizing she wants a high five. Or a moderate-height five, as the case were, so no one sees and asks what we’re celebrating.

I extend my own hand out and gently slap it against her much smaller one, keeping it there a few seconds longer than is strictly proper for the ritual.

She doesn’t know why I’m lingering; maybe we do things differently in Ireland. We don’t, but we could. I don’t know what her excuse is for staying in this high five with me, but I appreciate it either way.

She stays next to me for the rest of the ride, which is unfortunately too short. An hour after we left Paris, we’re pulling up to the golden gates of Versailles. Gates that are a reconstruction because the French people were so fed up with the excess they tore down the originals. Fair play, I would have been pissed, too.

Fecking rich gobshites. But with excellent taste.

“All right, everyone. There are some restrictions on where we can speak to you inside the palace since it gets so busy, which is why we did the overview of the château earlier in the bus. We have tickets for you all to explore on your own,” Asha says before letting anyone off. “Please grab one as you disembark.”