“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?”

“An Italian restaurant. They’re looking for three staff members. I saw a sign on the window and went in, and he offered me it straightaway. I asked him about you and Hayden, and he said to bring you both and we can all trial.”

“Great.”

“We start tonight.”

“Tonight?” I frown. I had plans to sort my hungry dick out tonight. I’m walking around with a constant boner.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” I sigh. “Thanks.”

Looks like it’s more shower love for me. The thought is depressing.

I need my cock sucked.

I pick my T-shirt up and smell it as we walk along. “Did he wash this fucking T-shirt before he loaned it to me?”

“He said he washed it yesterday,” Hayden replies.

“What washing powder did he use, wet dog?”

“Probably too tight for laundry powder,” Basil says from up front.

I stop on the spot, horrified. “So, what . . . you don’t think he didn’t use powder?”

“I don’t know. He loaned you a plain black shirt that you needed for our trial tonight. He did you a favor,” Hayden huffs. “Stop being a princess.”

“I am not being a princess,” I snap. “I’m being hygienic. Does anyone around here know the fucking meaning of the word?”

Basil and Hayden roll their eyes at each other.

“I saw that,” I snap as I look up the long road. “Where is this restaurant, anyway? Bangkok?”

They stay silent and keep walking in front.

I wish.

Banging my cock sounds like a job I would actually want.

“Maybe I should be a gigolo?” I tell them. “Could kill two birds with one stone.”

Hayden rolls her eyes. “For someone who hates body odor as much as you, I imagine you would love all those dirty-smelling clients.”

I screw up my face in disgust. “Gross.”

She shrugs. “Just saying.”

“Yeah, well, don’t. I’m getting a bad visual right now.”

“What of, a smelly girl wanting you to go down on her for an hour?” She turns and smiles sweetly at me. “Sounds perfect. You should totally look into that.”

I wince. Just the thought roils my stomach.

“I would pick and choose my clients,” I reply. “Obviously.”

“Because hot girls pay for sex all the time,” Basil replies.

We keep walking and walking and walking . . .

“Where the fuck is this restaurant?” I huff. I glance at my phone. “Aren’t we supposed to be there like five minutes ago?”

“It’s up here. Five minutes late won’t matter.”

“Won’t matter?” I cry. “I hate late people,” I say as we walk along. “I’ve given a warning letter before for being five minutes late. Get here on time or get the fuck out.”

Hayden turns back to look at me, seemingly shocked. “To a schoolkid?”

“Oh . . .” Fuck, that’s right. I’m a teacher. “I take no shit from my kids.”

“Do you make them wear deodorant?” Basil asks.