Page 3 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“You survived your first week and didn’t burn the place down!”
“The day’s not over yet.” I smirk.
The bartender slides me a beer, and I raise it in a silent toast then take a swig.
“Can we backtrack to the decision where you spontaneously flew to Italy and I wasn’t invited to be your morally corrupt plus-one?”
“Trust me, Spontaneous Katie is having major regrets. This trip is a disaster. My tour guide keeps changing the itinerary for ‘authentic moments’ and ‘true Italian experiences.’”
She flips the camera to the window, and there it is—the Italian countryside in all its dreamy, rollingglory, blurring past.
“I’m on a bus headed to Tuscany today,” she continues, her voice rising over the background noise. “The windows are smudged, it smells like someone died in here, and the guy behind me is eating tuna.”
“Hold up—pan back to the front of the bus.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanna see this menace who dares to disrespect your schedule. And maybe judge how tight his pants are.”
Katie rotates her phone with an exasperated sigh. The Italian Stallion turns toward the camera as if heknowshe’s being watched.Holy mother of thirst traps.He’s gesturing passionately about something, his smile flashing white against olive skin, and my God he has perfectly tousled dark hair.
“That’s Matteo. The bane of my itinerary’s existence.”
“You don’t have to like the guy to have sex with him.”
Katie’s cheeks flush pink. “No thanks. I’m here to see art and architecture, not hook up with some wannabe Casanova who’s got a different tourist warming his sheets in every city.”
“That just means he’s had plenty of practice. Experience is never a bad thing when it comes to orgasms.”
“Oh my God, Petra!”
Cam’s face pops up on screen, splitting our call into thirds. Her rich chestnut hair is yanked back in a messy ponytail, secured with one of her signature scrunchies. Behind her…Is that a palm tree? Indoors? And why are there vines all over the ceiling?
“¡Ay, Dios mío!I am so sorry I totally lost track of time filming,” she says.
“Um… Cam?” I blink. “Are you calling us from inside a sex-themed Rainforest Cafe?”
She exhales like a woman who’s aged ten years in two days. “Yeah. No. Kinda. This room has no walls. None. What itdoeshave is ambient jungle sounds, a spinning bed, and a scent that makes me feel like I’m being seduced by a piña colada.”
Katie squints. “Wait—is that asex swing?”
“Don’t ask,” Cam mutters. “If I had known fake-dating my boss included sharing a bed in the Love Den, I never would’ve gotten on the plane to Hawaii.”
Poor Cam. Two years as the videographer for Reece Dare, the internet’s favorite daredevil-turned-lifestyle-brand, and all she has to show for it is an impressive collection of stress headaches. The guy is YouTube-famous for jumping off buildings and eating ghost peppers, but from what Cam tells us, he’s a brooding asshole with control issues and no amount of washboard abs can make up for his personality.
“Catch me up! Have you handed out any well-deserved smackdowns at work yet?” Cam asks.
“There’s been violence, but not the kind I prefer. Monday, I drenched the quarterly reports in coffee. Tuesday, I broke the printer twice and caused a system meltdown trying to hide it. Wednesday, I called a board memberDickinstead ofRonald. Thursday, I answered my brother’s phone with,Broken Bottle. Drink responsibly, tip recklessly,because my brain was stuck in bartending mode.”
Cam is cry-laughing. Katie looks like she’s buffering.
“You’re both thinking it, so I’ll just say it. I am thriving.” I wink.
Katie takes a steadying breath. “I could make you a binder to keep your tasks more organized. Step-by-step procedures—”
“No thanks,” I say, cutting her off. “I’m sticking with my proven strategy of not writing shit down and seeing whathappens. The deal I made with my brother is to work for him this summer to get my college money. He never said I had to begoodat it.”
“So you’re still working the bartending gig?” Cam asks.
