Page 36 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“What?” I grouch.
“Hurry up! I need to piss.”
“Piss over the balcony.” I swipe on another coat of mascara then bite my lip, contemplating whether he’d be the type to do just that, which I think he would, so quickly add, “No! Don’t! Use the toilet in the lobby instead.”
He groans and murmurs, “Fine,” and by the time I’m done, he still hasn’t returned, which only elevates my frustration with him. We need to go over more rules and boundaries.“Sleep with your mouth closed” a new one added to my list.
Not having the time nor patience to wait any longer, I say a quick goodbye to Mom before placing her in the safe with Mr. Snuffles as company, then I collect my bag and passport and head to the buffet restaurant for a quick breakfast.
The smell of pancakes, toast, and bacon heavily permeates the air as I dodge person after person rushing about with plates and bowls in hand, some of them lining up at food stations while others try to find empty tables.
“Holy cow!” I murmur. This place is busier than Times Square.
Making a dash for the coffee machine, desperate for my elixir of life, I scoot to a stop and wait in line for a short while before pouring a cup, and then I weave my way to one of the food stations to grab a bagel. My chances of finding an empty table seem slim, but I scan the room nonetheless, when Riley raises his hand and waves me over to where he’s seated.
Huh. So this is where he disappeared to.
I consider flipping him the bird but don’t, instead acknowledging him with a single head nod as I chart a path in his direction.
“Morning, sunshine.” He tips his mug to me, his twinkling blue eyes annoyingly wide and fresh.
I decide I no longer like them.
“It’s been morning for me since three-thirty when your hog call woke me up,” I say, sliding into the spare seat and releasing my plate onto the table with an intended clatter.
“Hog call?”
“Yes.”
“Wow! That’s insulting.”
“It’s meant to be.”
“Brutal.”
“That’s what happens when I’ve had little to no sleep.”
“Sorry.” He dips his head and sips from his mug. “Must’ve been the beer.”
“Good guess, Einstein, because I was nearly drunk off the fumes.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yes,” I grumble. “That bad.”
“Sorry,” he murmurs again.
His apology seems genuine, but it doesn’t change our dilemma. “You said you didn’t snore.”
“I don’t… usually.”
“Well, you did, and it’s a problem.” I spread cream cheese on my bagel and take a bite, mumbling, “I’m not spending the next few weeks with no sleep.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It won’t.”
