Davis
I thank my server as he sets a plate down next to my coffee, bringing me the delicious sustenance of a perfectly-cooked omelet and a heaping side of bacon. My best friend’s voice plays in my mind, lecturing me. ‘You’re in another country, Davis, you should be indulging in the culture. Try the food!’ He would tell me. He’d give me hell about not learning more of the language before coming, too. Sorry, old man, I’m hungover as shit and I really just want some damn eggs.
Speak of the devil, my phone pings with a text alert as if he’s been summoned.
Colt:How goes the research?
Me:Good. I’ll CC you on an email to Logan later with some ideas.
It’s not a total lie. Ihavebeen paying attention to what people seem to like, what I like, about the clubs here. The boozing and fucking are just something I can consider perks of the job right now, I guess.
It’s like my dick’s summer bonus.
Colt:That’s what I like to hear, Davis. Get back here and we’ll work up some plans.
Am I going to tell him that I’m staying another few days? Nah. Ask for forgiveness rather than permission, right? He can decide how pissed to be at me when he sees the shit I’ve come up with.
I flip my phone over to hide the screen and block out the outside world while I shovel my breakfast into my mouth, following with my coffee, which I drain in three large gulps. I drop a handful of cash on the table, more than enough to pay for the food and tip, and I head out of the hotel.
I have a lot of hours to pass until the clubs start to come alive, and while I could technically visit a few and do some daylight-hour research, I’d rather fuck around in the city instead.
I decide to travel on foot, working my way through a line of hotels, which I jot down a few notes about in my phone, along with a reminder to talk to Colt and the boys about opening one of our own. Maybe two. Easy way to make a shit ton of money, and we could incorporate our other businesses into it to really double – or triple – down on our already ridiculous profits.
It doesn’t take me more than a twenty minute walk to find a street market. There are dozens of rows of vendor tables, tightly packed together, most of which are brightly colored and loaded down with different trinkets and fabrics.
A lot of it looks handmade, and all of it is beautiful. I can hardly hear myself think over the noise of the crowd around me, everyone trying to talk over each other, both vendors and shoppers.
A particularly colorful table catches my eye and I step closer to look at the array of tapestries, braided jewelry and purses lining the table, which is topped with a multicolored blanket. I reach for a teal-and-orange tapestry, just a small little woven thing that has a bunch of little tassels dangling at the bottom, but my mom would like it. I don’t get to see hermuch outside of holidays anymore, so I like to send gifts every now and again to let her know I’m thinking of her.
“Uh, quando par...this thing?” I ask the vendor, holding up the tapestry. The woman behind the table looks at me like I’m a complete fucking idiot. Shit. “Quanto?” I correct myself.
She spreads out her fingers and says something to me that I don’t understand, I assume meaning that it’s five US bucks, so I reach into my wallet and pull out a couple of five hundred peso notes and hand them to her with a grateful nod.
“Gracias,” I tell her. “Buenos dios!”
“You just said ‘good god,’” A familiar voice flutters past me with a giggle.
Noelle sidles up next to me, browsing the same table I’m now desperate to get the fuck away from, because I probably insulted that woman with my butchering of the language that I know I should have learned more of before coming here. Colt really would never let me hear the end of it. I swear to god, I tried.
Noelle looks good as fuck. Her hair is damp and has a wave to it that tells me she just came from the beach, and her neon orange bikini top is covered only by a crocheted open-weave top.
The bombshell standing next to me reaches toward the table and pulls a bag toward her – white leather, covered in a vibrant medley of hand-embroidered flowers.
“What do you think?” She asks, striking a pose, puckering her lips at me.
“I think you ought to do the talking,” I say, inclining my head toward the vendor.
Noelle laughs, but turns to the woman and effortlessly asks her how much the bag costs. I can’t count past fucking three in Spanish, so I have no idea what number the woman says to her. I just see Noelle reaching into her tiny little shorts for her wallet, so I block the motion with my body and pull my own wallet out instead, grabbing another bunch of billsand handing it to the woman. She shakes her head, trying to refuse the cash.
“Tell her it’s for her,” I instruct Noelle.
“Sure,” she tells me with a smirk. Turning to the woman, she says, “Al estúpido no le faltará el dinero. Deberías tomarlo.” The vendor smiles at her as they share a laugh, and she finally takes the money from my hand.
“Thanks,” I say. “You from here?”
She laughs as we start walking together through the market. “No. Unlike you, apparently,Ipaid attention in Spanish class.”
Yeah, and I ditched it to get high in the bathroom.
