His face did the universaloh, really?expression.
“Kidding!” she blurted. “Obviously! I don’t just strip in public! Well, except that one time in Playa del Torn with my sister. A dare. Parents found out. Disaster. Total disaster. Shit.”
He bit down on his lower lip, cheeks quivering as if he were holding back a laugh. “Riiight.”
“Anyway,” she said, prodding him in the pec—purely for emphasis, definitely not research—“you’d actually fill this top out, and then I’d have to hate you.”
His eyes dipped and snapped back up, face turning the color of a stop sign. She couldn’t help it. A smug thrill unspooled in her chest. Despite their bluster, Americans were adorably terrified of boobs.
“Uh… yeah,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. Neither of them moved, as if trapped in some invisible force field of awkward tension and body heat. Her brain screamed at her to say something smooth, something cool, something that didn’t betray the fact that her stomach was performing cartwheels. Instead, her mouth panicked.
“So you, um, do the bitey-sucky stuff too?”
His pupils flared, and he jerked back half a step. “I—sorry, what?”
“Mosquitoes and vectors and shit,” she said, waving her hand in a circle.
“Oh.” His shoulders drooped, though one eyebrow stayed lifted. “Vectors?”
“Yeah. Like work here? In Geneva?”
“Ah! No, just visiting. You?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding like a bobblehead, not answering anything.
He took a breath and offered his hand. “Well, I’m Nate.”
“Alle-er-Ella,” she said, shaking it. A zing shot up her arm, and she hoped it didn’t show on her face. “From Austria,” she added quickly.
He hadn’t asked, but his grin said he didn’t mind.
“Right. I’m from—”
“The US.”
He blinked. “Uh, yeah. The accent.”
“Also, the crew socks and sandals. And the, like, head.” She lifted her shoulders, a spark of mischief humming beneath her ribs.
“Okay, first of all,” he said, glancing down at his feet, “the socks-sandals look is a vibe where I’m from. And second, what’s wrong with my head?” He reached up to pat it, as if checking for hidden corners.
Allegra snort-laughed. “Nothing. It’s just…” She squinted at him, then mimed a box in the air. “Very Ken Doll, you know?”
“So, we’re profiling now? Footwear, skull shape.” He clutched his chest, mock-offended. “What’s next? You’re gonna tell me these shorts are too cargo-y for Europe?”
“Oh my God, they so are,” she giggled, gesturing at his thighs before realizing how that looked and yanking her hand back. “And your smile, too white. And your teeth, too many.”
“Too many teeth? What, do Austrians ration them?”
“Only the good ones,” she said, tapping her chin as if she were considering. “You must’ve stolen yours from a dental clinic.”
“Got me.” He flashed a grin again.
“See?” she said, pointing. “Perfect. It’s gross.”
“Alright, alright,” he conceded, holding up his palms. “But if we’re doing stereotypes, I bet you’ve got lederhosen hiding in your closet?”
“I do,” she said, deadpan. “They’re my formal judging attire.”
