A fish swims toward us. I lift my feet out of the water, and West chuckles.
“It won’t eat you, you know.”
“I know. I just don’t want it touching my feet. Fish feel weird.” I lower my feet back into the water when the coast is clear. “I wonder if fish think that we feel weird,” I muse, putting my bottle to my lips.
“I don’t think fish think at all.”
“They have brains, right?”
“Yeah. But animals are programmed to think about two things—food and sex.”
“Just like you.” I laugh. “And also me. Actually, you’re more of the sex thinker, and I’m the food thinker.”
“And that’s why we make the perfect team.”
My heart swoops and dives. He doesn’t mean it that way. Stop getting carried away.
West has a swig of his beer, and I stare down at his feet in the water next to mine. So much bigger than my size fives.
“What shoe size do you take? Your feet are massive.”
“And you’re just realizing this now?”
“Yep. So, what size are you?”
“I’m a fourteen.”
“Are your sizes the same as my sizes?”
“What? Are we just making sizes up now?”
“No, your country and my country have different sizes. Well, I think they do. I’ve seen it on labels when I bought clothes before. UK and US sizing—also European, but that’s not relevant here.”
“Is any of it relevant?”
“Ooh, I should look it up.” I pull my phone from the back pocket of my shorts and open Google. I tap in the search bar and type US and UK shoe sizes.
A bunch of websites come up. I click on the first one.
“Oh, hey, so this is weird. So, men’s shoe sizes have a difference of a half-size, and for women, it’s two sizes. So, you’re a fourteen, which is a thirteen and a half in the UK. I’m a five in the UK, and I’d be a seven in the US.”
“Huh. Yeah. That is weird. And boring as fuck.”
“Piss off.” I playfully nudge his arm with mine, and he chuckles.
“So, what’re your plans when you get home?” he asks me, taking another drink of beer. “Aside from Googling useless facts and boring people with them.”
Cry over never seeing you again. Hate my life a little bit. Get a job I don’t want, so I can pay the bills. Find an apartment to rent.
I give him a look. “Well, I’ll keep doing that, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know … look for a job, I guess.” I blow out a breath. “I just really wish I didn’t have to go back home. At least, not yet anyway. I’m nowhere near ready to have to breathe the same air as my mother and the prick.”
“So, don’t go home.”
I laugh. “Did you hit your head? It’s not like I have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You could extend your vacation.”
“This place is expensive. And I don’t think I’d be able to just stay. You have to prebook and shit. I mean, I could afford another week. I do have money in savings. But it’s the money my grandparents left me. I figured I’d use it to buy a house one day. I don’t want to waste it.”
Also, being here without you would be boring. I’d be sad as fuck that you weren’t here, and I’d probably just spend my time moping. But of course, I don’t say that.
“What about going somewhere else?” he says.
“Like where?”
“The US.”
My heart sputters to a stop. I turn my head, and he’s staring at me.
“Baltimore, to be more specific,” he adds.
My mouth starts to feel dry. I have trouble swallowing.
“You can speak anytime now, if you want.” He’s smiling, but his voice sounds different.
“I, um … um … you mean, go there … with … you?”
He glances down to the water before looking back at me. “I can’t offer you more than I already have. I don’t do relationships, and that won’t ever change. But I do know that I’m not quite ready to stop what we’ve been doing either. You could come to the States with me. Stay at my place for a while. And when you’re ready to go back home, you can.”
Go with him to America? Is he really saying this right now, or am I hallucinating? I did have seafood at dinner. Maybe it was a dodgy prawn that did it.
“You could even spend time writing. I know it’s what you really want to do with your life. Maybe the change of scenery would even inspire a best seller for you.”