That’s the exact problem. Twenty-fucking-five.
“Okay. Well, you look a little younger.”
“And how old are you? Given your musical taste, I’d guess around fifty-three…but from your looks, I’d put you at twenty-eight.”
“Close enough. Twenty-nine.”
A waiter brought our appetizers over to the table. Carter had ordered a medley of fried mozzarella sticks, Buffalo wings, and egg rolls.
My stomach growled. “It’s a good thing I’m not on a diet.”
“Yeah. They don’t really have much else that’s any good here. Everything fried tastes good.”
I noticed that he hadn’t ordered a beverage. “You’re not drinking?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“If you tell me what your dilemma is, I’ll tell you why I can’t drink.”
Grabbing a fried cheese stick, I changed the subject. “There’s no time to get into it. Right now, I really just need to make a decision about where I’m going. What about you? Where are you headed?”
“Hang on.” He ignored my question, instead pulling out his phone and began to scroll.
“What are you doing?”
“This is a full list of international flights that are departing in the next three hours.” He pointed the screen in my direction.
I took the phone. “Okay…Madrid. Iberia Airlines, 8:55.”
“You don’t want to go to Spain.”
“Why?”
“It’s July. Super hot there. You’ll sweat your ass off. And you can’t take off your shirt, because you’re not wearing a bra.”
Feeling flush, I looked back down at the list. “Okay…um…what about Mexico? American Airlines, 10:20.”
“No.”
“No?”
“The new norovirus that’s going around.”
“The what?”
“Jesus, woman. Don’t you watch the news?”
“No. It’s too depressing.”
“Just trust me. You want to avoid the food there right now.”
“Alright. What about Amsterdam? KLM, 9:45.”
“I don’t think that’s a good choice for you. Prostitution is legal there. You walk around the city with no bra, you could get mistaken for something you’re not.”
My eyes widened. “You think I could be mistaken for a whore?”