Almost like they were the magic words, she gave me a bright smile and started walking toward the end of the bar where the hatch was for us to get out. “Well, keep up, chop-chop.”
The door that led down to the basement was just beside the bar, so we were down there staring at them in no time.
“Which one’s need changed?”
Looking at the ceiling above us, I mentally plotted out where the beer taps were on the bar. “The two right above us.”
“That makes it easy then,” she chuckled and moved over to the empty barrels. “We’ll detach the hoses from these, move them over to where the empty ones are waiting to be collected during the next delivery, and then scoot two from over there into place.”
Watching her work, I was amazed at how easy she made it look. “Have you done this before?”
“Legal drinking age is eighteen in the UK, babe. I was working in a pub the day after my birthday. Actually,” she muttered, “I was drinking in the same pub for two years before that because I looked older than I was, so when I applied for a job, and they saw my birthdate, there was a wee bit of confusion.”
“I can’t believe they let you drink so young there,” I told her, taking the empty barrel away from her and moving it over to where the empties went. “What do you think about us having to be twenty-one here?”
Shrugging, she deftly detached the last barrel and picked it up. “I don’t really think about it, to be honest. Different folks, different strokes—different countries, different laws. It’s like guns. What you lot are okay with is up to you.”
“I like that about you, Sadie. You’re like a diplomat.”
Both of us walked back over to take a handle each of the full barrel. “I get picked on enough by people for the words I use and how I sound. I’m hardly likely to be a hypocrite and start harping on about how I think this country should run, now, am I?”
Meeting her eyes, I nodded. “Okay, we lift it on the count of three.”
“No, we start scooting it across the floor on the count of three. If we lift it, we’ll end up pulling something in our backs.”
So, on the count of three, we started doing a scooting roll with the barrel, and I realized how right she was. If we’d picked it up, I’d have been screaming for medical assistance.
We’d just given it a more forceful heave when there was a loud popping noise that echoed off the enclosed space around us, making both of us drop the barrel at the same time.
Searching around us for the source of it, Sadie looked at me in panic. “What the shit was that?”
“I have no idea?”
Looking down at my chest her eyes widened, making me look down too. “You didn’t pop a tit, did you?”
“Pop a what?”
“One of your boobie balloons, did you pop it?”
Reaching up, I gave both a prod, not noticing anything different. “I think I’d have felt it, wouldn’t I?”
“I haven’t got a clue, mate. I mean, when you’re blowing up a balloon and it explodes in your face, you feel that, don’t you? So maybe it’s the same with your dirty balloons?”
Wanting to get back up to the bar to ask Parker about it, I pointed over at the abandoned barrel. “We should probably get that in place before customers turn up.”
So, we got back to work, but the topic of conversation was based purely on boobies now.
“How’s the area after the hot tea accident?” she asked as she did something with a rubber hammer and whatever else she’d grabbed to put the hose into the barrel. Some of them had a screw type thing on them that were easy, the others needed to be hammered in, it just depended on the brand of beer.
“Healed. It was just a small burn, but Parker went over the top treating it.” And that still made me smile. It was the little things, I guess.
“Can hot water hitting your tit melt your implant?”
“I don’t think so?” I hadn’t ever thought about it.
“What about the sun? If you leave a can in the sun, sometimes it explodes.”
I’d never thought about that either, but now that I was... Could that happen?
“Uhh...”
“Jesus F. Christ, they didn’t say anything about heating them up? You could be lying out one day, and poof, your tits are gonzo,” she shouted, throwing her arms up in the air. Thankfully she managed to keep her hold on the rubber hammer because that shit looked like it’d hurt if it hit you. I didn’t want to test the theory.
That said, what she’d just said about the sun wasn’t making me feel better about this new concern about my implants exploding because of heat.