Page 31 of Only One Tour Bus

Callum and I order actual dinner entrees, while everyone else is more concerned with the beers on tap and the special cocktails on offer. But I see some of them munching on those table fries, so I consider it a success and order some waters for the table, too.

Might as well go full mom.

The dedicated group drinks—and eats fries—while taking pictures with almost every decoration in this historic pub. I help by pointing out the best photo backgrounds and taking the photos for them, too. And even shoving the camera at Callum a few times when they want one with me.

He obliges with a roll of his eyes that is almost disguised in the low light of the pub.

I’m almost free (the other perk with this pub is that it closes at a nice, reasonable eleven o’clock) when I see a very unwelcome sight. “Oh, no.”

Callum picks up on my discomfort and his eyes follow mine to the entrance of the pub, where two very underage teenagers are walking into the room. Two underage teenagers who are on our tour.

“This feels like a family tour guide job.” I point at him. “Because all my tourists are legal and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in this scenario,” I whisper at Callum.

“Don’t be looking at me. I leave it up to the parents to watch their children, and I’m not usually out late enough to be caught in a situation like this. Really, you should be working on telling passengers no, so start now.”

“I’ll start tomorrow. And you still have more experience with kids than me.” I lightly shove at him.

“Again, only when their parents are around. There’s very little for me to do aside from telling them history and glaring when they text during one of my speeches or wander off to take photos.”

“We should tell them to go back to the hotel, at least. Right?” I don’t want to be that much of a buzzkill for the youth, but this is my job. And London is known for its rigorous ID checking. They should have tried this in Edinburgh. Wait, did they try this in Edinburgh? Seriously, where are their parents?

“We have no authority here,” Callum declares.

“What good is the word ‘leader’ in our job title if we have no authority? Let’s approach them. Maybe inspiration will strike on the way.” I stand up to do just that, but don’t move until Callum gets up, too. I’m not doing this alone.

“Are we sure we can’t let the bartender kick them out for us?”

“What if they have fake IDs and they get into trouble, drunk, later tonight? We saw them; anything that happens is on us.”

“They make their own bad decisions. And no one knows we saw them.” Callum tries to sit again, turning his eyes away with an ignorance-is-bliss attitude.

I grab his giant upper arms to stop the movement, enjoying the task more than I should when juveniles are being delinquent nearby. “We’re awkwardly whispering in a corner, looking more and more frantic. I think our group is going to know soon.” They’re already looking around to see what has us so distracted.

“Let’s go.” I slide my arm through one of Callum’s, so he can’t escape and leave me with this mess and wish I hadn’t taken the group up on that second cocktail. I could be in bed right now, watching QI reruns in my pajamas.

I tell myself I don’t have time to enjoy the feel of Callum’s body against mine right now, but my mind tells me it’s going to multitask and half my brain power is gone in an instant, focusing on horniness.

This is not the best frame of mind to lecture some teenagers on morality, but it’s the hand I’m dealt right now.

I open strongly. “Hello, youths.”

They roll their eyes at me, so I’m not passing for a cool adult. There goes that dream.

“What’s up?” I try for casual, in case there’s a little chance I can still swing it.

“Do your parents know where you are?” Callum goes more straight to the point.

“Callum, you’re being so uncool.” I laugh and smack him lightly on the arm. “But. Um. Do they?”

“I told my parents I was getting some food,” Virginia says.

“I told my parents I was going for a walk,” Jack says.

“Cool, cool, cool. The only thing is pubs, especially in London, have strict rules about teens and drinking, or whatever. You know. The man sucks. Down with the man.” Why can’t I stop talking?

“The man?” Callum repeats after me.

“I stand by it,” I say.