Page 66 of Only One Tour Bus

Because I was trying to enjoy my time with a coworker when our job rudely interfered.

“That’s not all Kev wants to enjoy.” Thomas leers.

“Shut up!” Kevin drunkenly punches his friend in the arm, almost knocking over the table in front of us. A pair of gobshites.

I slam my hands on the teetering table, more to steady it so it doesn’t make a giant mess that gets us banned from this establishment than to scold the drunks, but their eyes snap to me in surprise, anyway. Well, if it works. “What do you think you’re playing at? This isn’t your house.”

The boys look at each other, and then at Asha. She’s less than excited at the confrontation, and she’s slipped back into her people pleasing ways, a forced smile on her face to diffuse the tension at the table. “Everyone’s just having fun⁠—”

“Yeah, listen to her. We’re just having fun.” Thomas looks at me with victory in his eyes, like she was the judge of some sort of televised cooking contest and she declared his mousse was the best.

Only she’s clearly looking less than amused at his behavior and he’s not picking up on any of it. “But we are in a public place, and we can have fun and not be disruptive to others or a threat to furniture.”

It’s a mild rebuke, but it’s the most stern I’ve seen her toward her precious ducklings. I sit back and cross my arms. She’s got it, apparently. Must be a little of me rubbing off on her, even if it is the absolute minimum of what I would have said to them. And she’s nicer about it, too.

Her words have an effect on the boys, who don’t like being chastised by the fun parent at all. They mumble apologies and slink back into toward the bar to ply their charm on other women. Poor Parisian woman. Poor woman on this tour.

“You need a keeper,” I say. It shouldn’t be this hard to be firm with the guests. It’s one of my favorite parts after the history, actually.

“Are you applying for the job? I can’t pay very much.”

I recoil at the thought of following the overly cheerful woman around while she interacts with eejits. The amount of work that would involve would be staggering, to make sure they don’t hurt or annoy the naively optimistic woman. Not to mention that spending all that time with her is not good for my peace of mind. “No. I already have a job. For now, at the very least.”

Asha slumps. “I hate this part of the job. I’m not their mom; I don’t want to scold them.”

“But it is your job to look out for them. That’s what you told me, right? That means making sure they don’t get a bill for an expensive, antique French table. Or that they don’t wake up in a jail cell.”

“I guess. But I still don’t like to ruin anyone’s fun. I want them to live their best life, just a smidge less rambunctiously.”

I snort. “They’re fine. They’ve already moved on. A wee bit less rambunctiously, as well.” I indicate the bar area, where Kevin and Thomas are chatting up a pair of women who look more charmed at their banter. They must be French and unable to understand the slurring pair; there’s no other explanation.

Asha laughs, and I’m glad she’s back to being happy. “I think I should be offended at how easy I am to get over.”

“Did you want something with either of them?” I’m incredulous now.

“No.” The answer is immediate and comforting. I don’t think I can watch her flirt with Kevin and see him coming out of her room in the wee hours of the morning, for the rest of the trip.

Because of how unprofessional it would be, of course. Nothing else. Not because I want her.

“But still. I would appreciate a few more minutes of pouting before they’re on to new potential partners. Maybe just one full minute would be nice.”

“And a few longing glances? A diary entry about you? A sad poem they turn into an emo song?”

“I don’t think a sad look is asking too much!”

“Fair play. But I do think you need to start with a better class of man.”

She nods. “Hmm. I will consider that for the next tour fling I engage in.”

“Yeah—wait, what?”

She laughs at me again, a favorite activity for her, and grabs my hand. “Are you ready to call it a night? I think the children can entertain themselves for the rest of the night. Probably even better without Mom and Dad around.”

I wince in disgust. “For the last time, these are not my children. But yes, it’s getting late and I still have to prepare for tomorrow.” I allow her to pull me up, and then to the bar so we can say our goodbyes. Everyone sounds proper pissed, so I don’t know why we need to say bye. Not like they would notice.

She keeps hold of my hand out the door, then through the streets of Paris for the few blocks back to the hotel. She doesn’t let it go in the elevator, or when we get to our floor. Then we’re stopped in front of her door.

“Well, this is me.”