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“Jackass.”
”Asno.”
“Bullshit.”
“Besteira.”
She looks at me expectantly and holds the phone close to my mouth. “Fuck,” I say loudly.
“Porra.”
“Bitch.”
“Cadela.”
“Damn.”
“Droga.”
“Dick.”
“Pênis.”
“Looks like some words are universal.” Quinn giggles.
We spend the next hour playing with Rafael until my phone rings. Bryce’s face pops up on the screen, and my heart starts to flutter.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Devon,” he sighs, “did you forget to call?”
“No, I was going to call before we started our movie. When we got here, we sort of got sidetracked.”
“Douche!” Quinn yells, and Rafael answers, “Ducha.”
“Who the hell is that?” Bryce practically growls.
I tell him about our new translator.
“Your parents confiscated your fake ID, so you’re forced to sit in your room and learn how to cuss in Portuguese? That’s a new one.”
“To be fair, we started out with key phrases in case we had to communicate with locals that don’t speak English. And my parents did not confiscate my ID. I’ll get it back.”
My parents have known about my ID since I went to college, never really caring. As soon as Nate and I turned eighteen, we’ve been able to drink in social situations. As long as I promised to always be careful and responsible, they’ve never questioned me having it. Quinn’s parents are equally as cool, but they all made us turn them over before we left the country.
He continues to laugh while talking, “I know you will, babe. It was a safety thing.”
“Well, the legal drinking age in Brazil is eighteen anyways.”
“Yes, but I’m hoping you’re so wrapped up with work that partying will be the last thing on your mind. I don’t like to think about what could happen down there.”
His voice changes to serious, and I know my protective Bryce is about to come out. “No need to worry. We’ve talked about this.”
“Can we eat something?” Quinn interrupts purposely, rubbing her stomach dramatically.
“Quinn’s hungry.”
“Call me before you go to bed. Don’t forget. Love you.” He hangs up, and my heart skips a beat. Will I always have this reaction to just his words?
