Page 4 of Sinful Escape

“Puppies,” a woman called.

“Not so grassy knolls,” one of the blokes yelled out.

I burst out laughing. “That’s a new one. Any more?”

“Udders,” a guy at the back with wavy blond hair and perfectly tanned skin hollered in an American accent.

“Milk monsters,” another man added.

“Ewww. Guys are gross. Right ladies?”

Laughing, the women agreed. Smiles beamed all around, including Roman.

“Conjoined humpbacks,” the guy with the almond eyes yelled.

“Oh, jeez, now we’re getting silly.” I pointed at him. “Alrighty, what’s your name, Mister?”

His gaze shifted to his mate and back to me. “Robert.”

“Robert, hmmm. I have a naughty corner right up the front of the bus next to me. It’ll have your name on it if you’re not careful.”

“Ahh, no thanks, I’ll pass.” He chuckled, and his mate clapped him on the back.

Nearly everyone was laughing. My Titty Titles game had broken the ice. Perfect.

This was one reason why I loved my job. My guests were like putty in my hands.

It was time to shift into work mode and start my thirtieth trip leading a Vacation Dreamz bus tour through Europe.

“All right, party animals,” I bellowed over the crowd. “Leave your luggage here and get your sexy asses onboard. Grab a seat and get comfy.”

The crowd slowly moved, and I greeted each person at the door, putting a name to a face as I went.

“Hi, I’m Mike.” The blond American introduced himself, and I marked off his name. He looked like he’d ridden here on a BMX bike. Mike rhymed with bike. That’s how I’ll remember his name.

“Hi, I’m Brett,” the next guest introduced himself.

He looked smart and innocent, like a teacher’s pet. Brett. Pet. That’s how I’d remember his name.

This was one of my special gifts. On the first day of every month, I met a new group of tourists. I only required one introduction to commit their names to memory.

My gift was a legacy from my childhood.

I went to nineteen schools in twelve years, so I was always the new kid. Remembering names and quickly assessing the classroom pecking order had been the key to my safety. And my sanity.

The tourists had absolutely no sense of urgency. It had taken me some time to accept that backpackers had their own speeds. Slow, when we had to get moving onto the bus. Fast, when they had to down a drink and order another before the bar closed. But I got it; they were on vacation. Time had a new meaning.

Time had a new meaning for me, too. Six months left on my work visa suddenly seemed very short.

I wasn’t ready to leave Europe.

Most of the female tourists looked at my eyes, but some, like the majority of the men, shot a quick glance down at my chest. It was like I was just a plank of wood with two attention-seeking melons emblazoned in neon lights.

Nobody ever seemed to notice my hands. Or my teeth. My red hair sometimes attracted attention, but that was a whole other story. As were my freckles.

A young woman paused before me, and with a beautiful smile, offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Sunny. I’m so pumped to be here.”

I was already jealous of her long golden hair and flawlessly tanned glowing skin. Sunny was like a ray of sunshine. Her name would be easy to remember.

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