Tourist Trap

by Morgan Elizabeth

The woman smiles, and looking back, I realize that was the moment where I became completely and truly fucked, because that smile stops my irritation in its tracks, intrigue and an unnamed warmth taking its place.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and I take a bite out of my cereal in the meantime because soggy cereal is a crime against humanity.

I am, in fact, so fucked.

The world needs more Claires in it. That one, she responds to too quickly. Even yours? I don’t answer for a long time, trying to figure out just what to say, how to respond, if I should respond. Then I realize I have to get back to the shop, so I type a response without thinking too hard and hit send. Especially mine.

I leave six different kinds of cereal in brightly-colored boxes on the counter, and the Miles and Claire’s list of things to have fun on top. At the bottom, I added an item. Have a fun breakfast with Claire.

“Leave my emotional support water bottle out of this.” “Your emotional support water bottle?” “Yeah. I bring her everywhere. I feel naked without her.”

How very alpha male of you.”

A million thoughts run through my head, and more than one of them revolve around showing Claire just how much of a Neanderthal I can be by hefting her over my shoulder and carrying her out of here.

“Claire,” I say, reaching out and grabbing her free hand, tugging her toward me. Sam immediately drops his hand and steps back. Sam is an ass, a player, and a loser, but he’s not an idiot. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know she was yours.”

“Because you’re hurt,” I say simply, not wanting to dig into the deeper answer of because I’m starting to like you, and I can’t like you, but I also can’t change that, so here we are.

“I don’t see why not. It’s kind of my job, you know.”

So. Totally. Fucked.

“Excuse me, Brad, I gotta talk to my girl,” I say, putting a hand around her waist and tugging her away.

“Not anymore. Sorry, my girl’s just trying to prove a point, aren’t you, baby?”