I reached for the warm pita bread while waiting for our mountain of kebabs to arrive. We had burned through all the alcohol on the flight over, but we still had storm rider metabolisms. Jack and Anna Maria did the same, but Nat was looking at my phone. I had just buttered some pita when Nat swore.
“You son of a bitch, Jack.”
“What?” he asked around a mouthful of pita.
“Amsterdam’s Red Light District? You’re going to get it on with a hooker after we eat?”
“Okay, first, the whole area stays open late. Two, what do you care what I have for dessert?”
“You weren’t talking about the baklava?” I said around my own pita.
“Why not both?” he said.
“You know we really do have a problem to take care of. I get taking a short break to get our bearings, but you whoring it up is not what I—”
She cut off as my phone rang.
“It’s Kate,” she said, then answered it.”
“Don’t invite her, she’s a total buzzkill,” Jack said.
Nat turned away, listening intently.
“You’re okay with this?” I asked Anna Maria.
“Joaquim and I have only the most casual affairs anymore. I strongly suspect one of the reasons he wished to trade regions was to enjoy the bikini season along the Mediterranean.”
“Guilty,” Jack said.
“Yes!” Nat said triumphantly, hanging up. “Dessert is off. We need to get back to the States. Kate may have found the cure.”
“Fuck!” Jack said. “Knew she was a buzzkill.”