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Summary
“Charles. Practically the same name as yours, just… French, I think,” he glances up.
“Nice, Chuck, is it? Okay. Well, want to buy me a drink?”
The audacity of this kid. He had balls. Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “Usually, it’s the other way around.”
“No, not this time,” Carlos grins back—Spanish, Charles briefly recognizes—but the man continues anyway, “I just thought you weren’t getting any. I mean, I’m sure your friends aren’t either, so I can…”
Charles is definitely not making a mistake when he lets this arrangement with some random guy go on further than intended. Definitely not.
