Jay was still laying back on the bed, lost in Twitterland, when his belly growled as to scare the dead. Damn, he was frigging starving and Silvia was still in the shower. Enough waiting. He stretched out his arm and knocked on the bathroom door from the bed.

"Hey! I'm ordering dinner! What d'you fancy?" No answer, only the muffled murmur of the shower. "Hey! You there?" Crickets. He got up and opened the door, only enough to stick his head in. "Hey, what d'you wanna have for dinner?"

She replied right away, like him breaking into the bathroom while she was taking a shower was the most natural thing on earth.

"I'd kill for a steak with fries, if they have anything like that. And a garden salad. I need something fresh too."

Jay tilted his head. The cheap curtain hardly blurred her body. She was still under the warm rain, head down, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Okay. Wine?"

"A soda, please."

"Beer?"

"Later. A classic Coke or just tap water with dinner."

So carefree? Jay smirked. Did she think the curtain was thicker? "You got it."

Silvia heard the door click closed and shook her head. That brat! Coming into the bathroom like her little brother used to do when he was five! Good thing the curtain was dark and thick.

She washed her hair, hearing him talk on the phone. To order dinner first, and then with his brother, judging by his tone and his chuckles.

He was sprawled on the bed when she came out of the bathroom fully dressed, towels and laundry under her arm. His appreciative look took her aback.

"Clean Silvia, a pleasure to meet you," she said.

His lips pursed in a smile. "The pleasure's all mine."

It was the first time he saw her without her baggy winter clothes. Nothing out of this world, of course, but she looked better than in her traveler gear. Her dark hair framed the soft, pale face, pretty even without any makeup. She wore loose jeans and a flannel down to her thighs on a tank top, a black bandana wrapped around her neck to hide the bruises. Casual and comfy, never sexy.

She circled the bed to put her laundry in a plastic bag and went to the armchairs in the corner, to spread the towels near the heater. She wished he'd quit staring at her like that, 'cause it made her feel like a cockroach.

"You have some comments on your last Instagram post," he said, handing her the tablet with his eyes back down on his phone.

"Oh, thanks," she muttered, taking it.

She found the app open on her own profile with a different display. Had he been peeping into her feed? The comments on her silly selfie caught her attention. Rob and Juan had volunteered to pick her up at the airport in Buenos Aires. Great.

"Look at this!" said Jay then. "You're one year older than me almost to the date!"

Silvia looked up from her tablet, frowning. "What?"

Jay showed her something on his phone, flashing one of his bright, charming smiles. "You were born on December 26, 1984, Orwell girl. And I was on December 16, 1985. You're only 355 days older. Who knew!"

She squinted. 1985? "Wait. How old are you?"

Jay chuckled. He hadn't realize she was among the people that thought him way younger than he actually was.

"Thirty-three. I just told you: a year younger than you."

Her puzzled gawk made him laugh harder.

Silvia looked away, trying to process that the smoking hot kindergarten brat was actually a smoking hot consenting adult her age.

Jay saw her part her lips, about to speak. Instead, her frown became an all-out scowl as she glared down at her own hand, in the pocket of her jeans.

It came out with something small she recognized right away: the ring Pat had given her on her first night in town with him.

It seemed to burn her fingers.

She set her jaw and threw it away, sending it to clatter its way to hide under one of the armchairs. She approached the bed, grinding her teeth, and shot a warning look at Jay to keep him from asking anything. Then she snatched her cigarettes from the nightstand, dropped the tablet there and crossed the room in three firm strides, going to smoke before the window, her back turned to him.

Jay gave her a couple of minutes of complete silence, until he heard her shaky breathing grow closer to a muffled sob.

"By the way, I read your poem," he said in a casual tone.

She shrugged, still face to the window and the early nightfall. "No actual poetry, just random crap and clichés."

"Well, I liked it." He sat up and brought his bare feet down to the old rug. "So, what do we do to kill time until dinner?"

She nodded to the TV. Her age or her siblings', Jay did demand constant attention anyway.

"Forget it. Only old movies, wildlife documentaries and Sinclair news."

"Sinclair?" she repeated distractedly.

"They're further to the right than Fox News, too conservative for my Californian liberal guts."

"Oh," she muttered, watching the light retreat from the flooded fields around town.

"Wanna play cards?" asked Jay, coming to stand by her side and look out like her. "I'm good at poker."

Silvia forced a smile to shake her head.

"Wanna scream your lungs out and tear the furniture to pieces?"

She raised her eyebrows, like considering the idea.

"Jump out the window? Slice your wrists with a butter knife?"

She giggled under her breath.

"Wanna have sex?"

She laughed out loud, finally getting what he was doing.

"Hey! Rumor has it I'm good at it too."

She pushed him to the side softly, still laughing.

"Well, actually better. I think?"

How did he do it? He'd just rescued her from herself again! She couldn't stop laughing and headed his shoulder, trying to catch her breath.

"Oh, my, Jay, thanks! You just keep holding me up every time I'm about to crash."

Jay scoffed and threw an arm around her neck. "Good to hear my pride ain't bleeding for nothing."