Somebody to Like

9 - A Shoe In

**Amelie**

"Is that all you're bringing?"

I looked up from my phone to see Ace eyeing the backpack at my feet sceptically. His blue hair was in a tangled knot on top of his head. It was too haphazard to describe as a man bun, it looked more like a failed infant school craft project. I'm compelled to admit that he looked adorable, if you're into that kind of thing.

I half turned my back to him to flash the mini-pack on my back. It was composed of all manner of cunning compartments and could stash a surprisingly large quantity of my possessions. "And this as well."

He blinked at me in confusion.

"What? You're not convinced?"

"You're a female!" he burst out.

"What tipped you off? My tits?" It was fun to mess with him. He wasn't the first person who'd commented on my ability to pack light. On more than one occasion I'd had to help heft oversized bags laden with shoes into the inadequate luggage racks of trains. Why my university friends had found it necessary to pack a pair of shoes for every outfit and a minimum of eight different looks for a long weekend spent exploring art galleries I couldn't guess. The only thing that left me slightly peeved was Ace's assumption that over packing was a purely feminine trait. Dealing with my friend Justin's bags the weekend that he joined us on a trip to Paris was a Sisyphean task.

Of course the second I said the word tits Ace's thoughts were diverted from my packing prowess and his eyes dropped to my chest. It was the first time someone had checked them out since Gray had silently judged my spotted bra beneath my beer splashed shirt. I wasn't exactly sure if I wanted to preen or slap him. It wasn't that I wanted him to ogle my boobs it was just that it so rarely happened I felt that I should appreciate the times that it did. My boobs weren't big but it was my opinion that small as they were, they were perfectly formed. I was proud of my boobs and sometimes it was good to know someone had noticed my tidy rack among the plethora of push-up bras and boob jobs that seemed to be the norm these days.

Still I needed to start as I meant to continue. I snapped my fingers. "Hey! Marge Simpson, my eyes are up here!"

Ace blinked rapidly and tore his eyes away from my, very appreciative, boobs. "Marge Simpson?"

"All that blue hair piled up on your head? Who else could you be?" I smirked.

"Har, hardy har. You're hilarious." Ace rolled his grey eyes. "Personally I think I'm more of a Patty."

"Smoking'll kill you." I grinned at him. It was impossible not to smile at Ace, something about him just made your lips twitch.

He pushed at the gate to the secure carpark and as it swung open he stepped through. "Are you coming?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I was waiting for Lucy?" Why was that even a question? I was waiting for Lucy, no question about it. Kim had offered me a ride with her, Van and the baby but I'd declined. It seemed she and Van had enough to deal with organising themselves and all the stuff a baby required without having to plan for me as well.

"Yeah, how about no. There's no need for you to hang around until Lucy and Bas manage to drag themselves out from between the sheets. Come on, the drivers are here, I'll show you the bus." Ace tipped his head in the direction of the two silver behemoths parked side by side in the middle of the carpark. To say I was intrigued would be an understatement. I'd heard rave reviews about the tour bus from Kim. She had some kind of strange fascination with them. I was prepared to be underwhelmed to be honest. As a child I'd been sent on holiday with one of my father's cousins. In a caravan. To North Wales. My previous experience of compact living hadn't left me with high expectations.