World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

10.0

THE FOLLOW

I only have one day to enjoy Rio before I have to flight to Manaus to watch the first England match but, as always, I’m way more excited about my beach day. I wake up super early to enjoy the sun as much as I can. I take a long run by the beach and I come back to the hotel to enjoy the pool and the Brazilian drinks.

The hotel bartender is way more than just hot and good looking. The guy is a freaking gift from Mother Nature to the human race but I’m not going to even try a move on him. These guys get paid to boost up the tourist’s hopes.

Tourist. I wonder why that bitch hasn’t followed me on Instagram yet. As soon as I finish my caipirinha, I’ll head to my room and I’ll leave my phone there because I’m sick of checking it every ten minutes to see if I get a follow request. No particular reason though. I just wanted to see if I could find the hottie’s profile in between his contacts. I wanted to see how the Irish douche looked like without a shirt.

I suddenly start laughing when I remember the Bubu thing. It is definitely annoying as hell but I can’t stop laughing. I was hoping he would try to contact me today so we could hang out during the afternoon. I’m enjoying my alone time but I can’t stand being the only guy who’s alone anymore. God, I wish I had good making friends skills.

“Hey, do you mind if I take this seat?” a random guy interrupts my thoughts.

“It would be better if you didn’t,” I answer without looking at him, “There’s a lot of empty seats over there. I’m using this one to put my stuff there.”

I don’t even check on his reaction and he is already walking away from me. Looks like the guy is alone as well. What a loser.

I already made up my mind. Next time someone approaches me I’ll do my best to get a new friend. I’m not going to waste my day there waiting for that tiny asshole to follow me on Instagram. He is not even that fun to hang out with. He is probably weeping over his blonde beauty ex.

“Hey,” I call the bartender, “Another caipirinha, please.”

A few minutes later, I have the drink on my hands. I take a long zip because I’m too sober to put up with this boredom. I stand up to freshen up inside of the pool and that’s when I realize I’m not as sober as I though I was. Damn, these drinks are strong.

“You are not kidding around with the alcohol, mate!” I let the bartender now.

“Don’t blame me, blame Rio,” he answers with the strongest Brazilian accent I’ve heard since I got here. The tourist would be chatting with him in Portuguese already I bet. What a talker.

I grab my phone again and open the Instagram app. Still no follow requests but that’s not the reason why I opened it anyways. I take a selfie and I make sure my body shows on the pic. That always earns me extra likes. I pick a filter and I think of a cool hashtag to add.

“Rio Mood,” I yell out loud when the sentence comes to my mind. Good one. I stand up again and this time I’m going to the pool for sure.

“Shit,” I curse because I drop half of my drink on myself during my attempt to maintain the balance.

“Someone needs to ease down on the caipirinhas,” a female British accent catches me unaware. The girl takes the sunglasses off and I spot a pair of very pretty eyes.

“We both do,” I answer when I see a couple of empty glasses right next to her. I check on her body and the girl looks really fine. It’s going to be super awkward when se tries to score me.