Chapter 7

"I think they're looking at us." I turn to look at several laughing men at the next table. Now we are in the Old Port in a small cobbled narrow alley not far from the medieval fortress walls, once built by the Italians on the shore of the bright blue Adriatic Sea.

Alana doesn't answer right away, she leans back, tilting her chin, "You mean them? Classic assholes, nothing special. Probably tourists like us."

Several guys at that stupid table are openly staring at Alana. One in a light summer shirt jokingly pushes the other under the rib with his elbow, "Go to her and ask her number! Keep it together, man!"

They laugh like drunk horses, and I feel very uncomfortable. What if he walks up now and asks for her number? What will she say? What will he say? Damn! Maybe everything will be alright, and they’ll simply forget about Alana, whom their intrusive presence does not bother at all. The woman is just neatly and insanely sexy eating pistachio ice cream in a waffle cone. It is already melting: from time to time, she wipes her lower lip with her thumb and licks it, not taking her eyes off me, and I feel wonderful and awkward under her dark bedroom eyes.

The one that is taller and more handsome (probably?) finally gets up and heads to us. How I wish I could take Alana in my arms like a tall, strong prince and drag her away from this young man, away from all prying eyes. What will she tell him?

"Heyyy," he greets us unpleasantly, "I couldn't help but notice that you are super bored of hanging around with your bestie, why not change her to someone you can really have fun with?"
Somehow, he isn’t looking at Alana while talking. 

The girl's mood is clearly getting bad, and her countenance is blackening like a terrible thunder cloud, and when he winks at me... she slowly and threateningly stands up, approaching him perilously close.