The bar is located right around the corner from our street, a short walk. Once inside, we grab a spot in the far corner, and order a bucket of beer that is quickly delivered to the table. La Jolla is a simple bar with red leather bench seats and wooden tables. Music is playing, but no one is dancing.
Hugo hands me a beer, and we start chatting. He’s a charmer and a very funny guy. I know he must be popular with the girls, especially with his creamy chocolate eyes begging to be noticed. He has a European bad-boy-rocker appeal going on, if that is such a thing. He makes sure I always have a beer in hand, and I have a feeling he has ulterior motives. Based on what Carlos said, I’m sure I’m correct in that assumption, but I’m grateful because the beer is helping me to relax.
I get the courag
