: Chapter 8

The sound of a door slamming out in the corridor wakes me up, and I rub my eyes.

Someone is in bed with me, his body snuggled up against mine from behind, and by the heavenly smell of him, I know exactly who it is. “Why are you in my bed?” I whisper huskily.

“Shh, less talking, more sleeping,” he murmurs with his eyes closed.

We doze back off as we spoon, and I must admit, the close physical contact with someone is nice. I haven’t had a hug since I got here a week ago.

I hear movement. “Oh no,” Bernadette gasps. “You said no hanky-panky with roommates.” She looks down from her top bunk at Christopher and me.

Ugh . . .

Christopher stirs. “This is sleeping, Bernadette. No hanky-panky.”

“Oh,” she says as if relieved. “You could have slept with me.”

“Help,” he whispers as he pulls me closer into his arms, and I smirk.

“He will sleep with you tomorrow night, Bernie,” I reply.

He pinches me under the cover, and I giggle.

We keep lying in each other’s arms, and he snuggles in closer. His big arm is around my waist, and our bodies and bare legs are up against one another’s.

“Look who’s all sated and cuddly,” I whisper. “I’m guessing last night went well?”

“Shh.” He cuddles me closer. “You’re getting annoying now.”

I giggle.

His phone beeps a message, and he rolls onto his back to check it. “Hmm.” He hums as he reads it. “Finally.”

“What?”

He rolls me over and pulls me onto his chest. His arm is around my shoulders. “My new card is at the bank.”

Hmm, I’m still half-asleep.

“Come with me to go get it?”

“No.”

“Will you two shut up,” Bodie snaps. “People are trying to fucking sleep here.”

“I’m one of them.” I bump my forehead into Christopher’s, and I feel him smile above me.

He tries to sweeten the deal. “If you come with me, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Hmm.” I bring my hand up to his chest and notice the dark hair on it. “What are we eating on your budget, 2 Minute Noodles?”

“What’s that?”

I frown as I look up at his face. “2 Minute Noodles?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Everyone knows what fucking 2 Minute Noodles are,” Bodie replies from his top bunk.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Christopher says to him.

“Some fucker is waking me up with dumb questions about 2 Minute Noodles.”

Christopher chuckles, and he mindlessly runs his fingers up my arm. “Come on, Grumps, come with me.”

“Hmm, I don’t feel like it.” I screw up my face. “I’m tired and hungover.”

“Me too.” He sits up. “Come on.”

“Why can’t you go alone?”

“Why would I want to go alone when I have you as a personal bodyguard?”

“Call your chickie birds from last night,” I reply dryly, my eyes still closed. “They’ll go.”

“I’m not hanging out with them,” he says as if disgusted by the suggestion. He gets out of bed. “When we get back, Basil and I are going to do our washing. Aren’t we, Baz?”

“Fuck off,” Basil grumbles from under his pillow. “Who thinks of this shit first thing in the morning? I’ve never met someone who is so horny over soap. I’m not washing clothes; I washed them last week.”

“You wash everything each time it’s worn.”

“Who does that?” Basil scoffs.

“Men who get laid, that’s who.”

I can’t hide my smile. How is this man so endearing? I should hate everything about him. “Speaking of soap, I need to shower.”

Christopher holds his arm out toward the door. “Your five-star spa is ready and waiting.”

I giggle. The shitty dorm-style bathroom is definitely not ready or waiting.

“I’ll get our things from the lockers,” he offers.

“Fine . . .” I sigh.

He disappears out into the corridor, and I smile goofily up at the bed above me.

“I hate how he’s all perky in the morning,” Bernadette says.

“That’s because he got tag teamed last night by two stunners,” Kimberly replies.

I get a vision of him rolling around in the sheets with those two girls, and my face falls.

Jealousy twists in my stomach. I wonder, will he see them again?

Of course he will . . . this is who he is.

Stop it.

It’s not like that between us, I remind myself. He can do whatever he wants to whoever he wants.

The door opens back up, and he sticks his head in the door. “Just checking you’re up.”

“My god,” I snap. “You’re so annoying.”

“We have to go soon.”

“Why?”

“Because I need food.”

“Aren’t we going out for lunch?”

“Breakfast too. You’re paying.” The door closes, and I smirk again.

Dick.

We stand at the side of the busy road. Traffic is whirling past.

Christopher looks left and then right, then left again. “Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me across the road.

“Where is the bank?” I ask.

“Just down here.” He holds his phone up and follows the map.

“How did you lose your card again?” I ask.

“Oh . . .” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

“How?”

He pulls me along by the hand. “Let’s just say I had an unpleasant zoo experience on my first night here.”

I frown as we walk. “What does that mean?”

“I went home with this girl, and when she undressed, she was so hairy that I thought I was with a gorilla, and I went in the bathroom to call my brother and freak out, and I left only to find out that she had stolen my card and wiped my bank account clean,” he blurts out in a rush.

I blink, horrified.

“I know.” He shakes his head.

“What’s wrong with hair on a woman?” I ask as I’m dragged along.

“Oh my god . . .” He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.”

“Well?”

He shrugs. “I don’t like it . . . and it’s my prerogative not to personally like it.”

“What?” I shriek. “What do you mean you don’t like it?”

“I mean, normal hair . . . fine. Never cut, never waxed . . . growing-a-vegetable-patch-down-your-legs-style, no fucking way.”

I giggle . . . jeez, that reminds me, I need a trim. Hmm, better buy some scissors.

Maybe a home wax kit?

We get to the bank, and he walks in and over to the counter. “Take a seat.” He gestures to the chair.

“I’ll come.” I stand beside him as he talks to the teller.

“Hello, I lost my card and ordered a new one. I got a text this morning to say it was here at this branch, ready to be collected,” he says.

“Okay.” She smiles. “Identification, please.”

He slides it over, and she enters the information into her computer. She waits, and then her eyebrows shoot up. As if surprised by something, she looks between him and the screen. “Mr. Miles?”

He cuts her off. “Yes. Card, please.”

“Just a minute.” She toddles off.

“What’s wrong with your account?” I whisper.

“She’s mortified by the lack of money in it,” he whispers back.

I giggle. “Aren’t we all.”

He gives me the side-eye.

“I am paying for breakfast, after all.” I widen my eyes at him.

He smiles. “This is true, you are.” He rolls his lips. “And then I’m buying you five-minute noodles for lunch.”

The lady comes back and begins to type on her computer again.

“It’s two,” I whisper.

“Two what?”

“Two-minute noodles.”

“Oh . . .” He nods. “Great marketing.”

I frown. “How?”

“Well, you instantly know what it is.”

“Not instantly,” I whisper. “Two minutes.”

He chuckles and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. The lady hands over his card. “Sign here, please.” He signs, and then she gives him another thing to sign. “Sign here.” She gives him a big smile. “That’s it. You two lovebirds have a great day.”

“Thanks.” He smiles. “We will.”

We walk out of the bank; his arm is still around me. And it’s not weird, and it’s not awkward. In fact it feels very natural to have him touch me. Which is weird in itself because I’m not regularly a touchy person.

Perhaps it’s because I know it’s just in friendship and nothing more.

We amble through the giant shopping district; my arm is linked through his. We’ve had the best day of all time. It’s late afternoon, and somehow Christopher and I have wasted hours and hours. We had breakfast, then we went shopping, and we both bought a book.

“I’m not sure what five-minute noodles taste like, but I’m sure our lunch was better,” Christopher says.

“It sure was.”

“You know”—he glances down at me—“that is the first time a woman has ever bought me lunch.”

“No . . .”

“True.”

I frown up at him. “Don’t you go to lunch dates?”

“All the time.”

“And you always buy the women lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I just do.”

I roll my eyes. “God, you must date some dummies.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Paying your own way is about self-respect.”

He frowns as he contemplates my words.

“It doesn’t matter if you are a beggar on the street or a millionaire; if a woman doesn’t ever offer to pay her own way, then she’s not with you for the right reasons.”

He raises his eyebrow as we walk along, remaining silent.

“Don’t you agree?” I ask him.

He offers an excuse. “But if one has more money than the other . . .”

“It doesn’t matter, Christopher,” I huff. I hate that these women would take advantage of him like this. “If you think that because they offer their bodies to you on a platter that you have to pay for everything . . . you are not dating them. You are paying them for sex. It’s as clear as day. How don’t you see it?”

He twists his lips as we walk along, still not saying anything.

I wonder, Is that how things work with him? Does he get taken advantage of because he’s kind?

“Oh, I want to look in here.” He pulls me into a shop. “I’ll be quick.”

I glance up at the sign above the door.

PHONE WORLD.

“Hello,” he says to the shop attendant.

“Hi.”

“Do you repair screens for . . .” He quickly looks through his photos on his phone and then holds it up to show him. “This phone?”

The guy narrows his eyes as he studies the picture. He screws up his face. “No, no, too old. Can’t get parts,” he says in a heavy Spanish accent.

“Oh.” Christopher’s face falls.

“Who has that phone?” I ask.

“Eduardo.”

“Who?” I frown.

“The kid from the bar.”

“Oh . . .” How does he even know that?

Christopher looks through the glass cabinet at all the new phones. “How much is this one?”

I frown. What’s he doing?

“Nineteen hundred euros.”

Christopher winces. “Ouch.”

I tap him on the leg. He doesn’t have the money for this. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

“He saved for two years for his phone,” he whispers. “I broke it.”

“How?”

“He dropped it when I passed it back to him.”

I try to make him feel better. “Then you didn’t break it.”

“Yeah, but I feel like shit. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He points to the phone through the glass. “I’ll take that one, please.”

“Okay.” The guy begins to bundle it up, and I look up at him in shock. He’s flat broke, and here he is buying a new phone for a kid he doesn’t even know.

“Chris,” I whisper. “You can’t afford this.”

“It’s okay, I’ll transfer it out of my savings,” he whispers. “I’ll get another job this week, don’t worry.”

But I do worry because I know that underneath all that player bullshit is a good, kind man . . . who people take advantage of.

He and the shop attendant go through the warranty and instructions. “I’ll wait outside,” I say.

“Okay.”

I walk out and hear someone call my name. “Hayden.”

I turn to see a guy I met last night. He’s staying at a backpackers’ hostel down the road from ours. “Hi, Zack.” We spoke for over an hour. He seems really nice.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He smiles.

“Really?” My stomach does a little flip.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Waiting for my friend, my roommate. He’s buying a phone.”

“Oh, right.” He smiles over at me.

I smile right back as the air crackles between us.

Christopher walks out the door with his phone in a shopping bag. He looks between Zack and me.

I introduce them. “Christopher, this is Zack.”

“Hello,” he says as they shake hands.

“So you get to share a room with her?” Zack says with a huge smile. “Lucky prick.”

Christopher’s chin tilts to the sky as if he’s annoyed. “Where are you staying?” he asks in a clipped tone.

“In Rubens Backpackers.” Zack turns his attention to me. “Hayden, do you want to go out tonight . . . like on a date?”

“She has plans,” Christopher replies before I have a chance to even open my mouth to reply.

“Oh.” Zack’s eyes flick between Christopher and me.

“But you could meet us out if you wanted to?” I offer.

Zack smiles broadly. “That sounds great.” He digs his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll give you my number. Text me where you are.”

“Okay.”

I give him my number as Christopher glares at him. What is his problem?

“See you tonight?” I ask.

“Can’t wait.” Zack smiles.

“Goodbye,” Christopher snaps as he grabs my hand. “We have to go, Hayden.”

I frown. That’s the first time I can remember that he’s ever said my name.

“Who is he?” Christopher snaps as we walk away.

“I met him last night. We talked for hours.”

“When?” He scoffs. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“While you were entertaining your harem.” I smile. I turn my head to watch Zack walk away in the other direction. “Cute, huh?”

“I don’t like him,” he snaps.

“You don’t even know him.”

“Well, what does he do for a job?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? This is need-to-know information, Hayden.”

“Why are you calling me Hayden all of a sudden? Are you Grumps now?”

“Shut up,” he scoffs as we walk along. “Where does he come from?”

“Hawaii.”

“Hawaii,” he snaps. “Why would he be here? Isn’t he on vacation all year round?”

“What is wrong with you?” I frown.

“Nothing.” He stomps along, clearly annoyed. “You told me you weren’t dating, that’s all.”

“I never said I wasn’t dating; I said I had no interest in sharing body fluids with someone I don’t know.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be crass.”

“What?” I huff. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black. Every second thing you say is sexual. Your name is Christopher Crass.”

“Don’t try and be cute,” he snaps as he walks in front of me. “Save it for Zack.”

“Okay.” I walk along. “I will . . . and besides—”

He cuts me off. “Don’t talk to me.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Are you jealous?”

“No. I’m not fucking jealous. I don’t get jealous.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

He turns back again. “Does he know that I sleep with you and we spoon in bed?”

I frown. What the fuck is going on here? “Umm . . . for your information, lover boy, you crashed in my bed after you had an orgy with two girls. It wasn’t exactly a romantic moment.”

“There was no orgy,” he barks as he keeps marching along. “There were only two of them.”

“Oh.” I throw my hands up. “Can you listen to yourself? It’s okay for you to sleep with every woman in town. I’m meeting a guy in a club, and you’re carrying on like a pork chop.”

“I don’t care what you do,” he snaps.

“Good,” I snap back.

We walk home in silence. How did such a wonderful day end with a childish tantrum? He’s stomping along like the Hulk.

“You know, you’re cute when you’re angry,” I tease.

“Shut up.” He turns back to me like the devil himself. “Walk faster. You need to get ready for your date.”

I dig out my razor from a shopping bag and hold it up. “You’re right, I do.” I smile as I wiggle my eyebrows.

His eyes bulge from their sockets. “You’re not sleeping with him, Hayden. Get that out of your head right fucking now. You are staying at fucking one.”

“What is your problem?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He keeps walking.

“You have a harem, Christopher. Why would you care about me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he snaps. “I don’t.”

“Okay, fine.” We arrive at our hostel and walk up the steps.

“Fine,” he says. “Go shave your pussy.”

I begin to fume. Is he fucking serious?

“I will.”

CHRISTOPHER

I sit at the bar of the hostel. I got ready and came straight down here. Don’t want to be anywhere near that annoying woman. I lift a beer to my lips and tip my head back. I mean, if she wants to fuck around . . . then it’s on her. But she can’t come crying to me when her knight in shining armor turns out to be a cockhead.

I’ll be busy.

I see a small person coming through the front doors, and I smile. Here he comes.

“Hey,” he says happily.

“Hi.”

He puts on an apron.

“How did you go getting your phone fixed?” I ask.

He shrugs as he begins to pick up the glasses and load them into the dishwasher. “I didn’t go to the store yet.”

“Oh . . .” I watch him for a moment. “I went into one today and asked how much it is going to cost to get it repaired.”

“What did they say?”

A man comes and stands at the bar. “One minute,” Eduardo says to me. He walks over to the man. “Was wird es sein?” (Translation: What will it be?)

“Pilsner.”

“Drei Euro.” He gets a beer and opens it and passes it over.

The guy pays him and walks off. Eduardo comes back to me and begins loading the glasses again.

“How many languages do you speak?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “A few. Only what I pick up in here.”

“So anyway, about your phone.”

He keeps loading the cups, seemingly uninterested.

“The guy told me that it’s too old to get fixed. They can’t get the parts.”

His eyes flick up. “I knew it.” His shoulders slump in defeat.

I slide the box over. “I got you something.”

He frowns. His eyes rise to meet mine. “Why?”

“I just”—I shrug—“felt bad that I distracted you and you dropped your phone.”

He keeps loading glasses. “You didn’t distract me.”

I tap the box. “Open it.”

“I’m good.”

“Open it,” I demand.

He exhales heavily and opens the box. A brand-spanking-new iPhone stares back at him.

His mouth falls open, and his eyes flick up.

I smile broadly. “Surprise.”

His face falls, and he slams it back at me. “I’m not like that, okay?”

“Like what?” I frown.

What’s he talking about?

“Stick your phone up your fucking ass.”

“What?” I stand, offended.

He storms past me and out into the kitchen.

What did I do? I thought he’d be excited . . . oh. Then it dawns on me.

He thinks I want favors for it.

Sadness falls over me. This poor fucking kid. What must he see here?

I close my eyes in disgust.

He walks back out and begins slamming the glasses around.

“I don’t want anything in return. This isn’t a bribe. I was just being nice, that’s it. I’m not like that either.”

He wipes the bench down so hard that I’m surprised he doesn’t break it in half. He walks around to the tables and puts out drink coasters as I watch him.

Fuck.

How can I fix this?

“Okay, if you won’t accept it, you can work it off.”

His ears prick up, but he still won’t look at me.

“I have jobs that I need help with, and I can pay you an hourly rate.”

“Like what?”

Fuck . . .

“I need a Spanish translator.”

He frowns, his interest piqued.

“I have to find a job, and I need someone . . . to translate for me.” I can tell he’s interested. “All my roommates need help too. You could help us find jobs or something?” I shrug. I’m totally flying by the seat of my pants here.

“How many roommates?” he asks.

“There are six of us, boys and girls.” I hold my two hands up in surrender. “I swear this is not what you think. We just need a translator. That’s it, nothing else. We will set an hourly rate, and you can work it off. Completely professional.”

He twists his lips, and I can see he’s interested in the offer.

“Anyway, think about it.” I slide the phone back toward me and put it away. His eyes follow it as I put it back in the bag.

I hear a low whistle from the German table, and I glance up. Hayden has just walked into the bar.

Wearing a skintight black dress that shows every last curve. Her long honey hair is out and full, and she looks fucking delicious. My cock instantly twitches in appreciation as she walks over.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m your next meal.”

My eyes rise to hers. “Maybe you are.”