The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(20)

“I’m Hayden,” I introduce myself.

He stands up, and with one hand strategically covering his junk, he holds his other hand out to shake mine. “Hi, Hayden.” He gives me a breathtaking smile. “I’m Christopher.”

Oh . . .

“Excuse the lack of clothes, some fuckwit just vomited all over me.”

My eyes widen. “It must be the day for it. I just saw a cabdriver getting vomited on on the way here.”

“Yeah.” He goes back to his bag and begins to rustle around in it. “That was me, and now I have to go back to that damn cab and drive it all afternoon. I can think of nothing worse.” He passes a bottle of deodorant to Basil. “Put it on,” he demands.

“What did I tell you about poisoning my body,” Basil huffs.

“Listen, fucker. While you are sleeping in a room with me, you will smell like a human. Put. It. On.”

I suddenly feel really uncomfortable. Poor Basil, how embarrassing for him. They must be friends.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Who does this guy think he is? “Do you two know each other?” I ask.

“Just met.” Basil rolls his eyes.

My blood boils, I feel so bad for Basil. “Firstly,” I snap, “put some clothes on. Secondly, stop being so damn rude.”

Hot guy’s eyes flick up to me in annoyance. “Do you want to smell that every day?”

“At least he has clothes on. I would rather smell that than be forced to look at you naked,” I fire back.

Not really . . . not even close.

“Is that so?” he replies. His chin lifts in defiance. “And who made you the room manager?”

“You did, when you started being insulting.”

“Listen,” he replies as he keeps looking through his bag. “I don’t know how things work where you come from. But in my world, people don’t smell like body odor. They also don’t put up with it. Personal hygiene is a basic human response.” He shoves the deodorant bottle back at Basil. “Put. It. On,” he demands.

I narrow my eyes. I think I officially hate this guy.

“On one condition,” Basil replies.

“What’s that?” Rude guy pulls a pair of briefs on, and I pretend not to look.

“You teach me how to pick up women.”

What?

“What?” Christopher screws up his face, also confused. He pulls a shirt on over his head.

“You heard me. I’ll shower more often and wear deodorant if you teach me how to pick up women.”

“Oh my god . . .” I roll my eyes. “You cannot be serious?”

“Deal.” Christopher nods. “That’s easy. Chicks are easy. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Ugh.” Okay, it’s official. I do hate him. “Are you always so full-on yourself?” I ask him.

He smiles. “No . . . I’m usually on women but happy to be on myself too. Nobody does it better than me.” He holds up his hand and gives me a playful wink.

Yuck.

“Good grief. I’m going to find someone intelligent to talk to.” I walk toward the door.

“Don’t forget boring,” he calls after me.

I march down the hall. This is a nightmare. I’m rooming with Stinky and the Stallion.

Not to mention the horny snack lady.

This is just great.



It’s 3:00 p.m., and I’m sitting in the lounge area of the hostel.

The staff are all rushing around. Apparently there is a full moon party on here tonight. The theme is white.

I have a white sundress that I’m going to wear, although I don’t remember seeing it this morning in my bag. I hope I didn’t leave it behind.

Hmm . . .

I’d better check my things.

I go back to my locker and take my bag out and drag it to my room. I unzip it and frown.

This isn’t what I packed. Is this even my backpack? I check the label. Yep, it’s mine.

I pull out the G-string black bikini, horrified. “What in the world?”

I rifle through my bag at double speed. Where is the white flowing summer dress?

Fuck . . . those bitches repacked my bags with sexy clothes. I text Monica.

Where are all my clothes!!

She texts me back.

On the farm where they belong.

You can thank me later.

Love you!

Bitch!

My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. What am I going to wear now? There is nothing in here white except this stretchy stupid dress, and I am not wearing that slutty outfit.

God, now I have to go shopping to find something else . . . ugh.

I stomp back to my room, and Basil is in there, and although I hate to admit it . . . he now smells good. He has another man with him. “Hi, Hayden. This is Bodie.” He introduces us. “He’s in our room too.”

“Hi.” He smiles. “Do you want to come shopping? We have to find white shit for tonight, apparently.”

Bodie is warm and kind looking. He instantly puts me at ease, and with that Australian accent, he sounds pretty dreamy. “Actually, I do.” I smile. “Thanks.”

I grab my things, and we head out the door.



Barcelona is buzzing, alive with the colors and scents of an exotic country.