The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(21)

While the boys shop, I walk behind them, mesmerized by my surroundings.

This place is utterly, utterly beautiful.

Basil digs his phone out of his pocket. “Hey.” He listens for a moment.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” He turns back and smiles at me as he listens some more. “Yeah, sure thing, we’re getting something now. What size?” He laughs. “Okay, bye.” He hangs up the phone.

“We got to get Christo something white to wear. He’ll pay me later.”

I frown. “Christo?”

“Yeah, you know, the guy in our room today.”

“I know who you mean. I don’t understand why you like him.” I widen my eyes.

He shrugs. “He’s an okay guy.”

“Pussy magnet.” Bodie smiles. “Did you see the women surrounding him last night?”

“Uh-huh.” Basil smiles. “And what about the one he went home with?”

Bodie lets out a low whistle. “Man oh man, I would have given my left nut to nail her.”

Basil smiles as he holds his hands in the shape of big boobs. “She was equipped.”

I screw up my face. “You guys are gross. And if you would give a testicle to bone a girl, you need to go to the hospital.”

They both laugh, and I do too. Boys are ridiculous.

“When did you guys all get here?” I ask.

“Yesterday,” they both reply. “And Christo too.”

We keep shopping, and my mind wanders to naughty boy . . . hmm, so he slept with someone on his first night here, hey?

Figures, I guess. Why waste time when you’ve got a dick like that.

Asshole.

You know what pisses me off?

The nice guys who would love a woman for forever and a day come last . . . every time. And the player cockheads who have big egos are blessed with big dicks. They never get brokenhearted, they never get left, and they are never lonely. They always come out on top.

Ugh . . .

Just doesn’t seem fair.

“All right, these shirts,” Bodie says. He grabs three short-sleeved button-up shirts. They’re white and cotton and fit the brief.

“And these shorts?” Basil grabs three pairs of white shorts from the rack.

I exhale heavily as I look around. “Now me.”

We look and look and look . . . nothing in white.

“Bernadette is wearing a white bikini,” Bodie says casually as he strolls through the racks.

“What with?”

“Nothing, it’s a full moon party.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess we get to see lots of moons.” Bodie shrugs.

I wince. “I don’t want to look at people’s buttholes.”

“I do.” Basil smiles.

“Me too,” Bodie agrees. “I would like to fuck some too.”

“You idiots and your dicks.” I roll my eyes. “Just find me something white.”

Two hours later

“Screw this, I’ll rip up my bedsheet and wear that,” I huff in disgust.

“Good idea,” they both agree. “We’re supposed to be back there now.”

“I mean, I do have a white dress.”

“What?” Basil explodes. “You mean we just wasted two hours for nothing?”

“I can’t wear it; it’s obscenely tight. My friend snuck it in my suitcase and took out all my sensible clothes. It’s so short it looks like a belt.”

“I like your friend,” Bodie replies. “Come on.” He heads for the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. You’re wearing your slut dress.”



The worst part about sharing a room is just that . . . sharing a room.

How in the hell are you supposed to get ready and privately freak out about what you’re wearing?

I’m in the bathroom, in my little shower stall. Pretty boy is right. These tiny towels are fucking ridiculous. I dry myself and dry myself, and still I don’t seem to get anywhere.

Laughter echoes all around, and the hostel seems packed to the rafters, but I think that’s because everyone is staying in tonight for the full moon party.

I slide my bra on and then my panties and pick up the white dress. It’s stretchy and seems so small. I have to stretch it out just to get it on . . . far out. I wiggle it down over my hips. It comes to above my knees. It’s stretchy and tight, with a scooped-out neck.

I try to look down at myself. Damn it, I don’t even have a full-length mirror here.

I suppose I should be grateful that I can’t see how ridiculous I look. I brush my hair and pack up my toiletries bag and slowly open the door.

I’m dreading tonight. I do not feel comfortable at all.

I walk out to see scantily dressed girls everywhere. One smiles. “I love your dress.”

“Thanks.” I walk to the sink awkwardly and take my makeup out. I glance over to see a girl with a white G-string on and white body paint in the shape of hearts on her boobs, complete with hot-pink tassels on her nipples. She even has white feathers strategically pinned behind one ear. “You look great.” I smile.

Damn, she does look great. I wish I had that confidence.

“Thanks. Hey, you’ve just checked in?”