The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(44)

I lie in the darkness and stare across the room at Christopher’s empty bed.

The vision of him with that girl on his shoulders runs through my mind.

I dodged a bullet. I should feel grateful. He’s my friend, nothing more and nothing less, and I shouldn’t be annoyed in the slightest.

Fuck knows why I am.

Tomorrow’s a new day, and I’m going to make more of an effort to meet new people . . . specifically men.

My eyes roam over the empty bed, and I exhale heavily as a nervous swirl dances in my stomach. I just feel better when he’s home.

I glance at my watch. Five a.m.

Where is he?





CHRISTOPHER

I wake to the sound of seagulls fighting, and I frown as I lean up onto my elbows.

Where the fuck am I?

I try to focus my eyes as I look around. The beach is full of power walkers doing their morning exercise.

What fucking time is it?

I shuffle around in my pockets and find my phone: 7:22 a.m.

Shit.

Hayden had to be at work by eight. I was going to walk her to work. I stand and look at the people sleeping on the sand around me. There must be at least ten of them.

What a crazy night.

Then I remember. Oh no . . . I have to work a twelve-hour shift in the gift shop today. I’m as seedy as fuck. What was I thinking, even going out?

One minute we were having harmless shots of tequila; next minute I’m waking up on a beach.

I begin to walk off the beach. “Where are you going?” a girl asks.

My eyes roam over her as she lies on the sand. A vague memory of her sitting on my shoulders floats through my mind. Hmm . . . did that happen?

“Home. Bye.”

I dial Hayden’s number as I begin to walk. No answer.

“Fuck.”

I walk faster. I call her again.

No answer.

I hurry as fast as I can back to the hostel, and just as I approach it, she comes down the front steps.

“Grumps,” I call.

Her face falls when she sees me. “Hi.” She turns and begins to walk up the street, and I jog to catch up with her.

“I’ll walk you to work.”

“No need,” she replies. “I’m fine.”

“I came back to—”

She cuts me off. “I’m fine, Christopher.”

“What’s up your ass?” I frown.

“Nothing,” she snaps as she walks faster.

I nearly have to run to catch up with her. “You really are living up to your name today.”

Her eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “Go home . . . or back under the rock you just crawled out of.”

I frown. What?

She’s pissed at me.

We walk in silence for a while, her rushing and me half running to keep up with her. “Did something happen?” I ask her. “Have you had a blowup with one of the girls or something?”

“Oh my god . . .” She rolls her eyes. “Please go away. I am not in the mood for your player crap today.”

I stop on the spot. Huh?

Player crap . . .

The fuck is she talking about now?

A bus pulls up, and she climbs aboard. The doors shut in my face, and I watch it pull away.

Well, that was weird.

She really is fucking grumpy today. I turn and walk back to the hostel and into the room. Everyone is still half-asleep.

“Hey.” I flop down onto my bed.

“What the hell happened to you last night?” Bernadette asks.

“Too many things.” I sigh. I look over at her. “Is Hayden okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She’s in the worst mood of all time.”

“No, she isn’t.” She shrugs. “Why do you say that?”

“She just seemed pissed at me, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She thinks for a moment. “Probably because of the girl you were with last night.”

“I wasn’t with a girl last night.”

“Yes, you were. We saw you.”

Horror dawns.

“I was with a girl . . . in front of Hayden?”

“Uh-huh. You walked down the street with her on your shoulders.”

“Oh . . .” I think for a moment. “But Hayden doesn’t like me like that.”

Bernadette raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“I mean . . .” I frown as I contemplate the answer. “Pretty sure.”

“Men are so stupid.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re all over her all the time, man,” Basil says with his eyes still shut.

“Because we’re friends,” I splutter in my defense. “She’s not into me like that.”

Bernadette rolls her eyes and drags the pillow over her head. “This is why there’s no hanky-panky with roommates, you fucking idiot.”

“I’m not getting any hanky-panky,” I snap.

“Spooning is hanky-panky.”

I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears, and I stand in outrage. I don’t have to lie here and take this. “In what universe is spooning hanky-panky?”

“All universes,” Bernadette snaps.