The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(45)

“Women are fucking crazy.” I march out the door and then remember a very important piece of information. I put my head back around the corner. “Trust me, hanky-panky with me feels a lot better than fucking spooning.” I storm into the bathroom. I can’t sleep until I have a shower, so this suits me just fine.

I wash my body with vigor as I mutter to myself.

“She’s the one who didn’t want to kiss me . . . not the other way around. So don’t cry when you see me with someone else.”

Ugh, I’m infuriated.

“What does she fucking expect?” I scrub my skin until it’s nearly raw. “I need sex; she doesn’t. What does she want . . . me to be a fucking priest now?” I keep scrubbing. “And I didn’t even sleep with that girl anyway, for fuck’s sake . . . but if I did, who cares? Not me, that’s for sure.” I wash my hair. “I should march back to the beach and give it to that girl right there on the sand to prove a point.”

I keep washing myself.

“Hayden fucking Whitmore . . . the nun. How dare she be angry with me for being fucking normal.” The more I think about this, the more infuriated I get.

I get out of the shower and wrap my towel around my waist while I shave. I can’t believe I have to go to a fucking fun park gift shop today for twelve hours.

I squeeze the tube of toothpaste, and it gets stuck so I squeeze harder, and it spurts out and goes everywhere.

“Fuck’s sake,” I bark. “I don’t have time for this shit today.” I grab some paper towels and wipe up the mess. I pull on my clothes and walk out of the bathroom to see Eduardo standing by my bedroom door.

His face lights up when he sees me. “Hello, Mr. Christo.”

“Hello.” I force a smile.

“I came to see what you need of me today.”

“Nothing, buddy.” I tap him on the shoulder. “Go home.”

His face falls. “I was . . .” He stops himself and twists his fingers together as if nervous.

“What is it?”

“Could I please look at the phone for a minute? Just . . . quickly?”

“Oh . . .” I shrug. “Yeah, sure. Come in.” I open my bedroom door, and he looks around at everyone sleeping. I go to the drawer underneath my bed and take the phone out. It’s still in its box, and I pass it over to him.

He studies the box and turns it over and looks at the bottom of it.

“Sit down, buddy,” I say. “Take it out of the box and play with it. I’m going to try and have a quick sleep. I don’t start until eleven. That’s Hazy’s bed there. Sit against it if you want.”

He smiles and slumps down onto the floor. He excitedly opens the box and begins to look at everything in great detail.

I lie in bed and smile to myself as I watch him. This kid is the coolest thing in Spain.



A whispered voice wakes me. “Mr. Christo.”

I frown as I stir.

“Mr. Christo,” it whispers again. “You have to go to work, sir.”

“Huh?” I wake with a jump. Eduardo is leaning over me.

“What time is it?” I sit up in a rush.

“Ten o’clock.”

“Oh.” I rub my eyes. “Feels like I only closed my eyes for a second.” I slowly get up and look around and frown. Everyone is still asleep.

The room is spotless.

Clothes are folded into neat piles, everyone’s shoes are lined up, and Hayden’s bed is made. The water bottles are all filled and placed in a neat row by the sink. The phone is back in its box and set carefully on the end of my bed.

“Did you do this?” I ask him as I look around.

He smiles proudly, and I smile too.

“Good job, buddy.”

A little voice from deep inside says, He probably stole shit . . . No, I won’t think like that. Just because he has less than me doesn’t mean he is less than me.

I’m trusting my gut with him. It tells me he’s a good kid.

“I have to get ready.” I walk out to my locker, and he follows me. I take my backpack out and begin to go through it. “What will I wear?” I ask him.

“Clothes.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter. “What are you doing now?” I ask him.

“I’ll hang around until I start at four.”

I glance up at him. “You won’t go home in between?”

“No.”

“What does your grandma say about you being out so much?”

He shrugs. “She’s busy.”

“Hmm, okay.”

Poor fucking kid . . .

“I can do your washing if you want while you work?” he offers.

I smile. He’s trying to get his phone as quickly as he can. “Okay, that would be great.” I take out the plastic bag with my dirty clothes from San Sebastián in it and pass it over to him. “Thank you.”

“Miss Hazen have washing? I’ll do hers too.”

I consider it and then wince. “Women have weird stuff in their dirty washing . . . best to ask her for permission to do that.”

He nods.

I throw on my clothes and brush my hair. “Wish me luck.” I smile.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks for getting me this job.” I mess up his hair, and he swats my hand away.