The Do-Over (The Miles High Club Book 4)

“This?” Mom holds up a bikini on a coat hanger.

I screw up my face. “Where’s the rest of it?”

She chuckles.

I’m shopping for my trip with my mom and my best friend, Monica.

“This one?” Monica holds up a yellow bikini. It has white spots on it.

“It was a teeny-weeny, eenie-meanie yellow polka-dot bikini,” Mom sings.

I roll my eyes as I keep walking around. “There is literally nothing here I like.”

“Because you hate shopping,” they both reply in unison.

“This one?” Monica holds up a G-string black bikini and a barely there top.

“No.” I gasp. “That bikini gives out the wrong message.”

“What . . . like . . . ‘Hi, I’m Hayden, and I have a hot body; I’m ready to have some fun’?”

Mom giggles. “True, we’re getting this.” She snatches it off Monica and throws it over her arm.

“Listen.” I keep walking around the store. “If you wear revealing clothes, you attract the wrong type of man.”

Mom and Monica roll their eyes at each other. “And what type is that?” Mom sighs.

“The player kind,” I reply. “I hate players.”

“That’s the fun kind.” Monica widens her eyes. “I say have fun while you can.” She rubs her pregnant stomach. “Trust me, Haze, you’re a longtime married.”

“Don’t I know it.” Mom sighs in the background.

Monica holds up a stretchy white dress.

“No, that’s totally see through.” I gasp.

Mom snatches it off her and throws it over her arm.

“What kind of guy are you trying to attract?” Monica asks. She picks up a lace underwear set. “Oh, this is hot.”

Mom throws it over her arm.

“I’m not looking for a man.”

“Will you stop being such a prude?” Mom snaps.

“Regi isn’t coming back, Haze.”

“I know that,” I snap.

“So why are you waiting for him?”

“I’m not,” I splutter. “I just haven’t met anyone I like, that’s all.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me that if Regi walked back through those doors tonight and asked you to marry him, you would say no?” Monica picks up a teeny red dress and holds it up.

“Of course I would say no.” I snatch it off her and put it back where it came from.

Regi was my boyfriend of five years, my high school sweetheart. He went to college and never came back.

“So what kind of guy?” Mom prompts me.

“Hmm.” I think for a moment. “Blond. Capable. Hardworking. Animal lover.” I keep looking over the racks. “A virgin would be nice.”

“Virgin?” Mom gasps, horrified. “You want someone who knows what he’s doing at least!”

“What I want is a loyal man who loves me with all of his heart.”

“A virgin isn’t going to do that,” Monica huffs. “He’ll practice on you and then wonder what else is out there.”

“Sloppy seconds aren’t my style,” I reply casually. “And besides, you two can stop planning. I’ve got this. I will know him when I see him.”

“Oh . . . because a blond, animal-loving virgin is going to run right into you in Spain?” Mom rolls her eyes.

“I know.” I smile broadly. “I can feel it in my waters.”

CHRISTOPHER

“Can I help you?” A voice sounds from behind the counter.

“Umm . . .” I look around, wondering if I should run now while I can. “I have a booking.”

“Hi,” the guy says. “I’m Nelson.”

“Hi, Nelson. Christo.” The boys decided that I shouldn’t use my real name in case someone recognizes it. No idea how they came up with Christo, though. I sound like a count or something.

“Let me look.” He logs in to his computer and reads the screen. “Ah yes, here you are. You are booked for ten days?”

I nod as I peer back in at the frat party going on in the bar.

“You have paid in advance?” he asks.

I nod again. No idea why I did that.

“I’ll show you your room.” He walks out from behind the counter. “Come this way.”

I follow him.

“You’re in the fossil room.”

“Fossil room?”

“It’s where we put the oldies.”

“I’m hardly old,” I splutter.

“Anyone over twenty-five is considered old here.”

“Oh . . .” I look around some more. That makes perfect sense: nobody over twenty-five is stupid enough to come to this shithole.

“Ta-da.” He opens the door, and the blood drains out of my face.

Bunk beds, three sets of bunk beds. All in the one room.

“There must be some mistake. I ordered a single room.”

“Yeah, they are all gone. You only get one if they are available.”

I narrow my eyes at this fucker. “So . . . what’s the point of booking in advance, then?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs as he walks into the room. “This is your bed, here.” He taps a bed on the bottom.

“You expect me to sleep underneath someone?”

“Yeah.”

“What if the bed breaks and they fall right through and kill me.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs happily.

“You don’t know much, do you?”

“I just work here, man.” He walks back out of the room. “Here is your locker.” He taps the PIN pad. “You set your own code to get into it. Put your backpack down, and we will come back to put it in. Lock everything up at all times.”

I drop my backpack onto the floor, and I look at the lock. I hope he shows me, because fuck knows how I do that. I keep following him as I try to concentrate on what he is telling me.

“This is the laundry.” He opens the lid of a washing machine. “Tip, don’t leave anything here. It will be stolen.”

“Right.”

He leads me out to a large outdoor courtyard. “The kitchen is at that end. We supply three meals a day here, but you eat whatever is cooked. There are no choices.”

“Right.” I look around at my surroundings. Every wall is a different bright color. I feel like I’m in a kindergarten or something.

Kindergarten of hell.

“At the other end is a bar. It’s cheap and nasty, but it does the trick. It closes at twelve every night, so it’s not an all-night thing.”

I peer down at the bar end to see the frat party. Beer bong is in full swing as feral people drink like it’s their first time away from their parents.

“Got it.”

“Come and I’ll show you the bathroom,” he says as he’s already walking down the hall. He opens a door in the main corridor. “This is it.”

I inhale deeply at the horror before me. “Charming.”

Stall after stall, shower after shower.

“No sex,” he says casually. “Condoms in the bin if you do.”

I frown, disgusted. “Why would you need to tell me that?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Gross.

“So there you have it.” He puts his hands on his hips as if proud. “That’s it.”

“Thanks.”

“Call me if you need anything.” He saunters off.

I stare after him. You’re just going to leave me here all alone?

“Drink it down, down, down.” The voices echo from the bar area. Laughter and screams can be heard.

I look around, unsure what to do.

I walk back up the corridor and put my backpack away. I go into my room . . . only it isn’t my room, and I realize that I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in my entire life.

I go to sit down but then realize that I can’t even sit on the bed; I have to lie down.

Fuck this—I’ll go for a walk.

With a sense of dread, I set out into the streets of Barcelona . . . now . . . what the hell do you do in a city with no money?

Three hours later I walk back into the hostel. I couldn’t stomach the thought of dinner at the hostel. I had dinner in a restaurant.

I now have $1,800 left. I’m quite sure that $100 steak wasn’t on my budget.

Tomorrow I’ll budget better.

As I walk up the corridor toward the bar, a girl grabs my arm. “Oh, hi, you’re the new guy in our room?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Bernadette.”

“Hi, I’m Christo . . .” I cut myself off before I say Christopher.

Fuck, I hate the sound of Christo.

“You want to come out?”

“Um . . .” I hesitate. What, like a date?

I have zero attraction to this woman.

“There’s a heap of us. We’re going to a bar.” Before I can reply, she links her arm through mine. “Come on, it will be fun. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Okay.” I shrug. I guess anything is better than being here. “Let me shower and change.”

“Meet you in the bar.”

An hour later we walk up the street.

I read the sign over the doorway as I walk up the stairs.

SANTOS

“This place is amazing,” Bernadette gasps as she runs up the stairs two at a time.

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Cheap-ass drinks and dick for miles.”

“Right.” I raise my eyebrow. “Not sure I’m after that, but . . .” Hell, that came out wrong. “Actually, I’m definitely not after that. Scratch that from your memory.”

“You should try it,” she says casually as she keeps walking up. “Dick is way better than hairy biscuit.”

What?

Hairy biscuit . . . what woman says hairy biscuit?

This chick is fucking weird.

“I seriously doubt that,” I mutter as we get to the top of the stairs. I look around at the blazing spectacle. Neon lights are everywhere. Things are twirling; signs are flashing.

“What do you think?” she asks as she smiles in wonder.

“It’s great, for an epileptic’s nightmare,” I mutter. My eyes roam around at the bright strobe lights. There’s a dartboard and pool tables and a karaoke machine. The place is all timber and done up to kind of look like a log cabin or something.

The crowd is around my age. Laughter echoes throughout the space. It has a fun kind of feel about it.

Okay . . . this isn’t so bad. I feel a little of my equilibrium return.

“There’s everyone.” She waves and grabs my arm and drags me over to the large crowd of people.

She’s overfamiliar, or perhaps just genuinely friendly. At this stage, I really can’t tell anything. It’s like all my senses are so overwhelmed that they’ve completely shut down.

We arrive at the group. “You came?” A man smiles; he sounds Australian. “Knew you would.”

“Yep.”

“Beer?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He hesitates, and I frown. “That will be five euros.” He widens his eyes as if I’m stupid.

Oh fuck, I am.

“Sorry.” I dig into my jeans and find a note and pass it over, feeling stupid. “Thanks.”

He nods and disappears to the bar.

“Who are you, man?” a guy asks. He’s tall and has long black dreadlocks and olive skin.

I wince. Fuck . . . he stinks. The worst body odor I’ve ever smelled. “You need a shower,” I snap.

“What?” He frowns. He lifts his arm and sniffs himself. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes. You do.” I wince. “You smell so bad it’s hurting my eyes.”

Oh god . . . go away from me. This is intolerable.

“Oh, come off it.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not putting those chemicals on my body.”

“By chemicals . . . you mean deodorant?”

“It’s a government conspiracy.” He nods as if totally convinced. “This is how humans are supposed to smell. You’ve been conditioned to like the smell of poison.”

I frown at him. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“First day traveling?” he asks.

“How do you know?”

“You’re all uptight and judgy.”

“I’m not judgy,” I fire back.

“Yes, you are. I bet you’re looking at everyone and everything and comparing them to your safe little home.” He chuckles into his beer. “You need to get over it. And quick, or you’ll be on the first plane home.”

I frown. It’s like he’s reading my mind. I open my mouth to reply and get a strong whiff of him once more, and I screw up my face in disgust. “Fucking hell. You smell so bad.”

“Well, aren’t you an uptight prick?” He shrugs as if not believing me. “Nobody else has ever told me that.”

“I find that impossible to believe.”

“It’s true.” He smirks.

“I’m guessing that you do abysmally with the ladies.”

His face falls. “How do you know that?”

“Women like guys who smell nice, not garbage dumps.”

“I’m happy with who I am,” he announces, indignant.

“Okay.” I shrug and hold my two hands up in defeat. “If you say so. I’m just being honest. No malice intended.”

We stand in awkward silence for a moment. “So what do you suggest for me?” I ask.

“About what?”

“You said I need to get over being . . .” I pause while I search for the right word. “Uptight.”

“You do,” he replies.

“How do I do that?”

“Well.” He smiles as if excited that I’m asking for advice. “You need to just get on with it.”

I frown.

“Just live in the moment; don’t think. Don’t worry what anyone else is doing. Whatever makes you happy at home, just do it here . . . just because the location and settings are different, the same things bring you happiness. Your deepest inner self will appear without your possessions.”

I frown as I stare at him.

“I’m telling you, man, if you want to have a serious crack at traveling, you just need to do it.”

“Hmm . . .” I contemplate his words.

“Trust me. I’ve seen so many travelers. The ones who relax into it and take each day as it comes love the experience. The ones who compare every single thing to home go home in four to six weeks, and when they go home, they lie and tell everyone they had the best time of their lives, but the truth is they didn’t even scratch the surface. Some don’t even last six weeks—they go home earlier.”

I exhale heavily. I can’t admit that I was considering going home today after six hours.

“Hmm . . . interesting observation,” I mutter, distracted.

Get on with it.

“What relaxes you at home? What’s your favorite thing to do?” he asks.

“Sex,” I reply without hesitation.

He laughs out loud. “Well, you came to the right place.” He holds his arm out to the crowd. “This is the sex capital of the world.” He looks me up and down. “Good-looking guy like you . . . you must pull the pussy.”

And then some.

“It’s not my looks that get me laid,” I reply.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious. The ugliest guy in the world can be attractive if he knows how to be.”

“How?”

I widen my eyes. “Deodorant.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffs.

“All right.” I smirk. “I’m sure your right hand feels just like big fuckable lips. You do you.”

He looks at me deadpan, and I raise my eyebrow in jest.

“Get fucked.” He sighs.

“I will be.” I chuckle as I look around. Now . . . who will it be?

The Aussie guy comes back from the bar with a tray of shots of tequila. “Jackpot.” He laughs. “Bulla is working behind the bar.”

“Bulla?” I frown. “What’s a bulla?”

“It’s a girl who likes my dick. She gives me free drinks all night.”

Dreadlocks guy laughs. “I like your dick, too, if it gets us drunk.” He picks up a shot and holds it in the air. We all take one and raise them to his. “To new friends.” He smiles.

“And deodorant,” I add.

Aussie guy spits his drink out as he laughs. “I’ll drink to that,” he splutters.

“You think I stink too?” Dreadlocks guy gasps, completely shocked.

“Real bad,” he mutters.

“What’s your names again?” I ask.

“I’m Bodie,” the Aussie guy says. He has sandy-blond hair and is tall and sinewy.

“Hey, has anyone ever told you that you sound like Chris Hemsworth?” I ask him.

“It’s the accent.” He shrugs. “Wish I had the prick’s money.”

“And wife,” I add. “She’s fucking hot.”

“I’m Basil,” dreadlocks guy replies.

“Basil?” I frown.

“That’s right.” He spits, all defensive. “You got a problem with my name?”

“Calm down.” Bodie laughs. “It is an unusual name, that’s all.”

I take another tequila from the tray and chug it down. Basil is right: I just need to get on with it. Tonight, I’ll get laid . . . and then tomorrow I’ll be relaxed and start afresh.

I look around at the crowded bar. Who will it be?

Four hours later

Teeth graze my ear. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers in the darkness of the corner. “Back to my place.”

She has a place. I won’t need to sleep in that hellhole.

Now we’re talking.

I slide my hand down over her behind and pull her closer to my hardened cock.

What is her name again? Fuck. I need to remember this kind of shit.

She’s utterly gorgeous, long dark hair and a body to die for, athletic and shapely. She may be just what I need to unwind.

No complications, hard and fast.

“Let’s go, Christo,” she says in her sexy accent.

I smile against her lips. “Let’s.”

I’ve got a lot of stress to work off tonight. I hope you’re in the mood for pain, baby girl.

She takes my hand and leads me toward the door. I wave at Basil and Bodie on the way out, and Basil rolls his eyes in disgust and Bodie laughs.

Told you.

We walk out onto the street hand in hand, and my eyes drop down the length of her body.

She’s fucking hot, all right, wearing a skintight black skimpy dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

What is her name?

“Cab?” I ask.

“No, I live just around the corner.”

“Okay.” We continue walking hand in hand.

“You know, the moment I saw you tonight, I knew I had to have you,” she purrs.

I smile at her delusion. “Really?” I play along.

We turn the corner into a street. It’s cobblestone and dark. Uneasiness falls over me. This is fucking sketchy.

Stop it.

I stay silent as she chatters on and on. Not that I’m complaining; her accent is fucking luscious. We arrive at a door, and she unlocks it while I feel her up from behind. I pull her hair to the side of her neck and lick her there. I bite her earlobe and feel the goose bumps scatter up her neck.

My cock throbs in my pants, and I feel a little more like myself.

The door opens, revealing a winding timber staircase, and I peer up.

Huh?

“This way,” she purrs as she begins to take the stairs. I run my hand over her behind as she walks in front of me, and then I slide her dress up over her ass so I can get a full view.

The muscles contract as she takes each step. We fall to the top floor, and our lips lock.

We kiss. Her eyes are closed, and mine flutter open as I try to focus in the room lit only by a lamp.

What in the world?

There are weird pictures all over the walls, a million things hanging from the roof. Baskets and fake animal heads.

Wait . . . are they real?

I pull out of the kiss and step back as my eyes wander all over the apartment. I put my wallet down on the table by the door as I try to get my bearings.

The walls are black. There are flags and animal skeletons, skateboards, surfboards, a wall that’s covered in graffiti. A huge bong pipe thing sits front and center on the coffee table.

Dear god.

Alarm bells begin to ring in the distance.

There’s purple shag pile carpet and in the corner a freaky-looking giant rocking horse that stands taller than me.

I swallow the lump in my throat . . . as I look around.

It’s so cramped in here; there’s enough furniture to furnish ten apartments. What is this godforsaken place?

I’ve stepped into the house of horrors.

“You like my house?” She smiles.

“Yes,” I lie.

Focus.

Just get to the business, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter what her house is like.

Fucking focus.

Right . . . I bend and lift her dress over her head in one fell swoop, and as she lifts her arms up, I’m greeted with patches of thick black hair under her arms. Long and stringy, sticking to her arms with perspiration.

What?

I look down, and her pubic hair is hanging out of her G-string. It’s growing halfway to her knees.

No . . .

I begin to sweat . . . what the actual fuck is that?

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She giggles.

“I’m already surprised,” I mutter, distracted.

She pulls her panties down. The hair is thick, black, and long . . . I open my mouth to say something, but no words will come out.

Abort mission.

Abort fucking mission.

She pulls me into the bedroom. A mattress is on the floor, and she lies down and spreads her legs.

My eyes widen in horror as my dick instantly shrivels. “Do you have a bathroom?” I splutter.

She sucks her finger and then slowly slides it through the lips of her sex. “Come here,” she purrs.

This should be so hot right now . . . my dick is like jelly?

Focus.

“Bathroom?” I squeak.

“Up the stairs to the left.”

I take the stairs two at a time and rush into the bathroom and lock the door. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. What the fuck is happening right now?

I splash water on my face. Get ahold of yourself, man.

You can do this!

I open the vanity cupboard behind the mirror and peer in. There’s a heap of tubes of cream. I pick one up and read the label.

LAMISIL.

I go through all the tubes. They are all the same. My eyes widen. Oh no. What the fuck is this?

Does she have something?

I frantically take out my phone and type into Google.

What is Lamisil used for?

It’s taking forever . . . come on.

I hit refresh.

“Come the fuck on,” I whisper.

Bad reception.

What’s this fucking shit used for?

I dial Elliot’s number.

“Hey,” he answers happily. “Miss me already?”

“Help me,” I whisper in a panic. “I have an emergency.”

“What’s wrong?” he stammers.

“I’m at this chick’s house and I took her pants off and it’s gorillas in the mist down there and her house is Rocky Horror Picture Show and now I found fifty tubes of Lamisil in her bathroom cabinet,” I blurt out in a rush.

“Gorillas in the mist?” he repeats. “What do you mean?”

“Fucking full bush, man. You’ve never seen pubic hair like this. I need a fucking machete to chop my way in.”

“Fucking hell.” He gasps.

“Search Lamisil. I have bad internet.”

“Okay.”

I wait on. My heart is hammering hard in my chest.

“Christo?” I hear her yell. “Hurry up.”

Fuck!

“Oh god,” Elliot replies. “This isn’t good.”

“What?”

“Fungus. It’s fungus cream.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I whisper angrily.

“What are you going to do?”

“Run!” I hang up and take the stairs two at a time. “I’ve got to go,” I call as I run for the front door.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing personal,” I yell. I grab my wallet. “You’re very hot, by the way.”

For a gorilla.

I run out the front door and down the stairs. I burst out onto the street as if I’m being chased by an ax murderer . . . or in this case, a gorilla with fungus.

A cab is driving past, and I put my arm up. “Taxi.” He pulls up, and I’ve never been so relieved. I dive into the back seat.

“Where to?”

“BB Backpackers.”

“Sure thing.”

Ten minutes later we pull up in front of the backpackers’ hostel, and the driver turns to me. “That will be twelve euros.”

I take my wallet and go to get out my card to pay and frown. It’s not where it goes . . . huh?

It’s gone.

The driver looks up at me in the rearview mirror. “Twelve euros.”

“I heard you the first time,” I snap as I search through all the compartments in my wallet.

Fuck . . . I have no other cards. How am I going to pay him?

What if I’ve lost it? I have no money . . . what the hell will I do?

I begin to sweat again . . . I know why every fucker smells around here. Everything about this place is stressful.

No deodorant is this powerful.

“My card is gone,” I stammer in a panic. “Where would it . . .”

The penny drops, and I sit back in my seat, shocked to silence.

That hairy bitch stole my card.