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

We stare at each other. The air crackles between us, and I open my mouth to reply, but for the first time in my life, I’m shocked to silence.

He did not just say that.

“Hayden, meet Eduardo.” He gestures to a young teenage boy that I hadn’t noticed working behind the bar. I think it’s the same one he had a fight over the other night.

I turn, embarrassed. “Hello.” I smile.

“Eduardo is going to be our new translator.”

I frown as I look between the two of them. Did I hear that right? “I beg your pardon?”

“I broke his phone, so I got a replacement one, but”—he pauses for effect—“he has to work it off,” he replies sternly. “So . . . he’s going to help our room members out.”

I smile, the deal he’s made taking shape in my mind. “Okay, that sounds like a great plan. We could really do with the help,” I say as I play along.

Eduardo looks between us, seemingly excited. “I’ll find you jobs,” he says with a strong Spanish accent. “I know a lot of people here in Barcelona.” He stammers as if trying to talk me into it.

“That is exciting.” I smile. My eyes flick over to Christopher, and he gives me a subtle wink.

“But you can’t have the phone until we all have jobs and you have paid it off,” Christopher reminds him.

“Okay.” He nods. “I’ll earn it for positive.”

Christopher smirks. “The word is certain. ‘I’ll earn it for certain.’”

Eduardo corrects himself. “I’ll earn it for certain.”

The music is loud and the club is pumping. “How long . . . ,” says Zack.

I screw up my face as I concentrate to hear him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

He leans right in close and puts his hand around my waist so that he can talk into my ear. “I said, How long have you been traveling?”

“Oh, only two weeks. Very new at it all. What about you?”

“This is my eighth month.”

“Wow.” I smile, then glance over to see Christopher, glaring at me from the bar . . . like he has been all night.

I thought we were friends?

Every time I turn around, I see his furious face. I’m over it.

I glare right back. Honestly, I don’t have time for his childish tantrum. He slept with two women last night and then has the audacity to be pissed with me for talking to a man.

What a joke.

I will not be manipulated like this. He needs to grow the fuck up.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Zack says.

“Okay.”

He walks off, and I sip my drink.

“I’d like a word,” Christopher growls.

“No.”

He screws up his face. “What do you mean, no?”

“N-O.” I spell it out for him.

“Listen,” he spits through gritted teeth.

“No. You listen,” I yell. “Do not insult my intelligence by acting jealous when we both know you have no intention of pursuing me.”

His eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “Outside. Now.”

“Fine.” I storm toward the door. I’m angry.

How dare he?

We burst through the front doors of the club and out onto the street.

“What is your problem? Every time I turn around, I am copping a dirty look from you.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him,” I spit.

“I know his type. I’ve been analyzing him all night.”

“Ha.” I explode. “And what type is that, Christopher? A man who wants women only for sex? Well, I’ve got news for you, mister. It takes one to spot one.” I step forward and poke him hard in the chest. “If you want to analyze something, why don’t you work out why it is that you have such low expectations.”

“I do not have low expectations of women,” he yells back. “Your expectations of men are way too high.”

“Who said anything about women?” I yell. “You have low expectations of yourself.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous!”

“It’s true.” I throw my hands up in disgust. “That’s why you give your body away so easily. You don’t hold value in yourself.”

“Fuck off.”

“How can you not see it?”

“See what?”

“That deep down you think that nobody could possibly love you for you.”

His face falls.

“Why is that?” I ask softly. “Because it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

His eyes search mine, and I know that I’ve hit a nerve.

“Why do you think that hard and fast is safe? When are you going to stop hiding from yourself? You’re an adult. Grow up.”

He screws his face up in disgust. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t help you with this, Christopher. You want to fuck around, that’s great. Go do it. But don’t cry ‘poor me’ when people who care about you meet someone worthy.”

“Big fucking deal. I like a good time. There is nothing wrong with me,” he spits.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You know what . . . fuck this.” He turns and walks off into the darkness.

“You can’t heal the wound until you find the sore, Christopher,” I call after him.

“Go fuck him. I don’t even care,” he calls back.

I watch him walk into the darkness alone, and my shoulders slump. I take a long shaky inhale. Damn it.

How did that spiral so badly out of control?

I drag myself back inside and walk back to Zack. “Sorry,” I apologize. “I had to take a call.”

“That’s okay. The night is young.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, and I fake a smile.

I imagine Christopher walking home alone, and I feel like shit.

A real friend would have gone with him.

It’s 2:00 a.m. when I get back to the room.

With Christopher weighing heavily on my mind all night, things didn’t go to plan with Zack. The hostel is deserted, with everyone still out partying. I get my things out of my locker and take a long hot shower, dress in my pajamas, and walk into my room.

I flick the light on and see that Christopher is curled up in bed with his back to me. I quickly flick the light back off and climb in behind him. I snuggle up to his back and kiss his shoulder from behind.

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

I smile against his back.

“I’m not talking to you,” he mumbles.

“Good, because I’m going to sleep.”

“You showered?”

“Because I wanted a shower, not because I had sex.”

He stays silent, and I hug him tighter.

“Good night,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer me.

“Are you going to say good night?” I ask.

“Keep talking, and I’m kicking you out of bed.”

I smile into the darkness.

With his warm body and heavenly scent surrounding me, I drift into wonderland.

Bang, crash, boom!

“Sorry.” Bernadette laughs. She’s tripped over someone’s shoes.

Basil walks headfirst into the bunk bed and bounces onto the floor. The room is in a fit of giggles. Everyone has just arrived home, and they are rolling blind drunk.

Christopher’s arm is around me from behind, our bodies spooned up against each other.

“Hey.” Bernadette gasps loudly. “No hanky-panky between roommates, remember?”

“Go to bed, Bernadette,” Christopher snaps impatiently.

Basil goes to climb the ladder into his bed and falls spectacularly on the floor to the sound of everyone hysterically laughing.

Bodie tries to shush everyone. “Shh.”

I open my sleepy eyes to see that it’s daylight. “What time is it?”

Christopher picks up his phone. “Nine a.m.”

“Where have you guys been all night?” I frown.

“Beach party.”

“I fucked in the ocean,” Bodie slurs.

“With a sea monster,” Basil adds. They all burst out laughing again.

I focus enough to realize I have something hard in my back, and I frown.

“Dick. Out. Of. Back,” I grumble. “Now.”

“Sorry.” Christopher moves back from me. “It’s morning.”

We lie for a while. “I’m hungry,” I say. “If we don’t eat now, we will miss the free breakfast.”

“Hmm.” Christopher moans.

“Come on.” I get out of bed and put my hair up. I walk out the door to get my clothes from my locker, and Eduardo is standing patiently in the corridor.

He smiles. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I frown. “What . . .” I look around. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help Mr. Christo.”

“Oh.” I smile. My god, he’s so cute. “I’ll get him. Wait here.”

I walk back in the room and drop to my knees on the bed. “You have a little friend waiting out there for you.”

Christopher frowns. “Huh?”

“Eduardo is out there waiting to help Mr. Christo.”

He screws up his face. “He is not.”

“He is. Get up.”

Christopher climbs out of bed and walks into the corridor. His hair is all disheveled, and he’s wearing only boxer shorts. “Hey, buddy.” He frowns. “What’s going on?”

“I’m here to help you,” Eduardo replies eagerly. “What would you like me to do today?”

I smile as I watch. Cuteness overload.

“Oh,” Christopher replies as he scratches his head. “Umm . . . okay.” He looks over to me as if confused what to say next.

“Why don’t you give us ten minutes to get ready, and then we can talk about it?” I reply.

“All right.”

“Meet you in the restaurant?” I ask him.

He nods and happily trots off.

Christopher watches him disappear. “I’ve got no fucking jobs for this kid to do,” he whispers.

“Then you better make some up.”

An hour later, we walk down the street, in search of coffee.

Just the three of us.

“So we go to San Sebastián tomorrow until Thursday,” Christopher tells Eduardo. “We will be back then for four days. It would be great if you could try and find us a job for weekends. I mean, no pressure or anything.”

“Okay.” He listens intently as he walks along. “Can you do waiter?”

“No,” I interrupt. “He’s a terrible waiter.”

Christopher rolls his eyes. “Admitted, I’m not a great waiter.”

The boy smiles.

“And Hayden,” Christopher says.

“Hayz . . .” Eduardo frowns as he tries to say it. “Hayzzz.”

“Call me Hazy. Everyone does at home,” I tell him.

“Lazy Hazy,” Christopher replies. “Sounds about right.”

“Shut up.” I sigh.

“She needs a job, like . . . fishing or something,” Christopher continues.

I giggle. “No fish.”

The boy smiles too. “Call me Eddie.”

“All right, that’s easier.”

We get to a café, and Christopher hands him some money. “Can you go and get two cappuccinos, please, and one hot chocolate.”

Eddie nods and takes the money and walks inside. Christopher smirks as he watches him.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” I ask him.

“Nope,” he replies, his eyes still fixed on Eddie.

“I mean, I had some very good points.”

“That we are not discussing. Drop it.”

“I didn’t even kiss him.”

“Don’t care.”

“Really . . . don’t care even a little bit?”

“Shut up, Grumps.”

I smile. He called me Grumps. I know that I’m forgiven.

Eduardo returns with a tray, and he passes it over. Christopher takes out the hot chocolate and passes it back to him. “For you.”

Eddie’s face falls, and he looks up at Christopher as if he has just given him a sports car.

My heart constricts in my chest . . . oh.

“But I . . . ,” he stammers. “I’ve never . . .”

“Drink it,” Christopher orders. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

We turn and walk back to the hostel, and I’m filled with emotion at the look on Eddie’s face. He’s so proud to be drinking his hot chocolate.

I can’t make eye contact with Christopher, or I may just burst into tears.

I know he’s a player and he’s not the kind of guy that would ever fall for me or vice versa, but maybe there’s more to him underneath the surface than I initially thought.

Maybe he’s the kind of person that could actually help me loosen up.

No . . . he’s a heartbreak waiting to happen.

Forget it.

I watch Christopher watch Eddie as he smiles proudly with his hot chocolate, and my heart somersaults in my chest.

Out of all the things that I’ve done on this trip, or perhaps even ever, being here for Eddie’s first hot chocolate tops the list.

The wheels on the bus go round and round. We are en route to San Sebastián in a tour bus.

“It says here”—Christopher reads from his travel brochure—“that Basque, also known as Euskara, is one of the most fascinating languages in the world, an isolate.”

“What’s an isolate?” I reply as I look out the bus window. This man has an odd thirst for information; he reads everything.

“Meaning it has no relation to any other language in existence.” He raises his eyebrows, impressed. “And while its origins are unknown, most scientists believe that it’s the last preinvasion language in Europe.” He looks over at me. “Hmm . . . fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” I look back out the window.

He thinks out loud. “So that means it’s literally spoken prehistory . . .”

I look back over at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re odd.”

“You don’t find that interesting?”

“I do.”

“So how am I odd?”

“‘Literally spoken prehistory . . .’” I widen my eyes at him. “What does that even mean?”

He exhales heavily with a subtle shake of his head. “If you don’t know, then I’m not telling you.”

I go back to my dumbass scenery watching. “Can we have french fries for dinner?”

He glances over at me. “And I’m the odd one?”

“I’ve got a hankering.” I picture my delicious meal tonight. “With a hamburger.”

“Yes! Hamburgers,” Basil calls from the seat behind. “I’m down.”

“Did you know that it drops to five degrees Celsius in winter in San Sebastián?” Christopher replies.

More facts.

I cross my arms and snuggle down on his shoulder for a sleep. “I do now.”

There’s a reason people talk about San Sebastián in Spain.

It’s vibrant, colorful, and one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to.

Set on the coast, it has it all. Today we browsed the township, visited the Sacred Heart giant statue of Jesus on Monte Urgull. We went swimming at the beach this afternoon, and now it’s early evening. We are looking for somewhere to have dinner.

“Here?” Kimberly asks. We all peer into the packed pub.

“Looks popular.” Bodie shrugs. “This will do.” They all walk in, and I notice Christopher’s shoulders slump.

“Can we get a table for six, please?” Kimberly asks.

“Sure.” The waitress smiles. “This way.” We follow her through the crowded restaurant and take a seat in the courtyard.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper to Christopher as we walk along behind her.

“Nothing.” He puts his arm around my waist and follows me through.

“You look like something is wrong.”

“I’m just so sick of shit food,” he whispers as we get to the table.

“Oh.” I frown. I thought we’d been eating amazingly for our budget.

He pulls out my chair, and I sit down. We order drinks and look through the menu.

“What are you having?” I ask everyone.

They all discuss the choices and chat away, and I glance over to see Christopher staring at the menu, deflated.

“You don’t like any of this?” I ask.

He forces a smile. “It’s good. Don’t worry.” He taps me on the thigh with his big hand as if to reassure me.

He always goes with the flow. He’s never once picked where we go. “What would you eat if you could eat anything in the world?” I ask him softly so that the others can’t hear.

His eyes stay fixed on the menu. “I would have bluefin tuna sashimi with daikon and ginger for entrée. Beluga caviar with lobster and sage butter sauce.”

I frown.

“Followed by a glass of Macallan scotch and White Truffle Bliss for dessert.”

“Oh . . .” I stare at the menu. I’ve never had any of those meals. “That’s weird food.”

He gives me a sad smile. “Is it?”

“Uh-huh . . .” I keep looking through the menu. “Maybe you should put anchovies on the pizza if you want to feel exotic?”

He gives me a broad, beautiful smile and picks up my hand as it sits on the table and squeezes it in his. “Maybe.” He watches me for a moment. “What kind of food do you eat at home?”

I shrug. “I never really eat out.”

“Why not?”

“I live alone.” I shrug again. “I don’t know. I like cooking, I guess.”

“What kind of things do you cook?” he asks.

“Lots of things.” I smile over at him as he listens intently. “I’m pretty good, actually. When we get home, you’ll have to come and visit me one day, and I’ll cook for you.”

His eyes hold mine. “I’d like that.”

“What will it be, sir?” the waitress asks him.

“I’ll have the sierra pizza with anchovies,” he replies. He glances over and gives me a sexy wink.

“Mr. Exotic,” I mouth.

He chuckles as he speaks to the waitress. “What scotch do you have?” he asks her.

“House scotch.”

He winces. “Okay, I’ll have a glass of red wine.”

I laugh out loud as I am spun around. It’s our last night in San Sebastián, and we are celebrating in style.

We have sunned, swum, and laughed our way through the week. Sightseeing through the day and dancing the night away until we drop into an unconscious sleep in the early hours of the morning. If this is what the next twelve months look like, then sign me up. I’ve never had so much fun.

The new friends I’ve met are hilarious, and weirdly, it feels like a little family already. We all do our own thing but always look out for each other and end up safely back in the same room at the end of each night.

Rod Stewart’s song “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” blares through the speakers, and Christopher spins me out and then pulls my body back to his as we dance. My stomach hurts from laughing.

This man . . . this beautiful man.

He’s funny and smart and weirdly obsessed with factual literature. We’ve spent the whole week together . . . it’s been perfect.

If the truth be told, I’m quite enamored of him. Not that I will ever admit it.

He isn’t the kind of man I could let myself fall for. I already know how it would end.

I would lose my friend, one that I’ve become very attached to.

I see the women he looks at and talks to. They’re the complete opposite of me. He likes thin; I’m curvy. He likes supermodel high-maintenance types. I’m simple. He likes flirty and fun, and I’m quiet and shy. He likes promiscuous, and I haven’t had sex in a really long time.

Too long.

Wherever he is, he’s the center of attention. Everyone wants to be with him, and yet here’s me, wanting to blend in with the walls.

Chalk and cheese.

We couldn’t be more different.

The reality of it sucks, because we have this weird unstated connection. We’re touchy with each other and always end up at the back of the pack, talking between the two of us.

He cuddles my back in bed, and I rely on him more than I should.

But I know that would all come crashing to an end if something ever happened between us. I would instantly become one of the groupies he fucks and not his treasured friend.

I couldn’t hold a man like Christopher Miles—not for long, anyway.

And while I silently dream of what it would be like to be with someone like him . . . I know I can’t even entertain the idea.

I’m still not over my last heartbreak, and it’s been two years. If it happens again, I know I’ll be a spinster for life. I came on this trip to get over heartbreak, not start a new one. But Christopher is my friend. I know I can trust him to be just that.

He spins me again, and I laugh out loud.

“Let’s go swimming.” He smiles.

“Now?” I gasp. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What about sharks?”

“Sharks are the least of your worries,” he replies as he pulls me out of the bar by the hand.

Five minutes later we are on the beach, and he takes his shirt off over his head and strips down to his boxers.

Oh crap . . .

He wades out into the darkened water and turns back toward me. “Come on, Grumps.” He splashes the water up at me. “The water’s beautiful.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“So?”

I look up and down the beach. There are people everywhere.

“Stop being so uptight.”

He’s right. I am too uptight, and I want to change that about myself. I don’t like being like this.

Oh god . . .

I wade into the water, desperately wanting to go in.

“Come on,” he calls. “I want you to come swimming with me, that’s all.”

That’s all.

Right . . . I can do this.

Fuck . . .

“Turn around,” I call.

“What?” He laughs. “I’ve seen you in your underwear a million times.”

“Just turn around.”

He turns and faces out to sea, and I grab the hem of my dress and lift it over my head. I look down at myself. I have a black matching bra-and-panties set on.

Thank fucking god.

I wade into the water as I look around. “If I get eaten by a shark,” I call.

“I’ll save you.” He swims toward me.

“You’re supposed to be looking the other way,” I call.

“Da na . . . da na . . . da na . . .” He begins to sing the Jaws music as he swims toward me.

“Stop it,” I cry.

He picks me up and hurls me into the air, and I land in the water and go under deep. “Ahh,” I cry as I come up. “You idiot.” I look around in a panic. “You’re waking up the sharks.”

He picks me up again and hurls us both into the water with his arms tightly around me.

We surface, still arm in arm.

The air between us changes, and he stares down at me. Body to body, alone in the darkness.

His brow furrows as if confused as we stare at each other. In slow motion he lifts his thumb and dusts it over my bottom lip.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

I want to.

“Chris . . .”

“I just . . .” He takes my face in his hands as he stares down at me. Our bodies are so close I can feel his erection as it grows up against my stomach.

“We can’t,” I murmur.

“Why not?”

“Because I value what we have.”

“It won’t change a thing.”

“It will change everything.”

He stares at me, his chest rising and falling in the darkness. “Why?”

“Because I will end up with a broken heart, and you will end up feeling like shit about it.”

He stares at me, and I know that he knows that I’m right.

“You don’t want something permanent, and I don’t want something casual.” I smile up at him as I cup his face in my hand. “But that’s okay . . .” I pull him into a hug. “I like what we have already.”

“Blue balls?”

I giggle. “Go find someone else to take care of your balls.”

“Or I could just drown you for knocking me back.” He grabs for me, and I squeal as I try to get away from him. He picks me up and throws me high into the air again. “Come and get her, sharks,” he yells. “Teach her a lesson.”

I laugh out loud as I cough and splutter.

He swims to me and takes my hands in his as we stand facing each other. “Promise me something,” he says.

“Okay.”

“In ten years, on this day, no matter where we are in the world, no matter who we are married to, we will meet on this beach at this time and take a swim together in the dark.”

My eyes well with tears, because damn it, that’s romantic for a goodbye.

“I promise.”

He pulls me into a hug, and we stand in the water in each other’s arms.

Regretful but grateful for the honesty between us.

I smile as a thought comes to me. “My husband won’t like you, though.”

He laughs out loud and throws me into the air again. “That’s ’cause I’m going to steal you off him.”