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.”