The room is silent: just what I need.
After last night’s craziness, it’s good to finally get some rest. The others aren’t back from dinner yet. It’s just Christopher and me.
Turning the page, I try to focus on my book, but I can feel eyes watching. I glance up to see him lying in his bed opposite mine, propped up on one elbow and staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t get it.”
My eyes stay on the page. “Get what?”
“How have you only slept with one person?”
“Why would you still be thinking about that?” I shrug. “Drop it, please.”
“After you explain it to me, I’ll never mention it again.”
I raise my eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”
He smirks. He doesn’t believe that either. “So you lied?”
“No.”
“Then it’s impossible.”
I drop my book, annoyed. “It is completely possible. Not everyone is fucking like rabbits, you know?”
“Were you married?”
“No.”
“Religious beliefs?”
“Nope.”
He thinks for a moment and raises an eyebrow. “Just boring, then?”
I smile. “Maybe.”
He twists the blankets underneath him as he thinks.
Ugh, he’s not going to drop this until he has more information.
“Look, I was with my high school sweetheart for most of my adult life, and when we broke up . . .” I shrug.
“So you’re newly single?”
“Not really.”
“How long?”
“You’re very nosy, you know that?”
“How long?” he repeats.
“We broke up two years ago.”
“You haven’t had sex for two years?” He gasps, horrified.
I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Damn it, why did I say that out loud? “I’ve been busy.”
“Masturbating?”
Nailed it.
I smirk and go back to my book.
We sit in silence for a while, and I can almost hear his brain ticking at a million miles per minute. “How long since you had sex?” I ask him.
He twists his lips as he thinks. “With myself . . . about an hour.”
“You jerked off here?” I gasp. “Where?”
“In the shower. What was I supposed to do? I haven’t had sex for five days; my balls were aching.”
“Ew.” I stare at him. “You have to wank after only five days?”
“Of course.” He nods. “I have to ejaculate every day, more than once if possible. Morning and night is the best scenario.”
I frown. “You’re sick.”
“All men need to come. It’s genetic.”
I think for a moment. I’ve never spoken to a man about this sort of thing before. “So who . . . do you . . . sleep with? A girlfriend or . . .”
“Girls.”
“What girls?”
He exhales heavily as he thinks. “I don’t know. I have a few people I see casually.”
“So you have open relationships with them?”
“No. I don’t have relationships with them; I have sex with them.”
I frown, confused. “What happens? They come to your house and undress, and you fuck them, and then they leave?”
He nods. “Pretty much.”
Yuck . . . I screw up my face.
“What?” he asks.
“I can think of nothing worse.”
“I’m a very good fuck. They leave satisfied.”
Gross.
I widen my eyes as I return to my book.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“This is why I could never go out with a player like you. We come from completely different planets.”
“I’m not a player. Players hurt people. The women I see know exactly where they stand. It’s a mutual arrangement.”
I raise my eyebrow. “And I bet every single one of them is thinking she’s going to be the woman who finally tames you.”
“Calm down, nobody is taming anybody.” He rolls his eyes.
I smile. “Until they do.”
“So?”
“So what?” I ask.
“Don’t you want to know what else is out there?”
“I do.” I pause as I try to articulate myself properly. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”
“Then why?”
“To me, giving my body to someone is sacred. I just can’t imagine doing it with someone I didn’t know and trust.”
“What you’re saying is that you’re waiting for marriage?”
“That’s not it. I just . . . I haven’t met anyone that raises any interest in me.” I shrug as I think about it. “Maybe I am boring?”
He flops onto his back. “Maybe you’ve only slept with a dud, and you’re not addicted to orgasms yet.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe this trip is your sabbatical, and you are going to turn into the ultimate fuck-bunny hobag.”
I giggle. “Maybe.”
“Why did you break up?” he asks.
I think for a moment. “I don’t know.”
He scratches his head as he waits for my answer.
“Who was your last girlfriend?” I ask to change the subject.
He gives a subtle shake of his head.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
I screw up my face. “What . . . never. Why?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Never really been my thing, I guess. It’s not something that I ever felt I needed.”
“That’s weird. How old are you?”
“Well, I am in the fossil room.”
I giggle. “This is true.” I think for a moment. “Maybe you need to see a therapist,” I reply.
“Ask my mother; she’ll tell you just how much.”
We both laugh, and it feels good to talk to him like this. A silent acknowledgment runs between us. There’s nothing romantic there, so no point ruining what it actually is.
He smiles up at the ceiling as if finding something amusing.
“What?”
“I think Bodie has a thing for you.”
I screw up my face. “No, really?”
“I think so.”
“Kimberly asked me if you were available.”
He twists his lips as if considering the prospect. “She’s pretty hot, actually.”
“I thought so.” I think for a moment. “Great boobs.”
He nods, thinking about it too. “Probably not a good idea if we are going to travel together. Would make for an awkward twelve months.” He wrinkles his nose.
I imagine him dodging both Kimberly and Bernadette, and I giggle. “Would make for some excellent viewing for me, though.”
He smiles over at me. “You’re a cool chick, Grumps.”
“I know.”
“Need any help with your vibrator?”
“You were doing so well.” I gasp as I throw a cushion at him.
He bursts out laughing, and I do too.
Maybe he’s not that bad.
CHRISTOPHER
I sit at the bar of the hostel and scroll through the employment section.
I need to find a job, and stat.
My three-day shift at the taxi company is over, and we have decided that we’re going to work on weekends in Barcelona and travel through the week to different destinations.
Monday, we leave for San Sebastián.
Which is a major problem because I have $300 to my name. Actually, $297 after this beer.
How the fuck do people live without money? It’s so shit.
“Hey.” I hear a voice and look up. It’s the kid. He’s arrived for his shift tonight. He walks behind the bar and puts his apron on.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Thanks for the other night,” he says as he fusses around and begins to clean.
“That’s okay.”
I watch him for a moment. He won’t look at me.
“Just so you know, I kicked his ass when we got outside,” I add.
He smirks as he stacks the glasses high. “Where did you learn to fight?”
I shrug. “I have three older brothers who think they are always right. Punching their faces in comes naturally.”
He smiles as he continues to do his chores.
“Do you live around here?” I ask him.
He nods. “Not far.” He picks up the broom and begins to sweep.
“How long have you worked here for?” I ask.
“Hmm . . . two or so years.”
“You started when you were twelve?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The things he must have seen.
I watch him as he works. This kid intrigues me. So capable and independent.
“Do you live with your parents?” I ask.
“My grandmother.”
I wonder where his parents are.
“Got any brothers and sisters?”
“No.”
“Oh . . .” We fall silent, and he keeps on working.
“I live in London,” I tell him.
He nods but doesn’t reply.
“Originally from New York.”
His eyes shoot up. “What’s it like?”
“New York?”
He nods.
“Best city in the world.”
He smiles. “I’m going to go there one day.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and flicks through the photos until he gets to the one he wants to show me. It’s a skyline pic of New York at dusk.
I smile as I look at it. “You’ll love it.” I pass his phone back to him, and he goes to put it in his pocket but misses, and it falls on the floor.
He scrambles to pick it up, and his face falls. “Oh no,” he cries. He throws his hands up in the air. “I broke the screen.”
“What?” I frown. “Show me.”
He holds it out for me to see, and the screen is smashed to smithereens.
He slams it down on the counter and puts his two hands in his hair in despair.
I stare at the phone. It’s ancient, super old. It’s a wonder it even works.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s just a phone screen.”
“I saved for two years for this phone,” he cries. His nostrils are flared, and it looks like he’s about to burst into tears.
“Oh . . .” I pick it up. “Maybe we could get the screen fixed?” I try to make him feel better.
“You can’t get parts for this phone. It’s too old.” He slams a pot down on the counter. He’s genuinely devastated.
“Eddie,” a man calls from the front.
He looks up.
“Move the bottles of water from the store. I have a truck coming in with more stock.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Hurry up about it,” the guy calls.
I frown as I listen to the cold orders.
The kid rushes to the front to move the stock, and I sit in silence, the weight of his world sitting heavily on my chest. He works like a dog and has to save for two years for a piece-of-shit phone.
Poor fucking kid.
“I got us a job,” Basil announces as he slouches onto a stool beside me.
“What? Where?”
“An Italian restaurant. They’re looking for three staff members. I saw a sign on the window and went in, and he offered me it straightaway. I asked him about you and Hayden, and he said to bring you both and we can all trial.”
“Great.”
“We start tonight.”
“Tonight?” I frown. I had plans to sort my hungry dick out tonight. I’m walking around with a constant boner.
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay.” I sigh. “Thanks.”
Looks like it’s more shower love for me. The thought is depressing.
I need my cock sucked.
I pick my T-shirt up and smell it as we walk along. “Did he wash this fucking T-shirt before he loaned it to me?”
“He said he washed it yesterday,” Hayden replies.
“What washing powder did he use, wet dog?”
“Probably too tight for laundry powder,” Basil says from up front.
I stop on the spot, horrified. “So, what . . . you don’t think he didn’t use powder?”
“I don’t know. He loaned you a plain black shirt that you needed for our trial tonight. He did you a favor,” Hayden huffs. “Stop being a princess.”
“I am not being a princess,” I snap. “I’m being hygienic. Does anyone around here know the fucking meaning of the word?”
Basil and Hayden roll their eyes at each other.
“I saw that,” I snap as I look up the long road. “Where is this restaurant, anyway? Bangkok?”
They stay silent and keep walking in front.
I wish.
Banging my cock sounds like a job I would actually want.
“Maybe I should be a gigolo?” I tell them. “Could kill two birds with one stone.”
Hayden rolls her eyes. “For someone who hates body odor as much as you, I imagine you would love all those dirty-smelling clients.”
I screw up my face in disgust. “Gross.”
She shrugs. “Just saying.”
“Yeah, well, don’t. I’m getting a bad visual right now.”
“What of, a smelly girl wanting you to go down on her for an hour?” She turns and smiles sweetly at me. “Sounds perfect. You should totally look into that.”
I wince. Just the thought roils my stomach.
“I would pick and choose my clients,” I reply. “Obviously.”
“Because hot girls pay for sex all the time,” Basil replies.
We keep walking and walking and walking . . .
“Where the fuck is this restaurant?” I huff. I glance at my phone. “Aren’t we supposed to be there like five minutes ago?”
“It’s up here. Five minutes late won’t matter.”
“Won’t matter?” I cry. “I hate late people,” I say as we walk along. “I’ve given a warning letter before for being five minutes late. Get here on time or get the fuck out.”
Hayden turns back to look at me, seemingly shocked. “To a schoolkid?”
“Oh . . .” Fuck, that’s right. I’m a teacher. “I take no shit from my kids.”
“Do you make them wear deodorant?” Basil asks.
“At all times,” I reply. This isn’t a lie. If I were a teacher, every fucker would be deodorized.
“I bet you hate dirty shoes too,” Basil says.
“I fucking hate dirty shoes,” I agree. “You can always tell how much respect somebody has for themselves by the state of their shoes.”
They both roll their eyes.
“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Hayden replies.
“I’m normal,” I announce. “Why, what do you do for work?” I ask her.
“Animal husbandry,” she replies as she walks in front.
I frown. “What’s that?”
“I’m an IVF specialist for cows.”
“Speak English. What does that mean?”
“I collect semen from bulls and impregnate cows.”
Both Basil and I stop still on the spot as we stare at her, shocked to our cores.
“You wank bulls?” I gasp.
“No.” She keeps walking. “I get them ready to do their business.”
“How? Do they watch cow porn?” I frown, fascinated.
Hayden laughs. “No, I set them up with a hot little heifer, and then we have a fake vagina heated to sixty-three degrees Celsius and filled with K-Y Jelly, and they do their business in there. An oversize condom catches it.”
My mouth falls open. “You have a bull Fleshlight?”
“I guess you could call it that.” She shrugs.
“Then what?” I gasp. “What do you do with the bull jizz?”
“Bull jizz.” Basil laughs. “That’s fucking funny. You should get it on a T-shirt.” He holds his hand up in the air and makes a rainbow shape. “Professional bull jizzer.”
“I take it back to my lab, and it’s frozen for when I impregnate a female.”
“How do you do that?” I ask. This is the most random thing I’ve ever heard of.
“I have an instrument, and I inject it into the cow’s uterus.”
“Do you do an operation to do that?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
She holds her arm up and indicates sticking it in something.
My eyes widen in horror. “You don’t . . .”
She smiles with a nod. “I do.”
“Your whole hand?”
She karate chops the top of her arm. “My whole arm.”
Basil’s mouth and mine both fall open in shock. There are no words for her job.
“What the fuck, man,” Basil gasps.
“You think you know someone,” I mutter under my breath.
“What does that mean?” she asks. “What did you think I would do?”
“Not that,” I huff. “I didn’t even know that was a fucking thing.” We continue to walk for a while. “I pegged you for a nurse.”
“A nurse?” She frowns.
“Yeah, you have that commonsense thing going on. I thought you were a nurse.”
“No.”
“Hmm . . .” We keep walking. “Do the bulls know that they aren’t fucking the cow?”
“No, they think it’s the real thing.”
“Hmm . . . maybe I should buy myself a Fleshlight?” I think out loud. “I mean, if bulls like it.”
“Stick to fucking cows,” Hayden replies.
“Definitely had a few of them in my time,” I agree.
“This is it,” Basil says as we get to a restaurant. “Let’s hope we get the jobs.” He pushes open the door and is greeted by the server. “Hi. We are here to start work tonight?”
The girl fakes a smile and looks Hayden up and down. Hmm . . . I already don’t like her. “Hi.” She fakes a smile. “Just go out the back to the kitchen,” she instructs us.
We walk through the huge restaurant, and I look around. There must be two hundred tables in here. This place is massive. We go through the double doors to find the biggest kitchen I have ever seen. People are scurrying around like ants.
“What time do you call this?” a big fat dude yells. He taps his watch. “You’re late!”
“Sorry,” Basil stammers. “We got lost. It won’t happen again.”
“Do not waste my time,” he barks in a strong Italian accent. He calls someone over with his hand. “Maria will show you what to do.” He glares at us. “Do not mess up in my restaurant. Do you hear me?”
Who does this fucker think he is?
“Okay.” Hayden nods. She hits me on the leg to remind me to speak.
“Sure,” I reply. I don’t like this guy already.
Maria comes over. “Hi, I’m Maria. Have you worked in hospitality before?”
“Yes,” Basil and Hayden both reply.
I’ve eaten at a million restaurants in my life. How hard could it be? “Yes,” I lie.
“Great.” She smiles as she looks around. “Do any of you have bar experience?”
“I do,” Basil replies.
“Okay, you’re on the bar,” she says to him. “And you two wait tables.”
“Sure.”
“Put these on, and . . .” She looks at me. “What’s your name?” she asks me.
“Christo,” I reply.
“What’s your name?” she asks Hayden.
“Hayden.”
“Okay. Put these on.” She hands us both black-and-white-striped aprons.
“Cosmo, you do the front level, and Helga, you do the back corner.” She turns her back to get out some notepads.
“Helga,” I mouth to Hayden. She widens her eyes and tries not to laugh.
“When you hear a bell, it means order up, and you take it to the table.”
“Okay.” We both nod. That sounds easy enough.
“Call me if you need anything.” She walks off.
“Helga,” I whisper as we walk to the kitchen.
She hits me on the leg. “Shut up, Cosmo.”
The bell dings. “Order up,” a guy calls.
The food is laid out on a high bench with heat lamps over it to keep it warm. Staff are buzzing around everywhere.
“Hi.” Hayden smiles to the chef. “I’m new, so . . .”
The chef nods, too busy to care. “This, this, and this to table forty.” He slides over three plates. Hayden picks up two of them, and I go to pick up the other. “One person, three plates,” he yells.
“Calm down,” I mutter.
Hayden does some kind of juggling act and carries two plates with one hand and one in the other. She toddles off, out into the restaurant.
The bell dings again. “What are you ringing the bell for? I’m right here,” I say.
“No talking,” the chef yells.
I screw up my face. “I wasn’t making conversation.”
He slides over three plates. “Table forty.”
I pick up two of the plates.
“Three at a time,” he yells.
“I’m not an octopus,” I snap. “I’ll be back for the other.”
“Not good enough,” he calls after me.
My blood begins to simmer. Fuckwit.
I walk out to the restaurant and look for Hayden. She’s over in the corner, delivering the plates to the table. How the hell did she know what number each table is? I walk over. The table has ten men sitting at it, who are all very tipsy. “Pasta?” I ask as I look around the table.
“What pasta is it?”
I look in the bowl. Hmm . . . I have no idea. “Spaghetti.”
“What spaghetti?”
“I don’t fucking know, you ordered it.”
Hayden gives me a subtle shake of her head.
“What kind of pasta is it?” the guy barks.
“Whatever the one you ordered is,” I bark back. “Put the wine down and concentrate.”
Hayden takes the bowl from me and peers into the bowl. “Shrimp?”
“Me,” someone says. She puts the bowl down, and he keeps talking.
“Thank you,” I correct him.
He glances up.
“Manners are free,” I say.
“Fuck off, man,” he replies.
“What did you say?”
Hayden snatches the plate from me and puts it down. “This way,” she whispers as she pulls me away by the elbow. “What are you doing?” she whispers as she fakes a smile.
“This job is shit.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a great job.”
“Coming from someone who fist-fucks cows for a living, I don’t believe you’re qualified to call it,” I whisper angrily.
She looks around the restaurant. “Just walk around and clear the tables.”
“What’s that?”
“You said you did this before?”
“I lied.”
“Fucking hell,” she whispers. “Collect the dirty plates, and take them to the kitchen.”
“Okay.” I nod. “That’s a good plan.”
I walk over to a table. A man and woman are talking, his plate neatly packed up. I pick up his plate. “I’m not finished.” He snatches it off me.
“So why are your knife and fork together like that?”
“I was talking.”
“Less talking, more eating. I don’t have all night to wait for you, you know?” I march off.
“Excuse me,” someone calls as I walk past.
I turn to see the hottest woman I’ve seen all week. I smile. Finally . . . something good about this restaurant. “Yes.”
“Could you possibly get me an orgasm?”
“You have no idea,” I reply as I imagine myself bending her over the table.
She blinks. “As in cocktail?”
“Oh . . . right?” I fake a smile. I knew that. Damn it, I need to get laid.
I march to the bar and over to Basil. “Can you make me an Orgasm, please, for Miss Salacious at two o’clock?”
He glances over at her. “I don’t know how to make that.”
“You said you’ve done this before?”
“I lied.”
“Fucking hell. Google it.”
“I already tried. I have no service.”
“This is one colossal fuckup,” I whisper angrily. “The one person I am trying to impress, and you are completely fucking this up for me.”
“Go and ask her what’s in an Orgasm?”
“My fucking dick, that’s what. She’s smoking hot.” We both look over at her, sitting there in her tight black dress and her long dark hair. Another guy comes to work behind the bar. “What’s in an Orgasm cocktail?” I ask him.
He shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I don’t know.”
“What?” I screw up my face. “How don’t you know? Aren’t you the barman? Isn’t there a manual or some shit behind there?”
“There is, but it’s written in Italian,” the guy says. “Just do whatever. Nobody ever complains about bad cocktails.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod. “Just work it out between you. But make it good because I want to go back to her table at least ten times.”
“Cosmo,” Maria calls. “Plates.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, witch,” I mutter under my breath as I walk back out onto the floor. “Are you finished with these?” I ask two people.
“Yes,” the man snaps.
I glare at him. Why are people being so fucking rude in this place?
It’s like pig city.
I carry the plates back out into the kitchen and see Hayden waiting for food to take out. “What do I do with these?” I ask her.
“Scrape them off into the bin, then rinse them and stack them to the side for the dishy to do.”
“Okay.”
I scrape them off and then look at a huge thing that comes out of a large black pipe in the ceiling. It has a silver big nozzle thing on the end that looks like a drink gun. I try to read the buttons.
Is this the tap?
I look around. How is this the tap?
I hold the plate in the sink and hit the button, and a water jet capable of knocking down a war bunker hits the plate and sprays water all over me and the entire kitchen. The hot plates sizzle as the water hits them. “Ahh.” I try to turn it off, and it goes harder. The hose begins to go out of control and flick around as it sprays everywhere. Everyone is screaming and ducking for cover.
“What are you doing? Turn off the tap, you fucking idiot!”
“If it were a tap, I would,” I cry as I battle the wayward water. “This is a fucking fire hose. Get better equipment, fool.”
Hayden runs over and tries to grab the out-of-control tap as it flies around. We are both saturated. A waiter walks into the kitchen and slips in the water, dropping his tray of plates. “Sorry,” I call. “Occupational safety at its worst.”
Hayden bursts out laughing, and I do too. This is ridiculous.
“Get out of my kitchen,” the owner cries. “You idiots!”
I take off my apron, and Hayden’s eyes widen. “We’re out of here.”
“What?”
I spin her away from me and undo her apron, and I grab her hand. “Let’s go.” We run through the restaurant, and Basil’s eyes widen when he sees us. He looks around as if not sure what to do, and then he makes a run for it too. We run out onto the street and burst out laughing, completely saturated and looking like drowned rats.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Basil gasps as he looks us up and down.
“Fire hose.”
His eyes widen. “He sprayed you with the fire hose?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Holy shit,” he cries. “We need to report him to someone. That’s just wrong, man . . . the instructions need to be in English.”
I’m laughing so hard that I can hardly stand up, and Hayden is too.
“What do we do now?” Basil asks, wide eyed.
“We go out and party.”
I breathe in deeply as I wake up from my dozing. Hmm . . . I have to get back to my room.
I have a naked woman under each arm, our legs entwined in the sheets. It was a good night.
I needed that.
I stir, and they both cling to me. “Where you going?” one whispers.
“Home.” I sit up and climb out of bed and smile as I watch them both fall back to sleep. I bend and kiss them each on the cheek and run my hand over their naked hips.
Hot.
I make my way back to the hostel and get into the shower; the hot, steamy water runs over my head, and I soap myself up as I wash them off me.
I’m exhausted. It’s been a very long day.
I sneak into my room to find Kimberly in my bed.
What?
The fuck is she doing here? This isn’t her room.
Damn it, I would have stayed where I was if I’d known I didn’t have a bed back here. I look around the dark room. Fuck it. I’ll climb in with Grumps.
I slide in beside her and scooch under the blankets. Still asleep, she shuffles over with her back to me to make room. I roll on my side and put my arm around her from behind. I inhale the sweet scent of her hair and feel her curves under my arm.
And then, in bed with my favorite person in Spain, I feel myself finally relax.
