“Your hair is so incredible.” Eloise, a French woman who seemed very interested in Andres’ friend Miguel, boldly ran her fingers down the length of my ponytail. “Is it natural? Or do you pump it up a little dye?”
“All natural. I tried to darken it, go brunette, when I was fourteen, and I hated it so much I swore I’d never touch hair dye again.”
“Why would you want to go from this gorgeous red and gold to brunette?” Eloise seemed scandalized.
“I wanted to fit in,” I confessed. “Like every teenage girl does, I guess.”
“That I understand,” she said, touching her blonde hair. “I went through a mermaid phase when I was a teenager. The green looked great at first, but after a couple of washes, it turned gray and sad.” She leaned her chin on her hand. “So, what do you do?”
“I’m a grad student. Anthropology,” I added. “You?”
“I work in finance. Mostly Brussels, but sometimes Singapore and Hong Kong.”
“Okay. I want to hear more about that! I feel like my next big trip should be Asia.”
Eloise and some of the others near us started to fill me in on all the must-see spots in Asia. One beer turned into two and then someone brought a bottle of rakia to the table. The first sip of the strong fruit brandy knocked me right on my ass, and I should have known better than to finish my glass. Eloise poured me another, and I gave in to the pressure to accept it.
By the time I reached the bottom of the second glass, I was well and truly drunk. Not so drunk I was about to fall over, but drunk enough that I knew I had made a mistake. I was alone in a foreign country and had a long walk down a dark street to my hotel.
Certain I needed to get back to my hotel room sooner rather than later, I settled up my tab with the leks in my wallet and bid everyone farewell. Andres rose from the table with me. He had probably matched my alcohol intake, but he was taller, heavier and likely had way more experience with social drinking than I did.
“Your phone,” he said, gesturing toward the ceiling.
“Oh, right,” I said, my thoughts a little fuzzy.
“Wait here. I’ll get it for you and walk you back to the hotel.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I wandered outside to the terrace of the restaurant and inhaled the cold, crisp mountain air. Just when I thought the trip to my hotel wouldn’t be so bad, it started to rain. “Are you kidding me?” I asked the dark sky. “Seriously? Rain? Now?”
Cursing my lack of a jacket, I started to shiver and dreaded the walk back. I would be soaked through by the time I reached my room. At least the shock of cold water might sober me up a bit.
“It’s raining?” Andres seemed as surprised as me when he found me leaving the terrace for the warmer interior of the restaurant.
“Just started,” I said, taking my fully charged phone from him. I glanced at the screen, but there was no service. So much for making contact with anyone back home!
Andres hesitated before asking, “Do you want to bunk with me tonight? So you don’t have to walk in the rain?”
I shared his hesitation. “Thanks, but it’s not that far to my hotel. The rain isn’t that bad either.”
As if on cue, lightning flashed close by and an eardrum splitting crack of thunder made me flinch. The light shower turned into a full deluge. There was no way I was getting back to my hotel safely in this storm.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Andres offered. “With my clothes on,” he added. “This really is not me trying to get you to sleep with me.”
He seemed honest, and so far, he hadn’t given me any indication that he wasn’t trustworthy. Still, there was always a chance he was like Ted Bundy levels of charming psycho. I glanced back at the rain flooding the terrace. Swim uphill to my hotel or sleep in a warm, dry bed in the same room as someone who had been nothing but kind and friendly?
“Um, okay,” I said, my woozy brain making the decision for me. “But, seriously, don’t try anything. If Spider doesn’t kick your ass, I can guarantee Besian will.”
Andres frowned. “Who is Spider? And Besian?”
“Spider is my stepdad. He’s an ex-felon in a motorcycle gang.”
“Like Sons of Anarchy?” he asked, seemingly torn between fascination and fear.
“Exactly like that and Besian is an Albanian loan shark who owns a strip club empire back in Houston,” I said, poking him in the chest to make my point. “You do anything weird or creepy, and you’re going to have some problems.”
“Understood,” Andres assured me. He tilted his head and smiled. “You’re full of surprises Marley.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered, falling into step next to him when he gestured toward the restaurant’s exit.
“So, this Albanian loan shark,” he said as we climbed the stairs, “is he your boyfriend?”
I snorted. “It’s complicated.”
Andres laughed. “Isn’t it always?”
“That’s been my experience, at least.”
By the time we reached his hotel room, I was so tired. True to his word, Andres made a pallet on the floor while I used the bathroom. I toed off my shoes but left everything else on before climbing into bed.
“Are you planning to take the ferry in the morning?” Andres asked from his pallet.
“Yes. Are you?”
He nodded. “Do you want to share our taxi?”
“If it’s not a problem?”
“No problem. I’ll set an alarm so you have enough time to return to your hotel for your luggage.”
“Thank you.” Yawning, I reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, but Andres stopped me.
“Do you mind leaving it on?” He seemed embarrassed as he explained, “I don’t sleep well in the dark.”
“Oh. Okay. No, that’s fine. It won’t bother me at all.” As drowsy as I was from all that rakia, the literal sun could be four inches from my face, and I wouldn’t notice. Sliding down under the covers, I yawned again. “Night, Andres.”
“Good night, Marley.”
Chapter Six
I groaned as the shrill tone of an alarm pierced through my restful sleep. My head pounded, and my stomach churned as I sat up and tried to make sense of my surroundings. Across the room, Andres reached for his phone as it vibrated loudly against the floor.
Hungover and dry mouthed, I silently scolded myself for such risky behavior. In the cold light of morning, I could see how dangerous it had been to come back to a hotel room with a man I hardly knew, especially as drunk as I had been. Andres had proven himself to be a stand-up guy, a true gentleman, and I thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t drunkenly stumbled into a night I would regret.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Andres stretched his arms overhead.
“Like I need a CT scan and a morphine IV,” I grumbled, rubbing my aching head.
“You’re not a big drinker, huh?”
“Nope.” I grimaced at the gross taste in my mouth. “I’m a single can of cheap moscato from Target while I binge Netflix murder shows kind of girl.”
He laughed softly. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”