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.