“Right,” he says absentmindedly, his gaze still fixed on Nina’s fingers as she deposits a piece of cheese into her mouth. He smiles at her then, the type of smile chicks probably dig, flashing his dimples under a layer of stubble.
Her attention moves from me to Callum, and I want to punch the guy in his throat. She’s not giving him those sex eyes, but she’s chewing more slowly and tilting her head. I’m not the jealous type, never been my style. Not even with Lacey. But as the seconds tick by, it’s getting increasingly difficult not to pluck Nina from the table and strap her to my bed.
I really need to get laid.
Four
Nina
It’s hard to tear my eyes from Sam, but Callum has this amazing smile. I chew slowly, uneasy with the attention, unsure if Callum’s messing with me. But seeing Bruno with Reese as he plays with her braid and touches her hand, I realize these guys are flirting. An essential part of any travel experience: Hook up with random people you’ll never see again. Bruno could star in an episode of The Bachelor. He fawns over Reese across from him. Brianne’s giggles escalate as she flings her pink nails at his arm, and Leigh’s eyes darken to the color of her jet-black hair. She shoots daggers at him.
My bet’s on Reese for the rose.
I envy these girls. I’d love to be carefree enough to flirt and sleep with a stranger for fun. No strings, no expectations. There is Sam who, after much consideration, I’ve decided is less stalkeresque and just plain nice. When I first saw him standing at the stove, I almost fled. I ran through several scenarios that might have led to us staying at the same hostel.
Scenario one: I am the missing character from a Percy Jackson novel about to find out I’m the bastard kid of a powerful god who’s hell-bent on punishing me.
Scenario two: Maybe it was Mom. Maybe she got my note, planted Sam on the plane, had him trip me and follow me so he could help me embarrass myself. (Not that I need the assistance.) Mom’s vain attempts to console me growing up always ended with, “Don’t run from who you are, Pininfarina. If you accept yourself, others will, too.”
Yeah, right. But Sam isn’t her modus operandi—it involves actual planning.
Scenario three: Sam had me followed. He found out I can’t resist melted cheese, and he slipped something into my food to take advantage of me later.
Even though I rejected each hypothesis, I could never consider sleeping with Sam. Aside from the fact that he knows I have a tendency to malfunction, he’s way too hot to consider. He stays where he belongs, in fantasyland.
Now Callum…he could work. He’s skinnier than Sam, fit but lean, and not as off-the-charts gorgeous. His cheeks crease when he smiles, his thick blond hair styled but messy. He’s easy on the eyes. And so far, he thinks I’m normal.
But to be so daring, I’d have to address my androphobia. My fear of men.
The endless hours I spent locked in my room during my formative high school years were often used to research and self-diagnose all the phobias that resulted from my inability to function normally. My androphobia was acquired at the only party I ever attended close to graduation. Having had enough of hanging out with my siblings and tired of rewinding the sexy parts in movies, I took control of my life. Or so I thought. After a few drinks, things were looking good. I was on a bed. Clothes off. A cute guy above me drunk enough not to care about my past. Then Pininfarina Gabri, catastrophe magnet, made her unwanted appearance.
I may or may not have lost my virginity. The jury’s still out after that disaster.
I’ll stick with flirting and fantasies.
As I return Callum’s smile, Sam’s plate clatters against the table. He bends his lips to my ear, his nose brushing my hair. I almost drop my bagel. “You’ve got some sauce on your chin,” he whispers.
Callum turns to chat with the group as I take a paper towel from Sam to wipe the offending smear.
So much for flirting.
Bruno hops from the table and returns with two more shot glasses. He deposits them in front of Sam and me. Having stuffed a bite of bagel into my mouth, I can’t protest. I chew as fast as possible, but by the time I swallow, all