The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(10)

“Great.”

He pops the trunk, and I put my backpack in, and I hop into the back seat.

He gets in and starts the car. I smile happily out the window.

Everything is running so smoothly. This is a walk in the park.

He puts the pedal to the metal, and we go zero to one hundred miles per hour in five seconds flat. He pulls out in front of a car, and they get on the horn.

“Ah.” I grab hold of the seat in front of me. “What are you doing?”

He changes lanes, and the tires screech; my eyes widen in fear. “Slow down,” I bark.

He goes across five lanes of traffic at high speed. “Relax.” He laughs as he waves his arms around. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Nothing about your driving is okay!”

He speeds through a red light, and I scrunch my eyes shut as I grip the seat in front of me for grim death.

“Slow down,” I demand.

He goes over a bump in the road so fast that I bounce high and hit my head on the roof.

“Ahh,” I cry. I peer out the front window at the oncoming cars.

Get off the road. We’re all going to die!

He takes a corner so fast that it feels like the car is going to roll over, and I contemplate jumping from the car.

Finally, after the most terrifying twenty minutes of my life, he pulls to a stop.

“Here you go.”

I get out and slam the door. “Never pick me up again.”

“Okay.” He smiles.

Dickhead.

I take my backpack and walk up the stairs of the hostel. It’s big and looks like a cheap and nasty hotel.

I walk in through the front doors and hear chanting.

“Drink, drink, drink.”

I look through the double doors into what looks like an outdoor courtyard bar.

A large group of people are gathered around a giant beer bong.

A guy is lying on his back, just about drowning as everyone screams and laughs.

The smell of bad body odor roils my stomach, and my eyes widen in horror.

What fresh hell is this?





Chapter 3


HAYDEN

“This?” Mom holds up a bikini on a coat hanger.

I screw up my face. “Where’s the rest of it?”

She chuckles.

I’m shopping for my trip with my mom and my best friend, Monica.

“This one?” Monica holds up a yellow bikini. It has white spots on it.

“It was a teeny-weeny, eenie-meanie yellow polka-dot bikini,” Mom sings.

I roll my eyes as I keep walking around. “There is literally nothing here I like.”

“Because you hate shopping,” they both reply in unison.

“This one?” Monica holds up a G-string black bikini and a barely there top.

“No.” I gasp. “That bikini gives out the wrong message.”

“What . . . like . . . ‘Hi, I’m Hayden, and I have a hot body; I’m ready to have some fun’?”

Mom giggles. “True, we’re getting this.” She snatches it off Monica and throws it over her arm.

“Listen.” I keep walking around the store. “If you wear revealing clothes, you attract the wrong type of man.”

Mom and Monica roll their eyes at each other. “And what type is that?” Mom sighs.

“The player kind,” I reply. “I hate players.”

“That’s the fun kind.” Monica widens her eyes. “I say have fun while you can.” She rubs her pregnant stomach. “Trust me, Haze, you’re a longtime married.”

“Don’t I know it.” Mom sighs in the background.

Monica holds up a stretchy white dress.

“No, that’s totally see through.” I gasp.

Mom snatches it off her and throws it over her arm.

“What kind of guy are you trying to attract?” Monica asks. She picks up a lace underwear set. “Oh, this is hot.”

Mom throws it over her arm.

“I’m not looking for a man.”

“Will you stop being such a prude?” Mom snaps.

“Regi isn’t coming back, Haze.”

“I know that,” I snap.

“So why are you waiting for him?”

“I’m not,” I splutter. “I just haven’t met anyone I like, that’s all.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me that if Regi walked back through those doors tonight and asked you to marry him, you would say no?” Monica picks up a teeny red dress and holds it up.

“Of course I would say no.” I snatch it off her and put it back where it came from.

Regi was my boyfriend of five years, my high school sweetheart. He went to college and never came back.

“So what kind of guy?” Mom prompts me.

“Hmm.” I think for a moment. “Blond. Capable. Hardworking. Animal lover.” I keep looking over the racks. “A virgin would be nice.”

“Virgin?” Mom gasps, horrified. “You want someone who knows what he’s doing at least!”

“What I want is a loyal man who loves me with all of his heart.”

“A virgin isn’t going to do that,” Monica huffs. “He’ll practice on you and then wonder what else is out there.”