Chapter 20
Amine – Kayla
L ater that evening, a bunch of us are gathered in two other crew members’ room. It’s called the Marianne, and we decided to cultivate here because there’s a private terrace.
Callie, Gwen, and I are sitting out on it and taking turns drinking from a bottle of white wine.
Unlike us, Gwen is already dressed to hit the town. She has a black, one-shouldered, faux leather body suit on with a short, glittery skirt and knee-high boots.
“Are you going to cover up before we get into the club?” I ask nervously.
Gwen looks down and assesses her outfit. “Why?”
“It’s just the exposed shoulder and your thighs… it could be offensive to the locals, no?”
She laughs. “That’s more of an issue in the rural areas of the country. But fine. I’ll bring a long coat if it’ll make you happy.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I suppose,” Callie says after checking her watch. “We should probably get changed.”
Oh, brother. I resist rolling my eyes. I know that any outfit choice of mine isn’t going to fly with her.
When we walk back to our room, I pull out the light purple and cotton shirt and denim jeans I planned to wear.
As predicted, Callie turns her nose up at it. “Absolutely not.”
My body deflates. “What do you have in mind then?”
She rifles through the drawers she previously filled and pulls out a skirt and bright pink tank top.
“Callie, you’re like half of my size. That’s going to be a crop top on me.”
She smiles. “That’s the point.” Then, she walks over to me and lifts up the bottom of my shirt. “It’s a shame not to show off that tight body of yours.”
I pull it back down. “Like I was just saying to Gwen, I think we should all be as respectful as possible.”
She gives me a funny look. “Kayla, do you think anyone respectable is going to be out at all hours of the morning with us?”
I think on it for a second. “Well, I suppose not.”
“Exactly.”
“But I still think we should avoid drawing too much attention to ourselves.”
She gets on her tippy toes and pats the top of my head. “Oh, sweet summer child, Kayla.”
In the end, I go with her choice for a shirt, but stick with my jeans, and I’m going to add a leather jacket that I borrowed from Gwen. She’s more of my size, so it isn’t ridiculously tight or small like my top from Callie.
“Now for your hair,” she announces.
Oh, lord.
“I’m thinking we should go for slick and tight on the sides and height on the top.”
I can’t even picture what that would look like in my head.
But after she teases and hairsprays the heck out of it, I start to see her vision.
“Yes! I love that. As for the back, we’ll just gather it into a sleek, low pony. Then last, but certainly not least, is makeup.”
Before she can come at me with some eyeliner, I grab her wrist. “That’s okay here?”
“Yes, Kay. Moroccan women wear makeup.”
“Okay…”
She gives me a smokey eye, fake eyelashes, and tries to go for some bright pink lipstick, but I stop her again.
“Uh-uh.”
“What? It’s to complete the look!”
I stand up and observe myself in the mirror. “Trust me, it’s completed.”
She also looks at herself, and she fluffs up her hair. As straight and short as it is, I assume there isn’t much she can do with it, so I guess I was happy to be her Barbie doll for the day.
“Are we ready?” she finally asks.
I take a huge drink of wine and swallow it. “I guess.”
“Whoa! Look at you!” I scream when I see Denver waiting outside. Like me, he’s wearing a leather jacket, and his hair is slicked to the sides. However, he also has one thick curl hanging down the middle of his forehead. “You look like a Greaser!”
He starts singing and dancing to Grease Lightening . I laugh along.
“That’s awesome.”
He stops moving and shrugs. “I thought I might as well have fun with it. You know, since I won’t be out trying to get laid or anything.”
“Right. Maria.”
“Yeah.”
His eyes widen, and he gasps. “That reminds me! I have to give her a call before we head out.”
I use my fingers to count what four hours behind us would be. And I only know the time difference between here and Fort Lauderdale because someone else was talking about it on the train.
“Okay! Well, please tell her I said hi.” I only met her for a brief moment, but she seemed like a lovely girl.
He smiles. “Will do.”
Yeah right.
After taking another cab, we pull up to the bar and wait for some of the others. Already, the music is blaring.
There’s also a water fountain and ceramic or plastic camels.
“This is going to be awesome,” Callie cheers.
I’m less enthused, but it will be cool to have such a unique experience to tell people about back home.
“Okay, I think that’s just about everyone,” Denver announces a few minutes later.
As a pack of mostly white people, it doesn’t take long for people to notice us.
“Would you like to dance?” a tall, tan man asks me.
“Um…”
Callie pushes me closer to him. “She’d love to.”
I look back at her and she flicks her wrists in encouragement.
“I’m Amine,” he says in my ear.
“I’m Kayla.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Kayla. Where are you from?”
“Uh.” I remember my brother telling me never to admit that I was an American while traveling. “Canada.”
“Canada? Where abouts?”
“Montreal.”
That proves itself to be a mistake when he starts speaking to me in French.
“Parlez-vous francais?” he asks after I remain dumbfounded.
I shake my head.
“Really? And you’re from Montreal?”
To get him to stop asking questions, I take his hand and lead him out onto the dance floor.
I don’t recognize the song that’s playing, but the rhythm is fast paced.
At first, we dance apart, but he quickly grabs my hips and pulls me closer.
“You’re very good.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
Then, I glance at Gwen and think, “Shove it.” She was just making fun of the fact that I was on my high school’s dance team.
She also found a guy, but she’s just flailing her arms around like a lunatic. Lucky for her, she’s hot, so her dancing partner doesn’t seem to mind.
Amine and I are full on grinding at this point, and he spins me around to face him. He also raises my arms up and around his neck.
“Having fun?”
I nod. He smells amazing—like sandalwood and citrus.
When the music quiets down he asks, “Do you want a drink?”
“Sure!”
“What will it be?”
“Just a white wine, please.”
But I go with him. Another thing Collin made sure I knew was to never take my eyes off a drink after it leaves the bartender’s hands. I have no reason to think Amine is dangerous, but a woman can never be too careful.
“Is Pinot okay?”
“Totally.”
“Great.” He flashes his almost perfectly white teeth at me. He also orders himself a Captain and Coke.
After getting our drinks, he asks if I’d like to go outside for a minute to get some air. That sounds wonderful to me. I’ve already started sweating all over.
However, as we walk, I make eyes with Callie and point where we’re going. She gives me a thumbs up before continuing to dance.
Ahhh. The cool, crisp air is so refreshing. And a break from the loud music and screaming people also helps.
“So, what brings you to Morocco?” he asks, his floppy, dark hair blowing in the breeze. If I had to equate his looks to anyone it would be a mix between Disney’s Aladdin, the cartoon version, not live action, and Uncle Jesse from Full House —sans mullet.
“Work.” Finally, I’m not lying to him.
He cocks his head to the side. “Is that so? What kind of work do you do?”
“I work on a yacht. I’m a steward.” I feel so proud saying that, as if I’m a contestant on The Yacht Life .
He lifts his drink and takes a sip. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. You know, for now.”
He grins. “Right.”
“Um, what do you do?”
“International trading.”
I nod like I have a clue what that entails. “Very interesting.”
At that, he chuckles. “I suppose it can be.”
“What, uh, do you trade.” I’m practically crossing my fingers. Please don’t say people, please don’t say people .
“Clothing, mostly.”
I sigh in relief. Thank god. Although would anyone actually admit if they were trafficking people? I look him up and down with suspicion. But he seemed to be a normal, incredibly handsome man to me. He’s wearing a longitudinal, blocky, and striped—black, white, red, and tan—short-sleeved button up that’s open pretty far down his chest and khakis.
“Interesting.”
His brown eyes lock with mine. “That seems to be your favorite word.”
“What?” My blood feels like it’s running cold. Did I say something stupid?
He chuckles and looks at the ground for a moment. “Interesting.” Instead of his sexy accent, he seems to be trying to adopt my own.
“Oh, sorry.”
He turns to face me and leans on a table nearby. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Right.
An awkward moment of silence passes.
“But tell me one thing, you’re American, aren’t you?”
Since the jig seems to be up, I say, “What gave it away? The French thing?”
He smirks, and I notice that there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, that. And the fact that you just remind me of some friends from the States.”
“Really? Where from?” I figure someone like him doesn’t know many people from the Midwest.
“Mainly Ohio.”
“Are you serious?” That totally took me off guard.
“Yeah. I went to school at Ohio State.”
“I know a girl who is related to Jim Tressel.” He was the head coach of the football team for many years.
His jaw drops. “I played under Tressel.”
“No way!”
“Just for a year or two. That was before the whole scandal thing.”
I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth. “Oh, right. That.”
He raises his hands as if I was a cop. “I never had anything to do with the whole memorabilia for tattoos scandal.”
“That’s what it was?” I was never sure. Then, I look at his toned arms and see that they are free from ink—at least the parts I can see.
“Yeah, it was pretty crazy.”
“Are you two done chatting?” Callie suddenly appears and asks us. “Let’s dance!”
We smile at each other and follow her back inside.