Chapter 7
SEVEN
By the time Sam and Wolfgang made it to their rooms, they were barely speaking.
“I know you want to find it, but that didn’t have the right spots,” Sam said, glaring at him.
“You have read about two of those books Ruben gave us and now you’re an expert?”
“Even Miguel said the spots were too big. You don’t know everything, Wolfgang.”
Wolfgang stomped up the stairs while Sam joined Astrid and Maria in the kitchen.
“Things not so good in Squid Towers?” asked Astrid.
“He’s such hard work. Just when I think we’re making progress, he’s his usual icy self again. I’ve never met anyone so difficult.”
Maria handed Sam a much-needed beer from the fridge. “Perhaps he takes time. It’s only been a week or so, and we’re all new to this, remember.”
Easy for you to say.
“I know, let’s go out tonight. It’s Friday night and we’re in a new city. Maybe we can find some sexy Spanish men?” Astrid said, plucking her eyebrows, which Sam didn’t think was particularly hygienic in the kitchen.
Sam had been wondering how to fill the weekend stretching out ahead of them. A few drinks suddenly sounded like an excellent idea.
“You’re on,” he said.
“Good.”
“Let’s make it just us. I need to relax.” Sam took a healthy swig from his beer.
After finally managing to get the sea salt out of his hair and ironing his favourite denim shorts and black shirt, Sam met the girls on the lower level.
Astrid had dressed to impress in a short flowy summer dress that showed off her endless legs.
Maria wore skin-tight jeans and a crop top.
The men of Valencia wouldn’t know what had hit them.
The old cobbled streets did not meet Astrid’s approval in her impossibly high heels.
“You should have worn trainers,” Sam said, holding out his hand to support her.
“I think she looks hot,” Maria replied sniffily.
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll appreciate it in the casualty department too,” Sam replied.
Astrid ignored them both and stalked into a bustling bar that had punters spilling out onto the square.
The clientele were young, and more than one head turned as the girls made their way inside.
If Astrid wanted hot men, they were wall to wall in this place.
She had clearly clocked that. Pushing her chest out, pulling her tummy in and fluffing her hair up, she was ready to roll.
Sam had to hand it to her—when she wanted to focus, she certainly did.
The heat in the bar could only be described as slightly warmer than the centre of the sun. Sam’s face would resemble a Bloody Mary if they stayed much longer. He must have screamed “Brit abroad.” Euro dance music boomed while Astrid shouted their order to the barman.
“I’ll get us a table outside,” Sam said, desperate for relief from the heat. How did people stand this?
“I’d better wait and help her,” Maria replied.
Relieved by the night breeze, Sam commandeered a table and waited for the girls with the drinks.
The bar seemed popular with locals. Groups of young people crammed around tables, smoking, drinking and laughing. It seemed a long way from Sam’s home streets of Newcastle, where café culture suffered from the freezing winds off the North Sea.
“There you go,” Astrid said, placing a wildly coloured cocktail in front of him.
“What’s that?”
“That is for me to know.”
Sam relaxed when he saw she and Maria had matching drinks. It couldn’t be too bad. Astrid would absolutely get him drunk while they quietly sipped gin and tonics if she had the chance.
“Here’s to our first proper night out in Valencia,” Sam said, raising his glass.
“And here’s to seeing what talent there is in store,” Astrid said, subtly tugging her top lower. She had impressive cleavage. Maria followed suit and flicked her hair.
“Two women on the prowl, eh?” Sam took a sip. He detected gin and something citrusy.
Thankfully, gin had never got him into trouble before.
Astrid lit a cigarette and offered them around.
“Not for me, thanks,” Sam said. He had never seen the appeal of smoking. The one time he had tried it, he had spent the evening coughing and feeling sick.
“I shouldn’t,” Maria said hesitantly. “I gave up a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, go on.” Astrid waved the packet temptingly. “This is a different life.”
Maria accepted one. Sam considered discouraging her then realised it wasn’t his place. He certainly wasn’t anyone’s surrogate father figure.
“Surprise drinks each round?” he suggested, and the girls nodded enthusiastically.
Maria chose a Blood Orange cocktail complete with a syringe of syrup, while Sam countered with a Purple Rain—a delicious mix of vodka, gin, lemon and lime. The alcohol had already taken effect, and he couldn’t stop laughing at Astrid’s story involving a fitness instructor and a leg press machine.
“Oh look, isn’t that Genevieve and Paul?” Maria asked.
Sam stopped mid-sip. The couple locked eyes with them briefly. When Sam waved, they suddenly became fascinated by something across the square and quickly disappeared.
“They only have eyes for each other.” Astrid declared.
“So rude,” Sam muttered.
“Ah, come on. Haven’t you ever been in love like that?” Maria asked.
Sam was hardly inexperienced yet he had never had that kind of love. He’d had flings before, during and after university. None had amounted to more than a few weeks of distraction before something else caught his attention.
His friends called him Mr Heartbreaker, though he never saw himself that way. If Mr Right appeared one day and turned his world upside down, Sam would be ready for it. What he definitely wouldn’t do was let someone dictate his life the way Genevieve clearly did with Paul.
“Love hasn’t been on my agenda yet,” Sam said. “Who wants to have their life reduced like that? No thanks.”
“Very wise,” Astrid agreed, lifting her drink.
Then her gaze fixed somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. He instinctively started to move before a sharp kick struck his shin.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded, rubbing his leg.
“You were about to stare. Don’t deny it.”
“Is there some law against staring in Spain?”
Astrid pouted dramatically. “There is when a couple of hot men are behind you. Why don’t you be a darling and get us some more drinks?”
“Because I got this round?”
“Scram,” she said, nudging his bruised shin again.
“Don’t do that again.” Scowling, Sam got up and headed for the bar.
By the time he returned, their table had been commandeered by strangers. Feeling ridiculous carrying three Blueberry Bombers, he scanned the square and spotted Astrid and Maria seated with two incredibly handsome men.
Astrid caught his eye and gave the faintest shake of her head. Maria noticed and offered an apologetic shrug. Clearly, Sam’s presence would ruin the mood.
“Here. You might as well have these,” Sam muttered to the strangers at the table before grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.
It didn’t take long for the reality to hit him—he had nowhere to go and nobody to spend the evening with. By the time he got home to Squid Towers, the pleasant buzz from the cocktails had vanished.
Switching on the hallway light, Sam noticed a picture pinned to his door. It showed a squid with a Post-it note attached.
You were right. Its spots are different. Sorry. WG.
Sam snatched the picture from the door and marched across the hall. This time, he knocked hard.
“Open if you’re decent,” he called.
The door opened almost immediately. Wolfgang looked as handsome as ever, especially in pyjama bottoms and a white T-shirt, though his expression remained uncertain.
“Are you drunk?” Wolfgang asked.
“I was. Now I’m not.”
Wolfgang stepped aside to let him in. A bottle of vodka and a glass sat on the side table.
Sam glanced around the room. Wolfgang had done very little to personalise it.
A stack of books sat neatly on the chest of drawers, mostly marine biology texts.
Sam raised an eyebrow at the sight of a Hunger Games novel among them.
Beyond that, nothing in the room revealed much about Wolfgang as a person.
“Want to get drunk again?” Wolfgang asked, noticing him scanning the place.
Sam dropped into the chair. “Why not?”
Wolfgang poured them both a drink before sitting on the bed.
Sam smelt his cologne from across the room—all spices and musk.
Normally Sam would have associated it with winter.
Somehow it suited Wolfgang perfectly in any season.
Sam doubted Wolfgang had the faintest idea what effect he had on people.
“How come you’re in here getting drunk on your own?” Sam asked.
Wolfgang took a swig and grimaced. “No one invited me out.”
Guilt twisted inside Sam. For the first time, he truly considered things from Wolfgang’s perspective. While the rest of them had bonded, Wolfgang had remained isolated in his tiny room, drinking alone.
“I…uh…”
“It’s fine. You needed to relax. I understand.”
So Wolfgang had overheard them in the kitchen. Once again, Sam’s big mouth had landed him in trouble.
“These walls are very thin,” Wolfgang explained.
“I’m sorry. That was mean of me,” Sam admitted.
Wolfgang refilled their glasses.
“I’m not easy,” he said eventually. “I think I know everything, and oh boy, do I find it hard when I realise I don’t.”
“Oh, I know you know everything. Especially about squid spots.”
Wolfgang raised his glass. “You have got me there.”
They stared at one another for a moment before both dissolving into laughter.
“You suit laughing,” Sam said, taking another drink.
“I will make you a deal then, Sam,” Wolfgang replied. “You make me laugh, and I will make you work. How does that sound?”
To Sam, it sounded like a very good deal indeed.
“You’re on, Wolfgang. Here’s to a formidable team.”