4. Dane
DANE
I’ve never hated the color green more than I do now. Seeing that color drenching the room after feeling so high makes me see red. And not the red I wanted.
I raced out of the building, frantically looked around the parking lot and found it to be empty and desolate. I poked around a bit, peered into some of the cars and finally left feeling pissed and frustrated.
I know exactly what a glory hole is for. Anonymity at its finest—to literally and physically hold the skeletons in your closet, but for whatever stupid reason I didn’t want to stop with him.
As I walk back to the hostel, I scold myself. I should have withheld an orgasm from him, forced him to give me his name and number. He probably would have just left, but fuck I hate how I feel right now.
I’ve never left feeling unsatisfied or wanting more. That’s not what the club is for. The purpose is to get off, enjoy yourself, and leave. Something I’ve always wanted and reveled in, so why can’t I get over this?
Entering through the hostel lobby I wave at Sally, who graciously checked me in earlier. She glances in my direction and I smile, contradicting my current frustration, then turn toward the hallway and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor where the rooms are.
This hostel has two large rooms with eight beds each and two separate bathrooms. There was a group of four checking out earlier when I got here but no one else had checked in yet.
Using my room key, I scan it over the reader and it buzzes with a green light, unlocking the door.
Every hostel is completely different. I love this one specifically because of the square footage they provide in the bedrooms. A majority of them have very minimal space since most of the people renting them are just looking for a place to sleep for a night.
So, when I found this one I was pleasantly surprised and immediately in love.
Bunk beds line the brick walls that are evenly placed between the windows. The beds are immaculate every time I’ve been here and the soft linen scent gives you a sense of comfort that most of the overnight rooms don’t have.
Along with all of that, there’s a table in the middle of the room surrounded by bean bag chairs and a small kitchenette in the corner where you can heat up your food.
I glance around the room as I walk into it, completely empty and eerily quiet. It’s the first time I think I’ve ever been inside one without anyone else in it.
My heart does that weird thing it’s been doing, sinking to the bottom of my stomach and I expand my chest as I take in a deep breath.
I’ve always enjoyed and wanted—hell, admittedly needed—the company of others.
I meet new people every time I travel and most often end up traveling with them until our time runs out and I meet another person or group to spend time with.
It’s how I’ve spent my adult life traveling.
Hell, my entire adult life in general has been spent this way.
This is one of the reasons why I love hostels so much, I’m never alone and there’s always something new and exciting.
So, being here in the silence of a mammoth room with no one else overwhelms me with a loneliness that I don’t often feel, something that’s never bothered me until recently.
I can’t believe I’m saying this to myself, but I’m actually looking forward to spending an extended amount of time in Seattle, near my friends. But for now, I have a month of free time to explore and go anywhere I want. I need to get my head on straight and enjoy my nomad lifestyle while I have it.
Taking my backpack out of my locker, I toss it onto a bottom bunk I chose for myself and unzip the top.
Pulling out a loose tank top and cotton grey sweatpants, I glance around the room again.
I tilt my head at the door, as if looking at it harder would help me hear better, and it’s still remarkably quiet.
It’s close to midnight so the chances of someone coming are possible since people land in hostels at all hours of the day and night, but rare.
I grab my clothes and put my bag back in my locker, then head to the bathroom down the hall. There’s nothing elegant about showering in a shared bathroom and typically you have to be so quick you hardly feel like you’re clean.
I take a few extra minutes and allow the warm water to snake over my body, lathering myself up as I think about the events from tonight.
Normally, it wouldn’t bother me, but thinking about him leaving so suddenly grates on my nerves.
I have a quick thought to ask Juliette, see if I can dig further and get some information on him, but think better of it.
That’s called stalking, psycho.
I palm my face, giving myself a disappointed chuckle, then slam down on the faucet turning off the water.
Kobi will be here tomorrow and at least my mind and time will be preoccupied.
The steam bellows around me as I wrap a thin towel around my waist. The mirror is completely fogged up, signaling I probably stayed in here longer than I thought and still no one knocked so the place must really be vacant tonight.
I swipe my hand across the mirror, wiping away the thin layer of condensation.
I run a small hand towel along my chest and arms, wiping the excess droplets, while shaking out my damp hair.
It’s still drenched and with the dim lighting in the bathroom it appears to be a deep shade of chestnut brown when really it’s more like caramel colored champagne.
Running my hand through my short beard, it’s a little bit more wild than usual, but I enjoy letting it naturally do its thing rather than grooming it nonstop. When I start teaching in the fall I plan to either shave it or at least trim it daily. Maybe.
Normally I would dress and not walk out in just a towel, but fuck it.
I scoop my clothes up into my arms and open the door. The crisp air hits my skin as I pad my damp feet down the hallway to my room. Walking into the room, I toss my clothes back on the bed and rip the terry cloth from my body, feeling that cool air hit everywhere.
I exhale deeply as I round my neck in circles and twist my body from side to side. I love air drying, but hardly ever get to do it so this is a bit of a treat.
Wrapping the towel around my shoulders I dip my head to the side, rubbing the damp cotton into my hair to prevent the drippage coming from the tips.
“Ahem,” someone clears their throat and I startle, jumping around as I rip the towel off my neckline and hold it in front of me.
A man, maybe in his mid-twenties, sits on the bed across from me. His dark eyes appear lighter than they are with as wide as they are. The sides of his head are neatly trimmed, matching the floppy but styled hair that lays in symmetrical waves on the top.
His jeans look the perfect shade of organized and his shirt doesn’t appear to have a wrinkle in it.
He’s clean cut, put together, and not naked like me.
“Holy shit. I am so fucking sorry.” My voice is genuine, as I hold the towel in front of my body, discreetly wrapping it around myself. “I really thought no one was here and I was taking full advantage of the privacy.”
His eyes are trained directly at my now covered dick as if he was staring at my ass before I turned around. He quickly blinks, turning away. “It’s no problem, I would have probably done the same thing.” Then an awkward but kind smile crosses his face as he shifts his eyes toward me and…wow.
Do they make jaw implants for men?
A sharp jawline peppered with mouthwatering facial hair, a thousand-watt smile, and a tan pigment decorates his skin, making me wonder if that's due to days of backpacking or his natural lickable tone. His eyes are dark, with a tough exterior like he’s been through more than he should have for his age yet there’s a kindness in the slight squint of them.
Subjectively, he’s exactly my type.
I run a hand through my damp, messy hair, taken aback for a moment before I compose myself.
What has gotten into me lately? My normally fun, playful, wild self who’s usually the life of the party is totally…completely…entirely… Fuck. I stutter through trying to describe myself inside my own brain.
“Hey.” I step forward using my left hand to grip the hem of my towel, returning my own million-dollar smile as I reach my other hand out. “I’m Dane.”
He stands, sliding his hand into mine. “Ethan.” He squeezes my palm with the perfect mix of dom-sub energy and I wonder if he’s a switch like me.
I’m usually quite good at judging people, except I can’t even trust my own actions or feelings right now.
My eyes peer down to where our hands meet and my smile falls as all the blood drains from my body.
A scar.
The scar.
The exact same bumpy scar crosses along the top of his hand forming a distinct checkmark from the base of his thumb all the way to his pinky finger.
Some people see scars and view them as a disfigurement.
They’re unable to hide the disgust in their face when they see someone with flawed skin.
But I love tracing the lines, inspecting each and every rope and divot.
It’s like they all have their own personal story and whatever this one is, must have been pretty intense.
I tilt our palms as my eyes trail along the ridges of the marred skin, reconfirming my discovery then my eyes immediately bounce back up to his.
There’s a slight squint in his eyes as he returns a confused gaze and I realize he's suspicious of my reaction and not of me.
I impress myself for ignoring the reaction to immediately pull this man into my body and kiss the hell out of him. Instead, I’m going to play this so goddamn cool, like I didn’t just hit the fucking serendipity jackpot.
Impressing myself further by filtering my usually unfiltered responses, I bite my tongue and reply coolly with, “Awesome to meet you, man.”
“You too,” he replies as he drops my hand and I hate it. Instead, he runs that gorgeous hand through his hair and I salivate as I conjure up all the ways I want it to run over my body.
“American?” I ask, because he has no accent and I have an uncanny ability to pretty much guess where someone is from just based on their voice and fashion alone.
A side effect of being a nomad, I guess.
“Yeah, we started in Portugal, then Spain, now here,” he replies, using the word ‘we’ like he didn’t just jab me with a hot poker with his words.
“We?” I turn away to hide my expression and grab the T-shirt off my bed.
We can mean so many things. We, my friend. We, my mom. We, my brother.
“Oh hey,” he says, so I turn around but I realize immediately he was addressing another person.
Jesus, they’re both like stealthy little ninjas.
A jaw-dropping gorgeous woman steps up next to him.
She’s only a couple inches shorter than him with luscious, dark chocolate brown hair and eyes the color of the Caribbean.
As she turns my way, my eyes immediately flicker down to her neckline seeing a scar about twice as long as the one on Ethan’s hand.
It crosses over her jawline and down the column of her throat, landing at the tip of her collarbone.
It’s deep and bumpy, but she doesn’t try to cover it up.
“Hannah, this is Dane. Dane, this is my girlfriend, Hannah,” he introduces us as she quietly reaches out her hand with a smile that shines through those gorgeous ocean eyes.
My eyes flit between her and Ethan, then back down at the scar on his hand.
There’s no way this isn’t the same guy from the club. But, where was she tonight if he was at the club? The idea he left her wandering the streets of Paris alone bothers me. Did she know where he was?
A cargo train full of thoughts runs through my mind as I stare at his hand.
His fingers twitch, pulling me out of my trance. Avoiding his eye contact, I reach out my hand and clasp it in hers mirroring her smile.
“She’s nonverbal,” he adds, and my eyes flicker between the both of them again, then their scars and back to his face. “She can hear you, but you’ll want to try and ask close-ended questions to make it easier, or she can respond with her notes app or pad.”
I pause for a minute as I release her hand, taking in the information. Still curious as to where both of their scars came from and why he was at the club tonight.
It’s not my business.
I try to remind myself over and over again but I’m suddenly feeling pissed and really fucking irritated. Did he send her off somewhere so he can get his rocks off at a glory hole? Does he do that often? Is he a cheater?
My dad was a serial cheater and I hate what it did to my mother.
Okay, I’m jumping to conclusions. Maybe he didn’t cheat, maybe she knows. But…maybe…I shake my thoughts away. It doesn’t matter. It’s not my business.
But it is.
I had his cock in my mouth tonight, his cum down my throat and I wanted more. I was dying for more.
Fuck it.
I’m going to dig. Starting with their scars.
Giving her my friendliest smile, I say, “It must be a blessing not to have to talk to some people, huh?” She smiles back, returning an adorable nod. I wink at her before glancing back at him.
“So…what happened?”