Page 7 of Sun, Sea and Spotted Squid

Knowing he would never find the light switch, he stripped down to his boxer shorts. The urge to fall into bed hit him like a sledgehammer. It had been a long day. He tottered over to the bed, pulled open the covers and slumped in.

Then all hell broke loose as a body in the bed leapt out.

“Was der Fick machst du?”

The irate stranger flicked the light on. Sam sheltered under the covers.

“I said, what the fuck are you doing?”

Guess this isn’t my room then.

He braved a peep from underneath the blanket.

A stunningly attractive yetincrediblyangry man stood over the bed. He had closely cropped strawberry-blond hair and had accentuated it with stubble which spread across his perfect face. Even in his drunken state, Sam didn’t think complimenting him on his looks would help at this point.

“I’m Sam Davis,” he managed, then instantly realised how utterly ridiculous he sounded.

“I don’t care if you’re the king of bloody England. Why are you trying to get into bed with me?”

Sam slowly got out from under the covers. The room was spinning and he felt decidedly ill.

“I…uh…I think I’m going to be sick.”

The stranger moved so quickly Sam didn’t know what had happened. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, the guy threw Sam out onto the landing and slammed the door behind him.

“But…my clothes?” Sam wailed.

The need to be sick rose again and he fell headlong into the other room.

THREE

The next morning, Sam woke with the thirst of a marathon runner in the desert. The bare window meant the sun beaming in even at seven o’clock. He kicked the blankets off. How could it be this hot already?

Suddenly memory struck him like a hot knife.

I climbed into the wrong bed last night.

That was it. Reality invaded his head like a typhoon. Sam rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. Then he saw the waste bin. To add insult to injury, he’d been sick.

What a start to my European adventure.

After draining the last drops swirling around in the bottle of water by his bed, he cast his mind back to the shame of the night before. His neighbour had been handsome, if his hazy memory served him right. Not that it would matter.

He didn’t seem the type to enjoy an uninvited British bedfellow with alcohol breath who was a ticking vomit time bomb.

They were meeting downstairs at eight to go to the aquarium. Sam had pictured their tribe walking together as a happy, studious family. That might take a bit of work now.

He had to stop lying around wallowing in self-pity. Today he would be beginning his first-ever professional job. He had to seize the moment, which meant a shower as the best first step to recovery. Ever so slowly, he rifled around in his suitcase and found a towel and soap bag. Each time he stopped, visuals from the night before came rushing in.

Why did I jump straight into the bed. For fuck’s sake.

Sam was no stranger to getting himself into ridiculous scrapes. As soon as he crossed paths with his neighbour, he’d apologise. Making an enemy this early on was not part of his game plan.

Humming away, he pushed open the bathroom door, only to be greeted by his neighbour standing in front of the mirror…and wrapped in the smallest towel Sam had ever seen.

“What the fuck?” he shouted.

“Oh God.”