AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They’ve got theories. Nim thinks if he’s “both blaming you and saying it’s not your fault,” then dump his ass. She says in her latest fashion shoot, they put her with a man in a pirate shirt and she fantasized about him rising from waves as a lustrous merman. She thought they worked so well together, but afterward, he told her agent that she had a mop of a personality. The lesson is that men bewitch you with their bodies. Trust no man. Trust no boner.
Nim has dated no one since her heart got pulverized by a mysterious man. We refer to him as Voldy.
Reena believes hard-dick-but-no-action means,Your gentleman hath enlightened feelings for you and is taking his time.Her brand is optimism.
We devolve into a hurried message-a-thon about loving explicit consent over implicit signs of attraction, because interpreting body language can be a grey area. Afterward, Reena asks about face expressions. What did he look like when blood flooded into his penis?
I answer:Tortured?
They both agree that more data is needed.
I’m told to facilitate another encounter and report back.
NIM: Tell him you are into him, but accept whatever he tells you. People mean what they say, and if theydon’t, we aren’t fucking mind magicians. Why waste time on mixed signals on your You Fucking Got This Because It’s Now or Never trip?
REENA: Our best friend is a hot baddie. She doesn’t need to settle.
NIM: She’s a woman of incomparable range
REENA: You need someone not intimidated by your greatness
NIM: (btw I am very invested in this situation now especially if you demolish him)
I wonder what my friends would say if they knew it was Huan. Reena would shriek. Nim would say something perverse.
I look at myself in the mirror. “I’m not thinking about his dick and still flustered about it. Because it can’t happen. Not that he wants anything to happen.”
All of this also ignores the ending part of last night.
His sister’s cancer.
I shake my head.
For so long he’s guarded me, but I don’t know anything about Huan. I haven’t asked him about his family. Or what he’s been through. Of course, I’ll check today to see if he is alright, but carefully. I don’t want to bring up anything painful. My concern will be professionally worded. There will be no other confusion about what is between us like there was last night.
Good plan.
Solid plan.
The only plan I should follow.
If only I didn’t meet that group of men near the common room. They prop themselves against a wall and wave me down.
“How long have you been travelling for?” the tall one asks.
“Only a few days. You?”
“Longer,” says the Australian, who chews on a piece of toast. “Feels like since I was born.”
“How lucky?”
This is either friendliness or I’m fresh meat in the hostel jungle. Considering we’ve not exchanged names, it’s likely the second option. The one with a guitar slung over his broad shoulder looks me over. I wonder when he’ll play Wonderwall.
“What type are you?” he asks. He’s English.
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
He brandishes his hand at the couches behind us, toward a woman typing on her laptop. “She works remotely.” His hand moves to a guy eating pasta out of a can. “That type never leaves the hostel. You wake up, he’s there. You come back from a group tour, he’s here. You go out drinking, clubbing, and return at two in the morning, and he is here.” He looks back at me. “So, what type are you?”
