And, apparently, her sanity. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed when at last the door opened and a teenager appeared behind the front desk.
“Oi!” he called. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Oi.” Julia tested out her imperfect Portuguese, feeling even more self-conscious than usual.
“Muito bom,” André encouraged her, very good, but she was already lost. Two whole days and she’d only mastered that one simple word.
“That’s all I’ve got,” she said with a nervous laugh, and the boy shrugged.
“You’ll learn more.”
“I’m trying,” she lied. But it wasn’t a mean lie. Somehow in the chaos of packing and leaving and Christmas and celebrating her god-awful birthday with that number she didn’t even want to acknowledge, she hadn’t once cracked open the books she’d bought.
But there was some luck coming her way—not only did this hostel have surprisingly good eye candy, but there were still a few beds left in the women’s dorm. The bathroom was shared, but Julia didn’t mind. The place was impeccably clean. She booked two days and two nights and signed her name nowhere near the dotted line, too distracted to look down.
“You’ll love it here,” the Australian said with a grin, and Julia hoped he wasn’t just praising the hostel’s shampoo. There was something electric in the way he was looking at her that made her want to know who he was, what he was doing there, and how much she had to actually talk to him before making it clear exactly what she wanted.
If she could make it clear. If she could be the kind of person who for once let her hands do the talking instead.
She wasn’t, of course. A week in Brazil didn’t change anything about her life. But for two days and two nights she was a stranger in a hostel and could be anything—anyone—she wanted.
It was intoxicating, and for a moment she felt dizzy with the rush of possibility. Maybe this simple place to rest her head was going to be a way out of the confusion and uncertainty she felt. Not just in Brazil, but going back further. Two years now. Two years since Danny looked her in the eyes and told her he was leaving, and she was both released and set adrift.
Julia could feel a current pulling her toward this man by her side. Her best friend, Liz, talked about “the spark,” but Julia had never believed her. How could anyone feel instantly connected to someone? Suddenly she believed Liz. Sometimes you knew.
Julia had always been the careful one, the safe one, the one who stayed strong and steady so she could pick up the pieces when things fell apart for those around her. But this man didn’t know anything about her. He didn’t think of her as Danny’s girl or Liz’s protector, there to help her friend through the sadness and fear she faced after a high school party went devastatingly wrong. Even when things started to seem better for Liz, it was hard to let go of the watchful eye, the caring shield. It was hard to believe Liz might really be okay.
This man didn’t know that, though. Standing before him, Julia could be anyone she wanted. She could grab him and let herself go for it.
But then André counted out her change, and just as suddenly as it had hit her, the feeling was gone.
She looked away, unsure what had come over her and what ridiculous fantasy she’d concocted in three seconds flat. The image of her fingers sliding under the band of his shorts was nothing more than a joke. She had been staring at the man because, yes, he was gorgeous. But that didn’t mean he was looking at her or that anything would actually happen. What she’d felt was nothing more than her own desperate loneliness coming back to bite her in the ass.
Which was hardly her preferred form of foreplay, if she could afford to be choosy.
The man scratched at the small of his back as though to remind her of all that she couldn’t have. There was no way not to notice how his shoulder muscles flexed when he moved. How easily he could hold her against a wall in a dark corner somewhere, pin her wrists over her head, press his hips to hers…
The fantasy made her legs weak. She was afraid of how much she wanted it to come true.
“Mais cervejas?” André asked the man, startling Julia back to reality.
“Please, por favor.”
“I’ll bring them out to you. One minute—” André held up a finger to Julia to signal that he’d take her to her room as soon as he brought out more beer.
“No, wait.” The man shook his head. “You get her settled first.”
Was it her wishful thinking or were his eyes on her, too? She felt herself under his gaze, her too-long legs and arms and hair that she pulled nervously from its ponytail, a habit of fiddling when she was jumpy to give herself something to do. Immediately she regretted it because of the heat. But she told her hands to be quiet. She couldn’t very well go putting it back up now that she’d just pulled it out.
“Thanks,” she said, unsticking her voice as she bent down for her bag. But he reached across before she could pick it up, and for the briefest moment their skin touched, hers pale and sweaty, his smooth and at ease.
“Let me help you,” he said, his accent buoyant and warm.
She tried to cut through her nerves by thinking about how hard she was going to laugh describing him to Liz. This Australian hunk had walked right up to her like he was auditioning for the lead role in some wild South American dream she didn’t even know she had.
And? She could already hear Liz excitedly pumping her for more information.
And nothing, Julia would shrug. What, did Liz think anything would actually happen?
In the last few years, Liz had started getting laid like sex was a thing people did on a regular basis and not once in a blue moon. No matter whether she was in a relationship or not, she always had a satisfied smile and a new story to share.
It hadn’t always been like that, so Julia didn’t begrudge her friend the good times. Liz had been through hell when they were younger and deserved to have fun. But Julia hadn’t given up looking out for what could go wrong.
“Totally not necessary,” she said primly, trying to pick up the bag first. But he was already there, so close she could see the light hairs on his arms and the thin blue veins where his muscles flexed as he lifted her backpack in one easy stroke.
“You don’t have to,” she tried again, arms by her side, holding nothing but her light shoulder bag and the hostel receipt as he looked to André to see where they should go.
“I don’t have to do anything,” he said with a hint of teasing in his voice, his smile reaching all the way to his luminous eyes.
“You know what I mean.” But she smiled back, despite herself.
“I want to,” he said in that delicious accent, catching her eye again, and there was something in that word—in the idea of him wanting—that made her breath feel hot and trapped inside her.
“You have some strange desires,” she tried to joke, and then immediately wished that she hadn’t. Her blush was enough to set the whole hostel on fire.
But there it was—that grin again. “I’d be happy to share more of them, if you’re willing,” he whispered as he turned to follow André out the door.
Julia stood frozen by the front desk. Had he actually insinuated what she thought he had? Did people really say those things?
Quickly she made herself follow the two men out, her face so hot she knew she looked like a lobster boiled alive. Surely there was some kind of snappy response she could zip back, but her voice had left her.
As had her reason. Was he actually flirting with her, or was she so delusional from a long day of travel and an epic dry spell that she was willing to imagine anything to make herself feel good?