Nine of Cups Page 3

  Great! A football match on a massive screen. Just what I was hoping for. Barça, of course. Rocco was known to be a fucker and was the first to say something inappropriate. "Look at this niño all dressed up. Are you two on date?" he asked Jean Pierre with an impish grin. JP didn't answer the question, but the rest laughed it away.

  "What are you drinking?" he asked, not bothered by the fact that we had been mocked. I was thoroughly disappointed by what ever this was, but wanted to give him a chance to fix it.

  "A gin-tonic," I said with what was probably a scowl. He gave me a strange look, but shrugged before heading to the bar.

  The evening continued with the boys passing comments in Spanish about the stupid football game. I hadn't been this bored in years and I was standing next to HIM. The one I had been drooling over for weeks. The one whose kiss had made my knees buckle. What the fuck were we doing here? Did he really think that I would enjoy this? I tried to fake it for awhile, but eventually gave up.

  At some point, I desperately needed to pee, but the bathroom was packed. A queue of beer-filled machos were still staring at a screen, as they waited to relieve themselves. I ran out of patience and bladder space, simultaneously. I needed to find an alternative.

  Weighing my options, I decided to sneak out and run to the Italian restaurant I had seen earlier. I ordered a coffee, so I could use their bathroom and be back before anyone noticed.

  As I returned to the pub, I saw Jean Pierre standing outside. He wasn't smoking was he? That would be a deal breaker for me. No, it wouldn't. Not with him, I confessed to myself.

  "Ah, there you are!" he looked worried. "I thought you left?"

  "The bathroom line was really long," I said in self-defence.

  I felt guilty, because I had actually considered leaving. I didn't know if I could force myself back into that environment, knowing that I had expected so much more. Maybe the dream of being with Jean Pierre could never live up to the reality.

  "Great match, no?" he asked.

  Fight or Flight?

  Fight!

  "Hmm, no! Rocco is a creep, but he was right; I got dressed up for you. I actually thought this was a date and you let them take the piss!" I didn't want to hurt him, but I couldn't help myself. "Can you please tell me why we are watching a fucking football match with your buddies?"

  He looked at me, as if he could see into the depths of my being. Then he burst out laughing. "Oh, thank goodness," he said, "I really thought I would have to put up with more of this football nonsense. I go for the sake of team-building, but I suffer through it every time."

  What the hell was he talking about? If he suffered so much, why the hell were we here? He anticipated my question.

  "When planning tonight, I was dismayed to realise that I didn't know that much about you. I had seen you chatting to Costas for a long time on the day of the big clean up. He told me, that you loved Barça."

  Oh no, this was one colossal misunderstanding. We had wasted a precious first date, because I had humoured Costas' football stories!

  "You agreed so easily for Wednesday, I presumed it was excitement for the match. When I came to pick you up, I panicked." He was staring at his shoes again. "You stepped out of your house looking so hot, I immediately doubted my choice of venue. I kept monitoring your reactions, to see if Costas had been wrong, but you appeared to be having fun."

  Most of that last part had disappeared into the ether. I stopped listening, after he said I looked hot. He thought that about me? This changed everything. I could no longer restrain myself and grabbed him on the spot. I kissed him with fervour and though he resisted slightly in the beginning, he let my tongue in and worked it like a pro.

  "Told you, he wasn't here for the game," Rocco commented behind me.

  I let go of JP and went into defense mode. Secondary school bullies had always been after me. I hated confrontation, but they had taught me to stand up for myself. "Do we have a problem?" I asked with my fists on my hips. I probably looked ridiculous, but I didn't care.

  "Yes!" Miguel faced Jean Pierre crossly. "He is young enough to have a hot mother! Isn't there an unspoken agreement that hotel niños are off-limits?"

  "Not that I remember," JP replied, embarrassed to have been caught. His hands were in his pockets again.

  Costas turned to me, looking utterly heartbroken. "So, you don't like Barça?"

  I was astonished. None of these alphas had an issue with their colleague kissing a boy?

  "Let's give these two some privacy," Miguel said casually. "Now that JP has lifted the embargo on dating niños, I have some calls to make." He gave Jean Pierre one of those bro handshakes that I could never pull off and waved me goodbye.

  Costas was still upset about losing a football buddy and warned, "Better not tell Sylvia! She hates dealing with the Intern Coordinator."

  Rocco didn't have anything else to say and just marched after the others.

  There we stood, alone again. I was glad that the torture was over.

  "Let me make it up to you," HE said jovially. "There is a sports bar up the road that has the basketball game on."

  For a second I thought he was serious. Then he swung his arm around my shoulder and said, "Just messing with you. Let me take you somewhere classy, like I should have from the beginning."

  We went from rock bottom to sky high, literally. Fifteen minutes later, I was sipping champagne on the roof terrace of Mezza Luna on Diagonal with Rambla Catalunya. This was more like it. Jean Pierre was leaning back comfortably in a bamboo armchair with his legs crossed. Only now did I notice his expensive step-in shoes.

  "So, let's avoid further mistakes. Tell me about yourself," he said, finally relaxed enough to be himself.

  At first I didn't want any of my life to sound childish. Once the bubbles lubricated my tongue however, I couldn't stop blabbing. He interacted with all my stories, showing genuine interest. It was two thirty when I was done chatting and too drunk to have another glass. He paid for the drinks and put us in a cab. When we got to my apartment, I was slightly disappointed. My drunken head had hoped to be brought to his place.

  I was lucky that he was a gentleman though, because I was in no shape for further entertainment. When I asked him if he wanted to come up, he respectfully declined. I did get a quick snog and a light slap on the bum before he sent me upstairs. I still couldn't believe that I was on the receiving end of his affections.

  As I lay spinning in my bed, I realised that I still didn't know anything about him.

  ***

  Damn! I drank good champagne the night before, but I was still super groggy when I rushed to get to work. I couldn't be late a second time this week. I was replaying last night's conversation in my head, to check if I hadn't said anything too embarrassing.

  The walk to the hotel did me good. The take-away double espresso helped even better. I was actually quite ok, when I showed up in the office with five minutes to spare.

  Merce had been waiting for me. "Tienes que ir a Recursos Humanos," she said slowly, as if that would help me understand better. I repeated the last word in my head, what was that again. "Human Resources," Merce helped in heavily accented English.

  "Thank you!" I said, equally slowly. Pleased that she had managed to communicate the message, she sat back down and opened Outlook.

  Then it hit me. Human Resources! What did they want? It wasn't about me and Jean Pierre was it? Were they allowed to meddle in my personal life? Or HIS? Shit!

  I hesitantly made my way to HR and knocked on the door of the Internship Coordinator's office.

  "Caleb, hi. Please, come in!" Sara was one of those perpetually happy people with a loud voice. Her office was a mess with folders and papers everywhere. "Take a seat." She indicated a chair that was stacked with interview forms. I carefully moved them to an empty spot on her desk. "Thank you for coming straight away. How are things in Banquets? Any issues?" she looked at me carefully.

  Oh, no. What was she after? "Everything's fine. Sylvia r
uns a tight ship," I said nonchalantly.

  "Excellent, excellent!" She seemed relieved.

  She pressed her glasses further up her nose and scanned her computer screen. Then she put the glasses on her head, steepled her fingers and looked at me with a serious expression.

  "Caleb, There is something I need to discuss with you."

  Really? I started getting worried.

  "I am in kind of an awkward situation and I am hoping you might be able to help me out."

  Well, that was unexpected.

  "An intern scheduled to go to the Front Desk team has taken ill and won't be able to come."

  Wow! This definitely wasn't what I expected, but I still didn't like where it was going.

  "The hotel manager has prioritized the Brasserie for the two remaining new interns, so I will have to move someone already here. If you agree to move departments, I will issue you a management cross training certificate."

  This was a negotiation. Management cross training certificates usually only went to students on their second internship. They were CV gold, especially from this hotel. Could I leave Banquets and HIM behind for a piece of paper?

  "Why me?" I asked without thinking.

  "We are going in to our summer tourist season. Most of our guests will be Americans, Brits, etc. The hotel manager wants a native speaker that knows the hotel and he suggested you."

  The boss picked me? Fuck! How could I say no, now? "Can I take some time to think about it?" I asked hesitantly.

  "Sure, sweety. Just let me know before Monday morning's department head meeting. We would need you to switch at the end of this month."

  Sara was quietly optimistic. She had played some great cards and she knew it. Probably, she thought I needed to consult with my parents. Ha! If only she knew, who's opinion mattered the most.

  "We need to talk!" I messaged Jean Pierre.

  "Merce said you are in HR. Everything ok?" he replied seconds later.

  "I am not sure, that's why I need to see you."

  "Meet me at the recycling container."

  "What is it?" he asked concerned, discreetly taking my hand.

  "They want to move me to the Reception." I didn't mince words.

  "Why? Are you, I mean, are we in trouble?"

  "No, nothing like that. It is a staffing issue. They offered me a cross training certificate if I agree." He looked crestfallen.

  "I am going to say no."

  "Don't. It is a good opportunity and you will be working a more or less fixed shift all summer," he said after thinking about it for a moment. Was he being selfless or did he want me to go?

  "I will miss you, but it is not like we can canoodle all day in Banquets. This way we can better focus on building a relationship outside of the hotel."

  Relationship! After one semi-disastrous date? What were his expectations? Did he actually just say canoodle? I grinned a foolish grin and was very tempted to give him a quick smooch. Instead, I quickly hugged him before running back to HR.

  Six

  The Front Desk was grateful to have me for the tourist boom. I worked morning shift from eight to five with a fixed half hour for lunch. The summer sun didn't set till after nine, so I actually had time for a life after work.

  Even though we messaged a lot and he came by the Reception regularly, I hadn't spent one-on-one time with HIM for more than a week after switching departments. Was he still interested in the relationship, he had promised?

  I was slowly starting to lose hope, when he pulled me out of my melancholy. He had secretly coordinated one of his days off, but didn't tell me about it till the last moment. He confessed that he was pretty wrecked after a long ten days of non-stop off-site events.

  Then came the question. He asked if I wanted to come to his place on Thursday night. He would be home after nine.

  HIS place! Fuck! What did that mean? Did it mean he was ready for more? Or was he just really tired, wanting nothing more than to hang out? I would have to mentally prepare for all possibilities. I was nervous, excited and very worried about how I wanted to look. I needed Agnes. She was going to be thrilled.

  Jean Pierre had texted me his address, but it took me quite some time to find. He lived up on Calle Muntaner with Via Augusta. I pressed the buzzer and waited to be let in. His apartment was on the third floor. The door was open, but he wasn't there to greet me. This bothered me for some reason. A sudden burst of anxiety made me hesitate. Was I ready for this? Was I good enough? I took a deep breath and decided that there was only one way to find out. I stepped inside with my cold bottle of white and closed the door behind me.

  "There you are," he said. He walked towards me from what I guessed was the bathroom. He was wearing a pair of white linen pants and a tight black shirt. He was barefoot and carried a towel in one hand. His hair was still wet which gave him an extra sexy look. "I am sorry. I just got home and desperately needed a shower." Since we were in the privacy of his home, he finally gave me a proper welcome kiss.

  "I brought wine!" I said enthusiastically. I wasn't sure of whether it was plonk. We hadn't learned about Spanish wines in school yet. Guess we would find out soon enough.

  "Come in," he motioned for me to make my way into the living room. He curved off back to the bathroom saying, "Give me a moment to fix myself."

  I didn't understand what there was to fix, but who was I to judge. His place was superbly decorated. The living room flowed into an open-plan kitchen with a bar counter. He had a large comfy Bordeaux-colored couch with big pillows. A coffee table with an iPad and a coffee mug occupied the center of the room and there was a modest size TV in a corner.

  What caught my direct attention though, was a wall covered in white frames. Upon closer inspection, I saw pictures of people I didn't recognise. Some were pictures of HIM at various ages. He had always been good-looking, but I was most surprised about the backgrounds. There were pictures of him on safari, scuba-diving, skiing, etc. I recognised him in Hong Kong, New York and Berlin. How could he have traveled so much?

  "My father is a diplomat," he said behind me. "I never lived anywhere longer than five years. Except for Paris, where we would have to return every now and then."

  JP walked up to me and hugged me from behind. He smelled amazing. He pointed to some of the pictures and told me who was who. His parents looked like a happy couple. A pang of jealousy shot through me. They were currently in the second year of an assignment in Cairo, Egypt.

  He gestured for me to take a seat on one of the high chairs in the kitchen, as he opened the bottle I had brought. He couldn't help swirling his glass and taking a taster's sip.

  "And?" I looked hopeful.

  "I am so sorry, but this is awful," he laughed. I watched him stick the cork back into the bottle and put it in a cupboard underneath the sink.

  "If it is so awful, why are you keeping it?" I asked, offended.

  "A good cook always needs proper cooking wine!" he declared boldly.

  "Then you don't need it!"

  "How do you know?" He winked.

  He was right. I still knew virtually nothing about him, yet here I was in his apartment. What if he was a serial killer with a taste for young and naive British kids? The pictures seemed to tell a different story, luckily.

  We moved to the couch with a bottle of rose from his fridge. He had prepared a small cheese platter with grapes, dried figs and crackers. It was perfect.

  "So, how was work?" I asked, in an attempt at small talk.

  "Oh, can we please not talk about that." He begged. It really had been a long week for him then. Had anything happened? Had a Meeting Planner complained? I decided to honor his wish and looked for something that I could comment on. A metal box on the coffee table caught my eye.

  "What's this?" I asked curiously.

  "They are my tarot cards," he replied.

  He moved closer to grab them and put his hand on my leg. It was quite high up and I was secretly hoping he would do more with the opportunity. Instead I got an
unpleasant surprise.

  "One of my ex-girlfriends taught me how to read them. I am actually quite good, if I say so myself." He looked at me brightly, hoping I would ask him to show me.

  Ex-girlfriend? He had dated women? Of course, he had. Look at him. I couldn't help feeling strange about it though. How many girls had he been with? How many boys ? I had never stood still and thought about these questions before. Come to think of it, I didn't even know his age.

  "Are you ok?" he asked with genuine concern. "You got really quiet, all of a sudden."

  "How old are you?" I blurted out, no longer in control of my filter.

  The question surprised him, but he answered without hesitation. "Twenty Five. Why?"

  "How many relationships have you been in?" I continued my interrogation.

  He pulled away from me slightly, not understanding what had provoked this attack. "Two, if you must know. I was never in one place long enough to be with someone for long. I was hoping to change that now."