Around the World in 80 Men

by Brandi Ratliff

  The man was cute, but he was no Finlay. He was, as Morgan thought, boy next door. As the words floated through her mind, she immediately thought of Dennis. Oh, Dennis. Those were sweet memories, and she felt the heat rise in her neck at the images that her mind displayed. The things that man did with his tongue..

  “Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” Boy next door was hunching over the empty chair beside her when she turned in his direction.

  “Oh, uh, I was actually just about to take a nap. So..” She smiled instead of finishing her sentence.

  He smiled in return, “alright, I won't bother you. I just wanted to say that..well..I know this is forward...but I'd love to have drinks or dinner with you when we land.” He waited, his shyness was endearing. But Morgan couldn't have any distractions.

  “Oh, thank you. I'm...meeting someone when we land. But I appreciate the offer.” She smiled again, and hoped that she didn't sound too rude. He nodded in reply, and raised his hands as if to say, 'I tried.'

  After telling the lie about planning to sleep, Morgan suddenly thought that it was the best way to get through the agonizing flight. She waved down a flight attendant, and asked for a drink.

  Twenty minutes and three drinks later, Morgan felt her eyes grow heavy, and found a semi-comfortable position. She was asleep within minutes.

  A terrible pain in her neck eventually woke her. She had slept with her head off to the side of her seat, and as she rubbed the stiffness from the area, she wondered how long she had been out. She blinked her eyes hard several times to rid herself from the just-woke-up-and-can't-see state.

  Her eyes finally focused, and she checked her watch. “Oh my God, we're almost there!” Several people around turned to look at her, and boy next door was one of them. His laugh was more friendly than the others, but it didn't make it any better that she had embarrassed herself.

  She looked down at her hands, and the pain in her neck returned. This sucks! I need some serious aspirin, or a drink. A drink! She waved over the attendant, and ordered another. As she sipped the vodka and Seven-up, the alcohol slightly soothed the pain as it made its way through her body. One more, and she would be good as new.

  Morgan wasn't one to indulge too heavily when it came to drinking. She enjoyed a glass of wine with a good meal, or on a date. But the hard stuff, any liquor, wasn't something that she was used to. She could drink two glasses of wine and the most that would happen was a warming sensation mixed with relaxation. But two glasses of liquor, and three a few hours prior, was more than her small frame was used to.

  When the plane landed, Morgan laughed in the face of fear that she had left behind. The noise, the jarring, none of it bothered her. She also made a mental note that she would never again fly without the assistance of alcohol. Not ever.

  As she waited for her luggage to make its turn in front of her, she looked around the airport for any signs of her highlander. She pulled out her phone again, just to get make sure she would recognize him. She also regretted not spending more time with the image while on her flight, he would have been a wonderful distraction. When she looked at her phone, she saw that she had a missed call from Julianne.

  With luggage in tow, she smiled at herself at what Julianne would say about her lugging bags across the airport without the help of a strong man. But Morgan didn't have a strong man, not any man, because everyone was far too busy greeting each other around her. Everyone but her, that is. Besides, she was still tipsy and in a mood to handle things herself.

  She found a seat close to the main doors, and decided to park herself there until Finlay arrived. She also took her phone out again, and started to return Julianne's call. “Damn!” Her phone was dead. Where's my charger? Did I remember to bring it? Oh shit! She dug through her carry on, then her purse. Nothing.

  Morgan hated to do it, but she opened her large suitcase right there in the lobby, and proceeded to dig through its contents. She blindly felt around the entire case, and never found it. “Shit, shit, shit.” While it was open, she also looked for her new black jacket, since she was fool enough to not leave it out. She was in Scotland after all, it wasn't the tropics. That wasn't there either. “I'm going to freeze to death, and right before I die, I won't be able to call anyone to tell them that I'm freezing to death!” She yelled at her suitcase while sitting on the floor beside it.

  Just as she was about to get much more colorful in her rant, she saw a pair of shoes park themselves right in front of her. She looked up to see Boy Next Door from the plane.

  “Seems you've been stranded here. Do you need a ride?” He put his hand out to help her to her feet.

  Morgan stood and removed her hand from his. “No, thank you. I'm sure my friend will be here anytime.” She smiled, and looked back at her suitcase.

  The man leaned in, he smelled nice. She looked into his eyes, and noticed the bright yellow flakes within his chocolate colored eyes. His brown hair matched his eyes perfectly, and was cut short on the sides. The top was a bit longer, and stuck straight up in small spikes. Oh, he was cute, but she wouldn't let him know that.

  “Well, if you need anything, I'll be happy to help you. But,” and he leaned in even closer, almost touching her hair with his lips, “I'll expect payment in return.”

  Morgan backed away, her eyes wide with surprise. What did he say? Does he know? What the fuck? “I don't know what your game is, but get the hell away from me.” Morgan stepped back, then looked around to make sure people were still within ear shot in case she needed help.

  The man just smiled, then said, “A young beautiful woman, traveling alone, I know you're here for the singles retreat. So, how about we just skip to the real reason for the trip, and get together.” He tilted his head, looking as if he had just explained the meaning of life to her.

  “Singles retr...I'm not here for a singles anything! You're a pig, and you can leave!” She pointed away from her.

  “Well, if you get bored during your stay, I have something that would keep you entertained for a night or two.” He laughed at the indignation on her face, and walked away.

  She fought with the thoughts in her head, the fact that he had just treated her like a whore, and she was one. She was pissed anyway, and she sat back on the chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Dennis' words came through loud and clear, Sugar, don't judge a man so quickly, he may just surprise you. Oh, he surprised her, but not in the way that she thought he could.

  After fuming for several minutes, her eyes went to her still open suitcase. She wondered what she was going to do. She had no charger, no jacket, and no ride. The trip was growing quite miserable, and she had just got there.

  Morgan spent the following three hours between getting coffee, sitting, looking at strangers passing by, and growing more irate. She finally had enough, and she took matters into her own hands.

  She walked outside and held her arms around herself to block the frigid wind. When a taxi stopped in front of her, she told the driver to take her to the nearest hotel. Morgan was done with the whole situation. She planned to get a good meal, a night's sleep, and book a flight back to the States in the morning.

  Chapter 10

  “Awrite, hen, jus' one for ye then?” the old man behind the counter asked Morgan for the third time. She pressed her index and thumb together at the bridge of her nose, holding back a groan of frustration. She didn't understand a thing anyone was telling her and the vodka from the plane was quickly wearing off, causing her neck to stiffen up once more.

  “Yes, just one,” she groaned. Her tone was surprisingly unpleasant and unlike her. Why does everyone in this place insist on pointing out that I'm alone?

  The short, red-haired man, adjusted his glasses, pushing them higher up his nose, jotted a few words down on a piece of paper and handed her a little brass key and a local map. “Ye goin te go up the steps and doon the passageway and oan the right ye'll find yer room, hen. Number 435, it is,” he explained to her.

  Just speak Engl
ish! Morgan nodded as if she understood a thing the man had just told her. She gave him a fake smile, and made her way away from the lobby. She saw the stairwell the little guy had referred to, but kept walking by. Fuck the stairs. Finally finding an elevator, she pushed the black button and waited for the ding. When it opened a few moments later, she wheeled her bags inside, and pushed the button for the fourth four.

  When the doors parted at her destination level, she was greeted by none other than boy next door.

  “You've got to be kidding me right now?” Morgan spoke, more of a statement than a question, and she didn't want to wait for an answer. She quickly debated on pressing the 'close door' button, but he had already propped his foot in the door and was leaning on the side, a wide smile displayed his perfect teeth.

  “Well, we meet again! See, I knew you were here for the single's gig.” His smile grew even wider and he walked toward her, but she wanted no part of his act. She slung her floral bag over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of her wheeled suitcase and marched out of the elevator. As quickly as she crossed into the hallway, he was behind her.

  “At least let me help you with your bags. I could have given you a ride here. Look we're even on the same floor, it would have worked out great,” he reached for her luggage, but she pulled it away.

  Her rage increased by the second as the douchebag continued following her. She grit her teeth and thought if she just didn't talk then he might go away.

  Oh my God, how long is this hallway? Finally, the numbers appeared to be getting closer to hers and she counted in twos until she was in front of her own room. She slid the key into the lock and gave it a turn. After she heard the soft click, she turned the knob quickly and pushed the door open with her foot, pulling her luggage in behind her, she walked inside.

  Morgan tried to shut the door behind it, but it stopped in mid swing when a big boot got in the way.

  “Oh, dear God, what in the FUCK do you want!?” Morgan slammed the door wide open, this time, demanding an answer. Julianne had told her to try and never lose her temper, and how ladies are not to act like that. They are to handle situations accordingly. Quiet and calm. To Morgan, this was accordingly appropriate.

  “Hey,” boy next door put his hands up defensively in front of him, “I just wanted to talk to you. Since we were on the plane, that's all I've wanted to do.”

  Morgan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Ten, nine...eight, seven, six......fiiiiive......four. She tapped her nails on the frame of the door, anything to keep her hand busy and not make contact with cutie's face.

  “Talk?” Morgan asked through gritted teeth. “Talk,” she said again. “Look, you're a dick with legs, and even if I wasn't having a day from hell, I still wouldn't want to talk to you. Now, if you'll ever-so-kindly, get your boot the fuck out of my way, I am going into my room.”

  It worked. He moved his boot and backed away without another word and Morgan shut the door without hesitation.

  She hurled her bags onto the bed, opening the pink one first and completely dumped its contents. After a minute of rifling though dresses and jeans and panties, she finally found her jacket, but settled on a sweater instead. She wrapped it around her shoulders and rubbed her hands together in an effort to warm them up. Theatrically, she exhaled, wondering if she would see her own breath. She didn't.

  Having slept through the provided meal on the plane, and nothing in her stomach but a few alcoholic beverages, Morgan's stomach gurgled, making her realize she was starving. “Okay, okay,” she patted her talking midsection, “I'll feed ya.”

  She quickly scanned a menu that had been taped to the desk and settled on roasted chicken, “and your best wine, I want the bottle,” she had added.

  Twenty minutes later a knock on the door told her that it was ready. She tipped the man in exchange for her goods, poured herself a glass of wine and carried the chicken and booze to the little desk in the corner.

  When she sat down, she was reminded of her phone. “Oh, my charger,” Morgan exclaimed when she felt the bump in her pocket. She took a large gulp of wine and walked to her shoe bag, holding a chicken leg like a delicate crystal between her fingers.

  After dumping all of its contents as well, she finally came across the holy grail in a pair of fuzzy boots. “Yes!” She plugged in her phone and got back to putting the smack down on her chicken and wine.

  *****

  “And you don't talk right, Mr. I'm Scottish and I talk like I'm so cool,” Morgan put her manicured finger in the face of a handsome young man sitting beside her at the bar. He gently pushed her finger out of his face, laughing at the drunken girl beside him.

  He had only asked how much she had drank, and that had been her brilliant rebuttal. Morgan swayed in the bar stool, taking her first sip of her fifth glass. She giggled and kicked the wall in front of the revolving stool, causing her to spin around in the chair, facing the crowd of Scotsmen and occasional tourist speckled within.

  “Hey!” she yelled loudly, pointing at one of the men, “hey, you, you're cute.” Morgan smiled and turned her body, grabbing the bar and pulling herself around to face the bartender again. Strands of hair covered her face, and she blew on them, laughing like a four-year-old as they fell back down on her face. Morgan had only been that drunk once before, and it was at a wedding reception where it had been perfectly acceptable to dance like a fool and laugh at yourself.

  The handsome man next to her reached over and gently pushed the hair behind her ears, and tried to distance the wine glass from her, but she pulled it closer to her chest. She drew her hand up and placed her cheek on it, tilting her head to look at the man. “Thanks!” she slurred, giving him a little pop on the nose with her finger.

  “What room are ye in, lass? I'll take ye there, you can get some rest,” he suggested.

  Morgan told him that she wasn't tired and didn't want to go to bed. “And you aren't getting in my pants, nope, nope, nope.”

  The man turned his head down and pulled his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. “Okay, then,” he agreed.

  The drunk girl suddenly stood, remembering Finlay, “I have to make a phone call!” she announced to the bar. All eyes were on here as she staggered toward the hallway and the handsome man was behind her in time to catch her under her arms before she crashed into the wall. “Hey, I'm good. See?” Morgan spread her arms and tried tight-roping the few feet to the elevator entrance before she nearly fell again. Morgan leaned up against the wall and slid to the floor, and the man helped her right back up, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and directed her toward the elevator.

  “What floor?” he asked her, not really expecting a response, she held up four fingers in his face. “Okay, four it is.”

  Morgan reached down into her pocket and pulled out the little key and handed it to the man, “One-fortay-five,” she told him. He looked down at the key and shook his head. Not even close, he thought.

  He got her to her room, and helped her inside. When she said she didn't need anything, he left her be, with the suggestion she stay in the room. Although, he imagined he would likely see her back at the bar in five minutes. They always come back down.

  The young girl got up from her bed the second her door was closed behind the man who helped her in, and she skipped over to her phone that was still plugged into the charger. She plucked the cord out and held the green button to turn it on.

  “Whoa, four voicemails?” Morgan questioned her phone. “Must be super important,” she told herself.

  After a running jump and a cannonball onto her bed, she crossed her legs into her usual phone call position and pressed the green button twice to call Julianne.

  “Young lady, I have been trying to call you all day! Are you okay? Did you get my voice messages? Have you seen Finlay yet?” Julianne machine-gunned questions at Morgan.

  Morgan burst out laughing at her Madam's questions. “Finlay!? That stupid son-of-a-bitch didn't even show up! I sat there in the airport, all cold, g
etting hit on by creepy boy next door, who asked me if I could “repay” him,” Morgan made a half-set of invisible quotes this time with her free hand.

  “Morgan, listen to me,” Julianne interrupted the rambling.

  “And then I get to this place,” as if Julianne had any idea of what Morgan was talking about, “and now I'm warm, but I saw creepy dude again, and I was all, shut my fucking door, and he did! And now I'm tal...”

  “Morgan! Shut up! Finlay's flight got delayed. He's at the airport looking for you right now. Where are you?” Julianne continued.

  “Well, ain't that a bitcheroo? I wonder what it feels like? Ohhhhh! Wait! I do know what that feels like!” Morgan only replied to the “Finlay is looking for you” part.

  “Dear, where are you?” Julianne tried a new approach, speaking sweetly to the young girl.

  “Hmm, I don't know,” Morgan truthfully responded. She threw her legs from the side of the bed, and staggered over to the window, tripping over her shoes along the way, “shit,” she cursed at the black pumps that she wore the night prior.

  After she drew the curtains, she told Julianne the first thing that she saw, an Indian carry-out place. She also told Julianne that she wasn't far from the airport.

  “I'll need a bit more information than that, Morgan.” Julianne's voice maintained a level of calm but the older woman wanted to jump through the phone and shake the booze from the young girl.

  “Okay dokie...let me see..Oh! There's a booklet here, a thick one! Let me look,” Morgan turned the book and read it, “I'm staying at Holy Bible.” After the words left her mouth, Morgan realized what she had just read. “HAHAHAHA I said Holy Bible! I'm not staying at the Bible!” Morgan, who had at the point started snorting in uncontrollable laughter, rifled through the papers on the bedside stand. “Here's one, Saint something, wait, I can't see. Oh, maybe that's part of the Bible.”