"Jesus Christ!" I groaned, wiping the sweat off my brow before downing the last of my gin tonic. "What a fucking shit-show!"
"Another one?" Jack, the bartender, asked, ignoring the expletives that just kept pouring out of my mouth.
"You better believe it, buddy!" I groaned and slid the empty glass over the bar towards him, but not before fishing a half-molten ice-cube out for me to suck on. Watching the man getting to work on my next drink I still couldn't believe I was sitting here at the hotel bar at half past two in the morning.
I really needed some sleep. Having to get up at seven in the morning tomorrow all I could do was watch the time run down on the bar's big, aesthetically simple clock, wiping the sweat off my brow.
Why was I sitting here with Jack, downing gin and tonic during a time where it was best advised to catch some shut-eye? Well, the answer was: shitty luck. Picking out a great hotel in Sevilla had been a priority before embarking on my business trip, to perform at top level I needed some quality rest and I figured a high-level hotel like the Hilton would provide that service with no problem.
Figured wrong, needless to say.
By some of the universe's most ironic, unfunny jokes, my "quality hotel's" "quality air conditioning" had decided to bite the dust just in the middle of the hottest phase of the summer, just when yours truly was spending a few nights in one of their expensive suites. A goddamn shit-show!
When the air conditioning went down in the middle of the afternoon I had been optimistic that the problem would be fixed before it became a problem. Now it was evident that this optimism had been misplaced. When I was informed that all attempts at a repair had been futile a few hours later, any chance of finding a new room in another hotel was hopeless. Holiday season, added to some sort of convention in the city, resulted in everything being booked out completely.
Which is why, after rolling around in bed in my overheated room for two hours, fruitlessly begging to God, Allah and the Flying Spaghetti Monster for just a tiny bit of rest, I had decided to get my revenge on the hotel by raiding their rooftop bar.
So this is why I sat here when I should be down in my room, in my bed, in my dreams. Clad in wide shorts, flip-flops and a half-buttoned shirt I nursed some quality gin while snapping at my trusty bartender, relishing every small breeze that brushed across the rooftop terrace and trying to find solace in the fact that the hotel had announced they wouldn't charge for the night. Which, to be honest, would be more solacing if it wasn't my company that was paying for the room...
Peering over the side of the building I saw that, while the bar was rather empty, I was far from the only guest that was kept up in these conditions, but it seemed the better half of the guests searched for refreshment at the big hotel pool downstairs in the saddest, most tired pool party of the planet.
Good! The last thing I needed was for some fat, German tourist to annoy me with whatever banalities he wanted to spew out. I liked it alone, liked being the only one pestering Jack up here, having the bartender to myself.
I barely had finished that thought when the elevator behind me pinged and the doors slid open.
"Well, shit!" I muttered to myself, preparing myself for the fat, German tourist by taking a big sip of my fresh gin tonic before glancing over to inspect the new arrival.
The sight brought a shock through my system, driving the tiredness back with a refreshing suddenness.
She was in her mid-twenties. Asian. Long dark hair. Petite. Stunning. And - like me, dressed casual to the max. As she slid onto the stool two places away from me I took the liberty of checking out the scantily clad girl. Bare-footed, her legs were long, slim and pale, revealed by a tiny pair of pink sweat shorts. Her small, white tank-top, which she was obviously braless underneath as I could clearly make out her cute, perky titties underneath (and I'll admit I took my time with that), bared an expanse of cleavage and midriff. Her luxurious black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Overall, it was one of the best sexy-casual outfits I had ever seen. An outfit that girls usually didn't leave their home in unless their home was currently a heat-plagued hell.
She gave me a short glance, our eyes met and I immediately recognized her. In fact, I had checked out "Iron Fist" on Netflix just hours prior before starting my ill-fated attempt at sleep. The little hottie beside was the star of a damn Marvel show. Jessica Henwick!
"I'll take a Mojito!" Miss Henwick addressed Jack with a smile.
"The Lady's drink is on me!" I immediately butted in.
"All drinks are on the house today!"
"You're a shitty wingman, Jack!"
It made her laugh. A good sound, it meant positive feedback; I was encouraged. Closing the gap between us as Jack got to work on her drink I extended my hand. "My name's Sean!"
Her touch was soft, cool and delicate. "Jessica!"
"I know!" I winked. "Saw you on Netflix the other day!"
"Oh!" Her eyes lit up. "I hope you liked it?!"
"Made me want to see more of you!"
The ambiguity caused another giggle and a slight blush. "Very subtle."
"Sorry." I shrugged, lifting my glass. "You missed subtle by one hour and two drinks..." She laughed. "Seriously, I have attempted subtle with Jack here for the past two hours and see where it got me?!"
"It was a nightmare!" Jack dryly stated as he slid the Mojito over the bar towards the actress.
"Shut up, Jack!" I hissed before smiling at her again.
Amusement was written over her gorgeous, exotic features and at that moment I wanted to shove my tongue up her asshole. "The two of you are cute."
"Yeah, but that's all me!" I stated, without batting an eye. "Jack over there is a pervert..."
