LIES AND DATES

Karl was certainly right about one thing: hangovers sucked. Hans found that out the hard way as he spent the entire morning drenched in sweat, with a pounding headache and a constant feeling of nausea squirming in his gut. Groaning to himself, he wondered why anyone would ever willingly get drunk. Then he remembered that was precisely what he had just done. Even if he was unaware of just how much of a lightweight he was when it came to alcohol, anyone with half a brain knew that drinking half a bottle of any alcoholic drink was unwise, regardless of tolerance.

I am such a fucking idiot, he thought angrily as he retched once again. Leader of the Volksfrei, indeed! Even that Fuchs bastard never allowed himself to get in such a state as far as I recall.

His fellow terrorists, on the other hand… Karl had been getting drunk since the age of twelve, and had been known to smoke hard drugs. The two short, bulky men who acted as Fuchs' personal bodyguards were regular stoners. Fritz wasn't too bad, but even he tended to go over the drinking limit at parties. He was also a notorious womanizer, aided by his good looks and mysterious, alluring personality. Heinrich was the only member of the Volksfrei aside from Fuchs who abstained from those kinds of things. So maybe they'd forgive him for his momentary lapse in judgement?

All the same, what was he thinking? He loathed it when things went out of his control. At least he still could remember everything that happened that night - or most of it, anyway. Although he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He knew he had certainly embarrassed himself in front of a young woman that night, which made him flush. Although it wasn't like he was ever going to see Monica again, he always liked to make a good first impression. Monica would now remember him as the bumbling idiot who'd all but passed out drunk on the pavement.

Shaking his head, he tried to forget his hangover and all memories of what happened last night. He had a Volksfrei meeting to attend to.

Scene change

Outside on the street, he was so preoccupied with how to apologise to his employees for his disorderly conduct that he wasn't really watching where he was going, and bumped into someone - a woman who, as luck would have it, had apparently just finished her grocery shopping. Her bags went flying into the air and she tumbled onto the pavement.

"I'm awfully sorry, ma'am," Hans apologised profusely as he held out his hand to help her up, while the other attempted to pick up the nearest runaway tomatoes and packets of noodles. She took his hand and looked him full in the face.

SHIT!

"Oh… erm, hello Monica," Hans muttered awkwardly. He wished he were mistaken, but the flaming red hair and twinkling blue eyes were unmistakable. For a moment, he hoped that she wouldn't remember who he was.

"Oh, hello again, Hans. How are you feeling today?"

No such luck. "Better," he said. Then, cracking a wry smile, "Although I've also officially got my first hangover." He grimaced. "Not the kind of milestone I'd like to conquer."

"First hangover?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Most German men I know chug beer as if it were orange juice."

Hans chuckled. "That's what my best friend Karl does. I don't see the appeal, personally."

"Neither do I. But I'm American, so what would I know?"

"Ah. I thought you looked as though you were from abroad."

She smiled. "That obvious, huh? I moved to Germany a few years ago as part of a foreign exchange program. However, I ended up liking it too much, and instead of going back to America I applied to study at a university here. And I've been living in Germany ever since."

"Oh. So why Germany, of all places?"

"I'd been learning German since I was twelve. Besides, I have an aunt who lives nearby, so I'm now able to visit her almost any time I like during my stay here."

"That's nice."

Hans snuck a sideways glance at her. Her red hair was blowing in the gentle breeze, and her eyes were alight with a passionate twinkle as she recounted how she came to live in Germany. She was certainly an interesting person, Hans noted. And definitely not bad-looking either, with a slim, well-toned build. She was no weightlifter, but he could tell by the way her arms flexed that she knew how to keep in shape. Her pale blue T-shirt subtly clung to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips, which Hans discretely eyed. He had to fight the urge to slap his own face for the embarrassing display he'd made of himself in front of her.

"So, have you been living here all your life?" she inquired, breaking the silence between them.

"Pretty much," he murmured. "Well, I used to live in East Germany, but after my mother's death I went to live with my aunt, who lives here. During my stay with my aunt, I was unable to continue my education due to… financial reasons -" no need to tell Monica the real reason, was there? "- so when I became old enough, I moved out and got a job working for a newsagent."

Pausing, he contemplated what he could tell her. "I quit a while back, however, and am still looking for employment. I'm on my way to a job interview now, as a matter of fact," he lied smoothly.

"Oh? What job are you applying for?" Was it Hans' imagination, or did she actually sound interested in hearing the answer?

Feeling bold, Hans bent his head forward until his lips were gently brushing against her ear. "It's top secret," he whispered flirtatiously.

"Oh?" she raised one eyebrow. "How -"

"I've got to go," he hastily interrupted, knowing he was already running slightly late to his meeting with the Volksfrei, " but I'll be in the town library at one o'clock this afternoon. If you like, we can meet there and you can tell me more about the many secrets of Monica Roberts," he suggested.

"Sure, why not?"

The minute she disappeared around the corner, Hans groaned and smacked himself in the forehead.

What on earth possessed him to ask the very girl who'd witnessed him stumbling about drunkenly on a date?