Around 6 o'clock John gave up all hope that he could entertain himself any further. He read all the newspapers and journals he brought to the beach and after 2 hours the interesting lifeguard left his post and went back towards the main building. John had to admit that once or twice in every ten minutes he stole a glance in his direction. At first, he didn't know why he kept looking at the man; he assumed that he wanted some diversion and this strange man seemed like someone who loathed monotony. But nothing happened, the man sat still and read, just like John did. Except he wasn't staring at you, John chided himself. It was still strange for him that the man attracted him this much. He told himself that the only thing that drew him to the man was his strange and refreshing behaviour and the fact that he apparently didn't give a damn about what he was supposed to do or say and what other people thought about him. John didn't even think about him as sexually attractive, though he knew the man was bloody gorgeous, he had eyes, thank you very much, even though he had them for women only. He wasn't gay, after all. But something about this man was exciting – the way he held himself, the way he moved with an unbelievable amount of self-confidence. He envied it a bit, John thought; he would have loved to be able to walk like he knew everyone was drawn to him because he was confident and a bit unreachable. John had had his luck with the ladies, he knew that and was proud of it. It wasn't a coincidence he was nicknamed "three continents". But he also knew that he had to work hard for that; he hadn't the looks of a model on the cover of GQ, he had an average face. He had to use his charm, talk his way through women's first resistance. When he looked at the lifeguard he knew that man could get anyone he wanted just because of his looks. And he envied the easiness he could get anything he set his mind to. And John wanted to see that happen. At least that was what he told himself.

Up until the lifeguard left, John hadn't realised, that the novelty of this man wasn't the only thing that attracted John; as he bent over to collect his bag, John couldn't help but roam his eyes over those long legs – from ankles to knees and partly clad thighs – and up to first, than the other roundly shaped arse cheek. John couldn't blame this on his boredom anymore, he had to admit that this man was attractive – strangely and not classically so – and he wanted to know more about him, so he decided he would do his best to get closer to the lifeguard. This thought startled him because never in his life had he wanted to know a man this much. He was unpredictable, an enigma and apart from that, he had the looks of a Greek god. John never cared about labels and sexual identifications, but this man made him think. It had happened a few times back in the army, he had to admit. In the showers and in the barracks it was hard not to meet half-dressed and naked men. Army men, with well-shaped and scarred bodies. John remembered one time when they had had to go on a patrol and they had found a small oasis on their way. The day had been hot and warm wind had been blowing, the clothes of the 6 men had stuck to their bodies and their faces had been almost black from the sand that had mixed with their perspiration on their cheeks. He couldn't remember whose idea it had been, but after a few minutes of hesitation, all of them had started getting undressed and had run into the small pond that had been surrounded by palm trees. John had been the last one to drop his clothing and he had watched as the others had bent down to pull their boots off; their tight bodies drawing John's attention. When they had been in the water, they'd pushed each other under the surface and the occasional touch of thighs and bums and other parts against him hadn't been revolting at all. He hadn't minded it. It had been the army, after all; men sticking together through hard times and it hadn't been the place for being self-conscious about your body. Thinking about it now, John realised that it had had to be more. Some of the guys had flinched away when he had swum too close to them, but John hadn't been the one to mind brushing legs and hands. He was starting to feel that his attraction to the lifeguard shouldn't be a surprise now, considering how he had reacted to men in the army. But those had been his mates, comrades. And it had been natural, feeling close to them; emotionally and physically. But this attraction to the lifeguard was different and it made John a bit uneasy. He wasn't into men, he thought.

He realised that the journal he was holding was in his lap now and the small breeze moved the pages of it back and forth and the sound of it brought him back from his reverie. He stood, collected his things and went back to his room.

When he entered the dining room after he got changed into his favourite khaki trousers and dark green shirt – he knew he looked more like a soldier than a tourist, but he had been to be a soldier, hadn't he? – he was surprised to see that it was rather empty, although it was well after 8 o'clock.

He had taken his time in his room because he couldn't help but enjoy the vast Jacuzzi that had looked so inviting every time he entered the bathroom, so he'd spent almost half an hour in the water while he'd listened to a collection of 80's rock music. While he'd been dressing up he'd remembered Harry's words that he should find a woman – or two, for that matter – to enjoy himself, so he'd done his best to look agreeable. He'd run his fingers through his hair, had smoothed his shirt as he'd cast a look at his reflection in the mirror, turned around to collect his wallet and keys and left.

Most of the tables were free, only two couples sat together in a far corner, chatting and enjoying themselves noisily. He went straight to the counter and he lifted each and every lid that kept the meals warm on the serving tables. When he finished he went back to the first tray and started piling food on his plates – nobody could say that he wasn't thorough and he did it with clinical precision. When he finished he sat down and ate in silence, not looking up from his plates. After cleaning them, he stood up and headed to the beach to take a walk when he heard music coming from the huge hall next to the dining room. He directed his strides to go look for the source of the music and came to a halt at the door of the big hall to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. Silhouettes of swaying couples started forming in front of his eyes, while he could see other shapes sitting at tables and standing around the tables. At the other end of the hall a band was on a stage, all musicians in sharp suits and polished black shoes. The singer was a stunning woman in her early forties, dressed in a sparkling bright red dress with soft chocolate brown waves falling on her shoulders and bare back. John was drawn closer to the stage and leant against an unoccupied table, enjoying the steady rhythm of the dancing couples swaying and turning in front of him while the velvety voice of the beautiful singer seeped into his ears and set his hips moving. He looked over the room and could see lots of lonely women sitting alone at the tables and at the bar. All of them were dressed impeccably, some of them with the clear intention of attracting the attentions of bachelors just like him. He thought he recognized the women from the beach who were scanning the room in prospect of prey.

John didn't like this new change in powers and roles – he considered himself an old fashioned guy. Of course it was refreshing to see a woman taking the first step, he had to admit. But nothing could compare to the feeling of power and control when he talked a woman into following him up to his room. His thoughts were interrupted by someone squeaking and then laughing loudly on the dance floor not far from him. He looked in the direction of the source, but his head suddenly stopped when he noticed a mop of dark curls and a strikingly pale profile. It's him. He was wearing the same clothes as the other entertainers, John realized with a bit of a shock, and he looked bloody fine in them. Every muscle of his thighs was visible through the fine fabric of the black trousers and his arse swung deliciously as he moved with the music. John was startled by his train of thoughts, but he couldn't pay more attention to them as he scanned over the dancing pair. A posh elderly woman clung to the man vehemently, her hands wandering all over his back and brushing over his firm arse. His shoulders visibly stiffened when the hands swept over the parts below his belt and John was almost sure that the cougar – because he was certain that she was a cougar – rubbed her thigh between the man's thighs. John couldn't help but admire his tolerance; judging from what John saw earlier that day, he would have said that the other was an abrupt and impatient man, but right now he endured the elder woman's unvarnished attention.

The song ended and John's palms were twitching to be able to hold that man in his arms and lead him around the room. That made him even more confused and he was lost in his thoughts when he was interrupted by a busty blonde girl who sat on the table next to him.

"A cute guy like you shouldn't be sitting here alone." She leant closer and whispered in his ear. "Why aren't you dancing with a hot girl who'd be more than willing to spread her legs for you after one song?"

John was shocked to hear these blunt words and reluctantly turned his gaze away from the mystery man to observe the girl. She was small and curvy, lovely breasts peeking out from her cleavage, a chocker accentuating her slender neck. Well, judging by her looks she was one of those willing girls.

"Did my sister send you here?" John studied her face – young and honest, playful and a little provoking. She definitely knew how to approach and charm men and she had every right to be confident. "You both seem to think that a holiday in a sunny place should end with me banging as many girls as I can encounter." He thought answering honestly was the fair thing to do after she was rather forthcoming.

"No, she didn't but I think I like her already. She probably knows that with your charm it's rather hard to resist you." She had a drink in her hand and had lifted it up to her lips while she was speaking and now took a sip and looked at John from under her eyelashes.

"You're not bad yourself," answered John and immediately cursed himself for not being able to come up with a better response.

"Well you should see it for yourself someday," she winked and left him to gape after her in utter shock.

I need a drink, he thought and walked to the bar, trying to avoid dancers who swung in front of him. He asked for a glass of beer and sat on a barstool when the bartender handed him his drink. He was just staring straight ahead at the dancers, not seeing anything just looking, when someone jogged his elbow, almost knocking his drink out of his hand.

"Oh, I am sorry. Did it spill on you? Let me help you." A small Spanish woman dived head first in his lap with a small towel in her hand – where did she get it? – and started wiping his lap with determined strokes.

"It's… it's okay. Just… please… no need…" He grabbed her arms and tried to push her away from between his legs.

"I'm really sorry," she said as she straightened up. "It's not the best way to introduce yourself, right?" Her face was flushed and her eyes kept wandering back to the wet spot.

"It really is okay. That's one of the easiest ways to get a beautiful woman to busy herself in my lap." God, did I just say this? It sounded like a cheesy line from a disastrous porn movie.

"Oh, I doubt you need to resort to that. With a smile like yours, I bet women are standing in line to get themselves busy." She cast a thorough up and down look at him, turned to the bartender and ordered a Martini for herself and a new bottle for John.

"You'd be surprised." He held his bottle up and clinked it to her glass. "Scars don't attract many women."

"You've probably been looking at the wrong women. Some do love rough boys." She smiled and her pink tongue darted out to run along her teeth.

"Do tell me where I could find women like them," he asked and leant closer to her, her hair tickling his nose.

"There are a few in this room," she replied and put her hand on John's forearm, drawing tiny circles with her manicured fingers, her nose almost touching John's ear as she leant even closer.

John looked at her hand on his arm then up at her, her mouth inches away from his. He could smell the sweetness of her drink on her breath as she opened her mouth to wet her lips with her tongue.

"Carmen!" A rough male voice cut through the music, and the woman yanked herself away from John. He was too surprised to do anything, but sit back and clench and unclench his free hand. "¿Qué estás haciendo, mujer?" She jumped off the stool and put her hand on the giant's - man's - chest and murmured something to him as he stared at John with deadly determination in his eyes.

"Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to… I didn't know… I wasn't going to…" John just stuttered as he hopped off the chair and held up his hands, trying to calm the jealous man. The Spanish man put a possessive arm around the woman's hip and kissed her with a lot of passion – and tongue - and John just stood there and watched them. He was torn between being embarrassed about trying to hit on a woman who was clearly rather fond of her boyfriend and being there and watching as the man (hands still on her hips, mouth and tongue still on and in her mouth) dragged his girlfriend back into the crowd, where they started grinding against each other, not breaking the kiss.

John had no idea how long he has been standing there, because he couldn't hear the music as he was still lost in his thoughts about his luck, or rather misfortune. He staggered back to his stool and ran his fingers through his hair, pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shaking breath. God, he wasn't easy to scare, but a lot of worse case scenarios ran through his mind in those few moments. The man could have broken more than one of his ribs with only one blow of his fist. He was huge!

"Didn't get lucky, did you?"

John let his hand fall from his face to look up and see who was standing next to him now and his hand stopped in mid-air. The lifeguard supported himself on his elbow, his ankles crossed as he leant against the counter. His shirt was soaking and stuck to his chest, his bare skin glistening with sweat where the two top buttons were undone. The sleeves of his burgundy shirt were rolled up to his elbows and John could see fading red scars on his left arm where his upper arm met his forearm. Ex-junky, John thought. That was certainly something he didn't expect.

"And it was the second time this night. And it's only…" he looked at his watch and said "9.30. Not my night, I guess." He took a sip from his bottle and gestured with the bottle towards the man.

"No, thanks, not on duty." He was making a face as he said the last word and John thought that this was the man he'd seen on the beach that day, the man who loathed the job he had here.

John smiled at him sympathetically, but his smile faded as soon as the man looked at him seriously and a bit curiously and asked "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John narrowed his eyes and raised his chin. "Excuse me?"

The man rolled his eyes. "I don't need any of that. I asked a simple question; Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. But how do yo—"

"It's simple, isn't it?"

"Well not for me. How did you know? Do I know you?"

"Oh please." He waved his hand and looked John straight in the eye. "You obviously don't, and I know because I saw it."

"That I'd been in Afghanistan?" John was shell-shocked and tried to think of a way how this man could know who he is. Looking at him now, he resembled someone John met somewhere, once.

"No, we had never met," he said as though answering John's thoughts. "When that man had confronted you, you'd jumped off the stool to be able to defend yourself with your whole body. That'd been a reflexive reaction to a threatening situation, learnt through years of being in danger and unpredictable situations. Your palms had been facing the other man as you'd talked to him, clear sign of friendliness and meaning no harm. You might have done it unintentionally, but I'd say it'd been due to training where you'd learnt how to handle people without any verbal help. When the man had left I'd seen that you'd lowered your left hand and your right hand had reached towards your shoulder as you might have done if you would have had a gun in your hand and a strap holding it in place on your shoulder. Then when you'd realised that you'd done this, you'd rubbed it and I'd seen how your left arm had trembled. It hadn't felt good; I'd say an injury there. When I'd got closer I'd seen that there's a tanning line at your wrists and around your neck. Had spent time in the sun fully clothed, then. Even you wouldn't be so dumb to go sunbathing with long sleeves. This applies to your legs, too. Uniform, then. I also noticed that you are not entirely comfortable with your hairstyle as you had to run your fingers through it several times when you'd felt sweat plastering it to your forehead. It might be because the hairdresser who'd cut it hadn't been good with the scissors, but I'd risk to say that it is longer than what you used to have, what you had been used to. So where would you acquire skills in how to handle foreign people, hold guns, get injured – shot, to be precise – walk around in a uniform under direct sun and have really short hair for a long time? In the army, which means you are a soldier. Where are troops stationed right now or in the past few months where sun is shining most of the time? Afghanistan and Iraq. So you see my question was rather obvious."

John realised that his hand was still in the air throughout the man's speech and he put it on his thigh awkwardly. Without looking away from the man he felt for his bottle of beer, almost knocked it over, but was lucky enough to grab it in time and brought it to his lips to take a sip.

"That was amazing. How the hell did you do that?" Never in his wildest dreams – not that he had any dreams about this man, no – has he thought that the man could do this; tell his life story just from glancing at him. He shook his head in disbelief and the corners of his mouth curved up into an involuntary smile.

"I told you," the man rolled his eyes. "I observed and deduced."

"That was extraordinary. Do you always start a conversation like this?" John was resting his chin in his hand now, his elbow on the wood of the counter.

"No, I usually don't speak to people," answered he, without any trace of meaning it as a joke.

"God, you're strange. I mean… You're different."

"Yes, I've been told. Though that's not what people call me most of the time."

"What is it, then?" John raised his eyebrow in anticipation.

"Freak." The man didn't even flinch, not a muscle on his face moved. John suddenly felt some kind of remorse that nobody could see how brilliant this young man was, or if they did then no one told him so.

But before he could have expressed what was on his mind – he wasn't sure he wanted him to hear this, because, honestly, it would've been a bit too emotional for their first meeting – the lifeguard grabbed his free arm and dragged him towards the dance floor.

"What—" he started, but the other man cut him off.

"My 'boss' was right behind you, staring at me and started walking towards us. I'm supposed to be dancing with the guests so that's what I'll do." He turned John around and put his hand on the small of John's back.

"What are you—" John tried to protest and pull back, but the hand on his back pushed him closer to the damp torso of the man in front of him. His other hand was in the strong grip of the madman and he guided it towards his shoulder, and when he let go of John's hand he put his own on John's upper arm.

"Oh please, don't be so surprised. I saw you today on the beach. You were glancing at me every five minutes. You are clearly not opposed to men being this close to you."

"You are wrong," was all John could answer as the man turned him around so their chests touched and he was surrounded by thin but strong arms. He didn't look the man in the eye; he kept staring in the distance next to his head.

"Oh, I see," observed he, as he pulled away to look at John's face for a few moments. "It isn't 'men', is it?" His voice rang clearly even though the music was rather loud. John had a hard time focusing on what he said instead of how he did. "It is me, isn't it? You find me attractive, though you consider yourself straight." John's face must have twitched because the lifeguard – now entertainer – barked a little laugh. "Oh, the army again. All those men so close to each other, where personal space doesn't exist. I wonder how you didn't have a sexual encounter with one of your mates there." He observed John a little more as they swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, John still refusing to look him in the eye. His eyes were glued to his fingers that rested on the shoulder of this impossible man. "Ah, they'd tried, hadn't they? Small touches here," he moved his hand on John's back a little lower "and there," he pushed his thigh firmer against John's.

John was so surprised and embarrassed that all he could do was to wriggle out of the man's touch and push him away.

"How dare you! You know nothing about me and I don't even know who you are." His two fingers slammed against the lifeguard's chest as he punctuated his words.

"You know this is not entirely true. I told you what I know about you and it is, without doubt, more than 'nothing'. As for the second part, I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"Well Sherlock Holmes," spat John through gritted teeth, "you can go and find someone else to play your petty game with." With that he turned around and pushed his way through the dancing crowd and headed back to his room where he slapped the door with much more force than was necessary.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked his shoes off furiously. After a few minutes of massaging his temples he stood up abruptly, but a sudden pain ran through his right leg, from his hip down to his toes. He stood still for a moment, kneaded his thigh with a few firm strokes and walked to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured a third of the liquid into a glass.

"Hah, yes, very clever, really," he started talking to himself and pacing the floor. "I almost melted at his words at the bar and then he dragged me to the dance floor and what did I do? Panicked. Like a fucking virgin! Well, technically, that's what I am, but now he knows it, too! Well played, really. Brilliant. And what is my problem?" He gulped half of the glass and gestured with it as he walked around the room, the bottle in his other hand. "He didn't say anything I haven't known yet. Yes, some of the guys tried hitting on me, but I told all of them that I'm not interested. I'm not. I wasn't. Oh, shit," he turned on his heels, almost sloshing the alcohol on the expensive carpet, "he's an arrogant prat. Why do I find him so irresist—interesting?" With a loud thump he sat back down on the bed, drank what was left in his glass and put it down by the foot of the bed. He allowed himself one last heavy sigh and went to the bathroom to get ready for sleep.