Hitchhike they said. Be more spontaneous they said. Recommended life strategy my arse, she thought. Shit shit buggering hell. This was her worst fucking nightmare. Her introduction to Mallorca was not in a professional detached capacity as she had anticipated, showing her capability in the police force but a romp in a barn with some lanky German whom she deemed as unnecessary to meet again. And here he was, the universe making sure that she deserved the maximum mortification for attempting to be spontaneous. She wouldn't try that again. Now she knew his name. Max sodding Winter. Max of the blue eyes, poncy shoes and thick…nope got to scrub that memory. It was a good memory, she would admit, though not out loud because he already knew. There had been no cause for complaint. She had been granted a sea view and a couple of orgasms. More than satisfactory. Nevertheless, it had been a big mistake.
Now that big mistake was sitting across from her eating doughnuts. Annoyingly she knew how the doughnut felt. This is what she got for hitchhiking. She was never going to live this down.
For fucks sake.