One Night In Amsterdam (3 page)

Since the instant our eyes met, I couldn’t stop looking at her. I took in her immaculate beauty, the curves of her body, her auburn hair and her milky white skin. She was innocently attractive; making me question how someone could look so innocent and attractive at the same time, but she was. Her green sundress tied around her neck left her skin bare in the back and on the shoulders. It also deepened the color of her green eyes, framed by full, long eyelashes. While we were talking, sitting side by side, our arms so close, almost brushing against each other, I imagined myself touching her soft skin and tracing my fingers starting from her nape down to the small of her back. With every breeze, jasmine and vanilla scent effused the air.  It was impossible not be affected by her beauty, elevated even more so by her heavenly scent. Although I felt intimated by her intense gaze, blocked by her long wavy hair every now and then, I wanted to swirl my fingers around a strand and tuck it behind her ear. God, she was so beautiful.

Emma was completely different than the girls I’d met before. Probably because she didn’t know who I was but I had a feeling even if she knew, it wouldn’t have changed her attitude. She was blunt. She spoke her mind and didn’t hold back. I didn’t mind that. Strangely, I didn’t want her to speak like the girls I hooked up with before: the vapid ones who buttered me up all the time or the slutty ones who sucked up to me just to spend a night with the most eligible and famous bachelors of Manhattan:  Dylan and Max. Oh, how I hated those girls. Emma, she was just the opposite. I enjoyed her frankness, especially no-bullshit answers and curt replies. Her disparate style was so unique that I was determined to get to know her more.

I found Max just around the corner, and of course he was about to go into another coffee shop to get more weed.

“Hey man, I signed us up for a tour. Come on, we’re leaving!” I explained quickly.

“Tour? I am not going on a tour. It’s hot out there. I’d like to stay inside,” replied Max.

“Well, too bad, because I am going. You can either come with me and enjoy more than the cannabis shops and brothels, or stay here and get high until you puke your guts out. Your choice!”  I scolded him. “But, so you know, I won’t be here to save your ass if you are in trouble.”

“What the hell, Dylan. What’s gotten into you?” He asked. “You were perfectly fine this morning.”

“Well, it was before you made me smoke that shit. Oh, by the way…never do that again. You understand me! It wasn’t like what we smoked back home, it was something else. It made me sick and delusional.  Now, you have two choices. Stay or come with me. What will it be Max?”

“Fine, I am coming.”

“Hurry up then. They are waiting for us.”

“They! Who are they?”  He asked and paused, looking confused. “Since when are you carrying a backpack?”

“It’s not mine. It’s Emma’s and she’s waiting for us. Come on now.”

“Oh, it all makes sense now. We’re becoming boring tourists because my dear friend wants to bang a girl with a backpack.”

“Just shut up Max, and let’s go.”

When we got closer to the church, I saw Emma anxiously waiting and talking to her friend. I wondered what they were talking so passionately about. I could see Emma’s eyebrows furrowing and her body getting tense. She pursed her lips. I wanted to kiss those lips so badly. Her indignation and furious expression were somehow turning me on. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I fantasizing about this girl I just met?

I picked up the pace when I saw that the group was about to leave. Max grunted but followed me. I was sure Emma was pissed at me since we were late.

“Here we are!” I said cheerfully when we reached them. “We are ready to go.”

The tall blonde girl standing next to Emma smiled, “Oh, wow! So, you are the hot guy who took Emma’s backpack and disappeared,” she uttered and burst into a big laughter. Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head. Was she blushing?

After hearing the hot guy comment, I couldn’t help but smile broadly. I figured out that Emma told her cousin, Sydney about me while I was gone looking for Max and I wondered if she told her that I was hot. Since Emma was avoiding making eye contact with me, I guessed that she did.

“Yes!  That’s me. Sorry about being late.” I apologized quickly.  “I’m Dylan, and this is my friend Max.”

“Nice to meet you, Dylan and Max… I am Sydney,” she said. Emma was still quiet. She was now studying Max intently.  I was glad that I wasn’t at the receiving end of those withering eyes.

“So, how do we do this?” I asked trying to break the cold air.

“We follow the purple-haired girl with the umbrella. She is hard to miss. If you can’t see her, just follow the loud college kids,” Sydney explained quickly.

I really didn’t care where the tour guide was taking us. All I wanted was to spend more time with Emma. Wherever she wanted to go was fine with me. I followed the group next to Emma in the back. When we finally got out of ‘de Wallen’ and had left the red lights and the sinful rooms behind, I saw big relief in her eyes. We were now walking on the outer layers of the city, famous for its series of concentric and bisecting canals. Canals out here were wider and streets were cleaner.  Within less than a mile, the entire atmosphere had changed. Paved streets were no longer full of cannabis shops or glass doors. Instead there were museums, art galleries and cafés where people just ordered coffee, not weed.

We stopped in front of the Royal Palace and our guide asked us to squeeze closer to hear her better. I actually didn’t care for all the tourist crap she was about to share. I couldn’t concentrate on anything anyway when Emma was standing in front me, so close, within my reach. With every breath, her alluring scent filled my nose. I wanted to grab her thin waist, wrap her in my arms and rest her head on my chest, though I didn’t dare to try. I was concerned that I would scare her away without getting a chance to know her. Instead, I just watched Emma, as our guide continued to talk about the history of the Netherlands. I didn’t give a damn about their recently crowned king, his beautiful queen and all that information about how the Orange family ruled Netherlands for years. While Emma attentively listened the stories about Dutch history, all I could think about was how to find a way to hold her in my arms, touch her soft skin and make it look like an accident. God… When did I become so desperate?

After five minutes of torture, I uncrossed my arms, tucked my hands in my pockets and fought every urge not to get closer to Emma… I finally gave up. I slowly raised my hand, and with the tip of my index finger, I slowly caressed her arm. At first, she cringed but she didn’t move away. Encouraged by her lack of demur, I slowly clasped my hand to hers.

Suddenly, she turned her head back. I was waiting for her to reprimand me or make a smart-ass remark for my bold action, however she did neither. She looked at me sweetly and continued holding my hand.  Then, she stepped back a little and rested her head on my shoulder. Her soft, silk hair smelled like jasmine and vanilla was right by my face.  Oh, my god, she smelt like heaven. Her complacent reaction had completely taken me by surprise. Now I wanted our chatty tour guide to talk more, so we could stay like that a bit longer. I felt like a teenager who just stole a kiss from the hottest girl in school. Unfortunately, purple-hair girl raised her umbrella up in the air and told everyone that we were moving on the next spot.

“What do you think about Louis Bonaparte? I guess he wasn’t as bad as his brother?” Emma asked as we walked. I was disappointed that she dropped my hand when we started walking… ‘Goddamnit. Come to your senses’, I scolded myself inwardly.

“What? Who is Louis Bonaparte?” I asked absentmindedly. I was startled by her question.

“Napoleon’s brother. You know…the one who became the King of Holland.  Didn’t you listen?”

I wanted to admit to her that I didn’t. I was busy imagining things while she leaned on my shoulder. Like kissing her senselessly, moving my lips from her ear to her neck. I daydreamed about claiming every inch of her delicate body with my lips. The thought of Emma in my arms and her heat passing to my skin were giving me goose bumps.

I pushed my wayward thoughts away. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, she explained that Dutch people didn’t have last names until Louis Bonaparte forced them to have them sometime in 1800’s.”

“Having last names, I guess it is a move in the right direction. Good job, brother Bonaparte!” I shrugged.

“But wait till you hear the last names the Dutch picked to piss off the King.”

“What? Something funny?”

“Oh, Yeah! Naaktgeboren for nakedborn, piest for pissed, and the best one is, of course, bigballs. Some of these last names even survived to this day. Can you image having the last name bigballs?”

“Seriously? That’s damn funny.”

“Dylan Bigballs…that could be a good name for you.” She teased me.

“Well that wouldn’t be a lie…” I chuckled and made a mental note…Emma was funny and she liked jokes. “Speaking of last names, what is yours?”

“I won’t tell a guy I met …hmm,” she checked her watch, “about an hour ago, my last name.”

“Why not? It’s not like I am asking for your social security number. I am not a criminal, I promise. I won’t hack into your personal information.”

“I think it’s better if we stay as Emma and Dylan.” She insisted.

I shook my head with an incredulous grin. I wondered if she was always this reserved, or was she doing this purposefully to make me more curious. “Fine! How about you tell me where you are from then.”

“The States…” she grinned playfully.

“Obviously! But where from in the States?”

“Are you always this inquisitive, Dylan?

“Are you always this difficult, Emma?”

“Why can’t we just be two Americans who met in Amsterdam and went on a tour together?” She asked nonchalantly.

“Alright, fine! No last names, no states! What else can’t we talk about?”

“What we do or where we work …Although, I kinda know that you work in investments.”

“I don’t mind telling you where I work. I work at …”

“No-No-No! Don’t tell me any of that. Let’s not talk about our lives in the States or the things we do every day. Instead let’s talk about things we like to do, things that we enjoy. ”

“You are certainly one-of- a-kind Ms. Emma.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way Mr. Dylan,” she smirked.

I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled showing that I meant it in a very good way.  She was definitely something else. I was drawn more to her mysterious charm every passing minute.

After walking a couple more blocks, we stopped at Torensluis, the Widest Bridge, across from the Narrowest House.  I tried to concentrate and listen to the guide this time, in case Emma decided to quiz me later on Amsterdam trivia.  Fortunately, the information about Amsterdam’s canals, bridges and architectures wasn’t as boring. Torensluis was the oldest remaining bridge in Amsterdam and also happened to be the widest. The tower's foundations remained intact and the entrance and the barred windows of the tower's dungeon were still visible.

Across from the bridge was the narrowest house in Amsterdam. I’d say in the world as well because it was pretty damn narrow indeed, just three feet wide.  Our guide explained the back of the house was bigger but the property taxes in Amsterdam were based on the width of the house overlooking the canals, thus one smart architect built a house in between regular houses and saved a lot of money. I thought I was smart, sparing my investor’s money from the government… Hell, no! This city was full of surprises.

We kept walking along streets full of bicycles and crossed a couple more bridges. Amsterdam, the Venice of the north, had more bridges and canals than Venice and they weren’t stinky like Venetian canals. I was totally amazed by the beauty of the city.

We took a short break at the famous ‘Iamsterdam’ sign before heading to our last spot. I was getting hot and tired but I didn’t want to stop or complain. Walking under the fervent sun in complete black wasn’t a good idea. I certainly didn’t dress for the occasion. ‘How could I have known that I was going to chase a girl in the streets of Amsterdam when I left my hotel this morning?’ I thought.

Emma probably sensed my discomfort and turned towards me. “You look like you are about to faint, Dylan. I have an extra bottle in my backpack if you need some water.” She pointed to the backpack that I was carrying for the last two hours.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I was able to utter. I could feel the beads of sweat trailing down my neck.

She had an uncertain, ambivalent look in her eyes as if she was examining me for something. She touched my wrist with two fingers and put her index finger over my lips. She shushed me abruptly, waited a bit and checked my heart rate, which probably was off the roof because I was fighting myself not to kiss the tip of her finger, graze my tongue over it and then suck it senselessly.  “Your heart rate is too fast, and you are panting. It might be dehydration or something else, I am not sure.  Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks. I think it’s the sun,” I mumbled. I couldn’t tell her the truth. My heart was throbbing fast because of her and I was panting because I was still under influence. How could you admit to a good girl like Emma, a girl whom I was so desperate impress that I smoked weed in the morning and got this terrible reaction? Of course, I didn’t tell her that. “Water sounds good. I think I am just dehydrated.” I said.

“Stay in the shade and drink lots of water.” She ordered. “I am going to use the restroom.”

I was pouring water on my face and drinking big gulps when she came back just a minute later. She had a funny look on her face.

“Well… I am embarrassed to ask.” She said shyly. “But… do you happen to have any change with you? I didn’t know they charged for the restroom. Gosh, only in Europe!”

I tried to contain my chuckle. She looked extra cute frustrated. I searched my pocket and pulled out a hand full of change. “Sure, take what you need.”

She took a Euro from the pile and smiled. “Thanks. I owe you one.”