Only You by Jerry Cole (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

As such, Sherman was forced to ‘dress down’ and act as if he didn’t have more money than God. Technically, the first leg of the tour, a bus ride through the countryside with twenty other men and women just like him, didn’t start until the next afternoon, which meant that he could have easily come dressed how he pleased. But he had opted to get a start on his new persona early.

Tonight, Sherman was dressed in a cheap pair of jeans, a basic polo-T-shirt from off the rack, and literal white joggers of no real brand. It was the shabbiest that Sherman had looked in a long, long time, and right away he could tell the difference.

Sherman wasn’t that great looking. He wasn’t tall, he didn’t stand out in a crowd and barely, if ever, had he knocked the wind from someone based purely on his presence. It was always handy that Sherman was rich, so none of this had ever really mattered... until now.

Being perceived as average, while also looking average, really opened Sherman’s eyes up to how hard the world actually was! People didn’t move when they saw him coming, people didn’t offer him help or advice or even a friendly smile. When he walked through a club such as this one, Sherman felt as if he had food on his face from dinner that he hadn’t noticed but everyone else had.

Indeed, his attempt to move through the club toward the bathrooms soon became a wrestling match as not a single body bothered to step to the side for him. He was forced to push, wrench and shove the masses in a way he never had before. It was awful!

Even when Sherman did make it to the bathroom, and spotted the large Dutchman with the drugs – hopefully – he was treated like a third-class citizen that was being done some sort of favor.

“Hey!” Sherman shouted once he saw the large Dutchman hovering by the bathrooms. “I just want to confirm, it’s —”

The large man held a finger to his mouth and bulged his eyes at Sherman. He then continued to glare as he subtly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out from it; he had it cupped in his closed hand, so that Sherman could see.

Sherman resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he hurriedly fished out eighty euro and made the exchange. And then, the second it was done, the large Dutchman pushed past and was gone.

This whole thing was so humiliating, and not at all what Sherman had in mind for his first night in Amsterdam, let alone Europe. He’d only arrived a few hours ago, and had every intent of going to bed if it weren’t for a quick call with Nick.

“You need a hook-up?” Nick had asked, once they had covered all the basics.

“For what? Men – no, I don’t pay for —”

“Not that,” Nick had sighed and then laughed. “You know... white powder.”

“Ohhhhh,” Sherman had said. He then thought quickly, “Ah.... maybe? Is it worth it?”

“So worth it,” Nick had assured him. “The stuff in Australia is shit. But the stuff over there... boy oh boy, you would think you died and went to heaven.”

Sherman wasn’t that into drugs. For him, booze was more than enough to take the edge off, and with the amount that he drank, he kind of figured it would be best to not add drugs into the equation. But he was in Europe, he was feeling kind of down and figured that it might be fun to try. So, Nick gave him the name of a club, told him how to go about getting it, and here he was.

Sherman took a peek at the little white bag in his hands. He didn’t want it for tonight. It would be for tomorrow... and the day after... and the day after that too. He'd need something if he was going to get through all the small talk he was sure to be having with boring straight men for the next month straight.

“... outside?!” A random, Australian voice yelled out just behind Sherman. “Why is he out there?!”

Sherman spun around and spotted a young Australian man speaking with a tall, skinny Dutchman. The Australian was dressed to the nines, in his best tight shirt, skinny jeans and a little too much jewelry and hair product. The smell wafting from him was thick and a little intense, but he was also so damn hot that it didn’t matter. God damn, he was a hottie. Tall, well-built and with a jawline so strong Sherman couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to sit on it...

The Dutchman on the other hand looked sleazy, and a little creepy, and like he had something sinister on his mind. There was no way they were together and from the looks of things, this was purely a business transaction similar to the one that Sherman had just partaken in.

“Okay! Okay!” the hot Australian nodded eagerly. He was rather young though, somewhere in his mid-twenties, Sherman guessed. His wide-eyed enthusiasm stood out the most as he indicated for the Dutchman to show him the way. A moment later they were gone.

Sherman didn’t hang around for too much longer that night. He literally popped into the bathroom and then got the heck out of the club before he was reminded again of how utterly out of place he was. But he didn’t head straight back to his hotel either, although not for the reason one might expect.

He was just leaving the club and had to cross the road before hailing a cab. It was there, sitting on the sidewalk, head in hands, looking as broken as a man ever had, that he saw the hot Australian from the club.

“Hello?” Sherman asked