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

could have, and was, having the best time ever in Europe without him. In fact, he predicted that by the time this trip was done with, and by the time Jackson had seen all the content uploaded by Bradley, that he would come crawling back, hands clutched together as he begged and whimpered to be forgiven... that was the goal anyhow.

Really, there was no actual way to plan properly for any of this. All Bradley could do was go to each city he’d planned for his trip – and there were a few too – take as many pictures as he could, looking like he was having as much fun as possible, and let the rest take care of itself. It was a haphazard plan to say the least, but that was nothing compared to the way this trip was organized.

It had been less than a week since Jackson had broken up with Bradley. In that time, he had cried his heart out, declared that he was well and truly over Jackson, decided that he wasn’t over Jackson just yet, and then booked and planned a one-month trip through Europe. It was a hectic week to say the least and now that Bradley was in Europe, he kind of wished he’d given it a week more to make some plans.

Seriously, he had nothing planned. Not a thing. He had most of his hotels booked, his flights paid for, and that was where it ended. Even the cities he had chosen were based on their fame, ones that he knew would make Jackson as jealous as was humanly possible. Bradley had just kind of assumed that once he landed, everything would work itself out and where it was too early to tell yet whether that would be the case... everyone he had spoken to – his mother especially – assured him it was not.

But Bradley didn’t want to let that get him down. Once he disembarked the train in Amsterdam, he hurried outside, luggage in tow and there he spied his very first photo for the trip.

The Munttoren of Amsterdam was a clock tower standing well over 250 feet in height and it stood out in the Dutch city like nothing else. It was already dark out, the moon was shining, lights from the surrounds were sparkling and that clock tower was just begging to be in the background of Bradley’s photo. So, without hesitation he pulled up the first person he saw and asked for a picture.

This person was a man in his late seventies, a local by the looks of it. He had been hurrying past with his head down and when Bradley grabbed at him, he thought he might have had a darn heart attack. But he was a good sport in the end and although he spoke perfect English, and was only too happy to take a photo of Bradley standing in front of the Munttoren, he balked when Bradley started to quiz him about the benefits of a candid photo versus a fake-natural one.

“I’ll just go plandid, shall I?” Bradley eventually offered. He smiled for the camera and pointed over his shoulder at the tower. The old man sighed his relief and took the photo.

When it was all said and done, Bradley made sure to double check that the photo was usable before letting the man be on his way. It was, thank God, and he even went so far as to hug the older Dutch man for his assistance. This was met with some serious shock.

And then, without further delay, Bradley got about uploading the photo to his Instagram.

Even this was a process, as Bradley had to crop the photo, and then add filters. He also didn’t want it to be his first uploaded photo of the trip, as he’d been in Europe for hours now and it made sense that he would have thrown up a few travelling ones too. So, he quickly uploaded a photo of the airport, another at the train station in London, one of his packed luggage stuffed into his train compartment, and then... when all that was done... and the picture was absolutely perfect... he uploaded it to his Instagram story.

Once Bradley had done all this, he felt himself reach a sort of loss. Since he arrival in the continent some seven hours ago, everything had been leading up to this moment. He’d wanted that first upload done and dusted so that he could relish in Jackson’s misery. Truly, he didn’t even care that much about Amsterdam itself.

The city was alive, but Bradley remained standing where he was, refreshing his phone every few seconds to see who had viewed it. To his left and right were endless canals, snaking through the city like a maze. Ahead of him was the city itself, lit up and bustling; indeed, he could hear all sorts of weird and wonderful noises coming from the belly of the foreign city. It sounded magical. And yet his phone was what caught all of his attention.

It was only after fifteen minutes of not moving, and a fifth refresh, that Bradley figured he better get a wiggle on. He had a bed and breakfast booked already – thanks mainly to his mother, who had demanded that he do it before leaving – and he may as well be in bed, refreshing his Instagram, rather than in the middle of the street.

Frowning to himself, Bradley quickly found the details to the B&B. According to his phone, it was a little over one kilometer away, far too far to walk. He hailed a cab, jumped in, showed the driver where he was headed, and a second later he was off.

The trip to the hotel was a nice one, if not a little too long. For the first five minutes, Bradley was only too happy to gape openly at the beauty that was Amsterdam. It