Backbacking with the Boys – Part 11

Everyone in this story is 18+

Amsterdam

The door burst open with a bang, and Asher’s clipped British accent cut through the haze of sleep.

“Good God, it smells like a bloody brothel in here!”

I groaned, my head pounding as I opened one eye. The room was a disaster—clothes everywhere, sheets tangled, and the three of us sprawled across the bed like we’d been dumped there by a hurricane. Cameron stirred beside me, his face half-buried in a pillow, while Brady, half off the bed, let out a loud snore.

“What the hell, Asher?” Brady mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried to pull a sheet over his head.

Asher strode in, impeccably dressed, his expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and amusement. He yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with too much light. “Don’t you ‘what the hell’ me, Brady. It’s past nine, and our train leaves in less than an hour. You lot have managed to turn this place into—” He paused, wrinkling his nose. “Frankly, something the Red Light District would reject.”

“Hey, I did actually get rejected from the Red Light District,” Brady chuckled, stretching his arms above his head and laughing.

“Indeed you were, not surprising that either,” Asher said with a smirk. “But it seems you found some other solutions,” he added, glancing meaningfully at Cameron and me.

I ignored Asher’s gaze as I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck and blinking at the clock. “Shit,” I muttered. “He’s right. We’re late.”

Cameron, his blonde tufts sticking out in every direction, groaned as he sat up, clutching the sheet to his chest. “Oh crap,” he mumbled, his face flushed as he glanced around the room.

Brady, as usual, seemed the least concerned. He stretched lazily, yawning. “Trains run all day. We’ll make it.”

Asher, now standing by the window, shook his head. “Unbelievable. Brady, I’ve seen you do a lot of things, but this… You’re all naked, for one, and far too comfortable with each other for my tastes. And that’s something coming from someone who attended boarding school, but this is too many willies in one morning even for me.”

He smirked slightly, adding, “I’m starting to think I’m the only one in this group with a shred of decorum left.”

“Whatever! I thought you were the European in this,” Brady said, standing up and pulling on his boxers with no effort to cover up or do it quickly.

“I’m British, remember?” Asher arched an eyebrow. “Shame is our specialty. But frankly, I couldn’t care less. I just want to get you lot to the train station as soon as possible.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Cameron groaned, rubbing his temples.

Brady smirked as he pulled on his jeans, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, Ash. We’ll make it. This is just a little post-party funk. Besides, I bet your night wasn’t all tea and crumpets either. You disappeared pretty fast after I got banned from the district. Where’d you go?”

“A gentleman,” Asher said smoothly, “never tells.”

“Oh, come on,” Brady pressed. “You totally hooked up with that girl you met, didn’t you? Was she—”

Asher raised a hand, cutting him off. “Brady. Save your breath. I have no intention of indulging your sordid fantasies.”

Brady rolled his eyes, muttering, “You’re no fun.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I grabbed my bag, shoving yesterday’s shirt inside. Asher’s quips and Brady’s teasing were like background noise at this point, the kind of chaos I’d come to expect from this group.

“Hurry up,” Asher said, glancing at his watch. “We need to leave now, or we’re not making this train.”

We scrambled to get dressed, grabbing clothes and stuffing belongings into our bags. Cameron moved quickly, still avoiding eye contact, while Brady took his time, clearly enjoying pushing Asher’s buttons.

Asher stood by the door, tapping his foot impatiently. “If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m leaving without you.”

“Relax, Princess,” Brady said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “We’ll make it.”

“Highly doubtful,” Asher replied.

The walk to the station was anything but relaxing. Asher set a brisk pace, muttering under his breath every time Brady fell behind or stopped to adjust his bag. Cameron and I did our best to keep up, but it was clear none of us were moving at peak performance.

“You know,” Brady said, jogging a few steps to catch up, “you’re way too uptight for someone who spent the night with a hot bartender.”

Asher didn’t even glance back. “She was not a bartender and you’re far too chatty for someone who slept through their alarm.”

Cameron, finally breaking his silence, muttered, “I thought you said you’d wait five minutes.”

“I did,” Asher replied crisply. “Exactly five minutes.

“The next time I have to share a room with you three, I’m bringing air freshener,” Asher said, his tone crisp as he glanced at his designer watch again, tapping the face impatiently.

Cameron shot me a quick glance, his face faintly pink. I shrugged, grinning. The station loomed ahead, and all I could think about was making it onto that train before Asher decided to leave us all behind.

We reached the platform with seconds to spare.

“Oh! Fuck, I don’t have the ticket!” Brady exclaimed, patting his pockets with exaggerated panic.

Asher, already poised with his phone in hand as the train pulled in, shot him an unimpressed look. “I have the tickets on my phone, moron.”

“Well done, gentlemen,” Asher continued, his smirk widening as he turned to face us. “You’ve somehow managed to avoid complete disaster—for now.”

“Cool! Digital tickets, how futuristic. It’s like Star Wars!” Brady enthused, his grin wide.

“Bloody hell…” Asher muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve handled the tickets since Paris. And it’s just now occurred to you that I’ve taken care of them every single time?”

“I dunno! I thought we were, like, some train tramps just hitching a ride,” Brady said with a shrug.

Cameron and I couldn’t help bursting into laughter at Brady’s antics.

“No,” Asher said, his voice dripping with exasperation. “I have taken care of everything—reservations, schedules—and I even had to research public transportation in detail to make this all work.”

He droned on, but Brady just leaned back with a satisfied grin, clearly unfazed. Cameron shot me a look, his lips quirking in amusement as Asher continued to lecture.

Brady plopped into a seat, kicking his feet up onto the opposite bench. “Told you we’d make it, your grace.”

Asher shook his head, settling into a seat with far more grace. “Just barely. And it’s not ‘your grace.’ I’m not a duke. Just the son of the Viscount of Hastings. It’s actually ‘The Honourable Asher Milford,’ if you want to be pedantic about it. And if you think this is how we’re starting Berlin, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“You Brits and your titles!” Brady shrugged, before grinning mischievously. “So sorry! I’m just gonna go with ‘milady’ from here on.” He dropped to one knee in front of Asher, mock bowing with exaggerated flair.

“Wanker,” Asher muttered, shaking his head but unable to suppress the faintest smirk as he gave Brady his trademark raised eyebrow.

As the train jolted into motion, Brady leaned back, stretching with a loud yawn before flashing us his signature grin. “Berlin is gonna be a hoot, fellas!” he half-shouted, drawing a few curious glances from other passengers.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I dropped into the seat beside Cameron, the tension of the morning melting away. Whatever lay ahead, I had a feeling Berlin was going to be just as chaotic—and just as unforgettable.