Page 67 of 72 Hours of You

“We can find a hotel,” Peter says.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Just to sleep. Somewhere safe.”

“Okay,” I say. “But we better google somewhere that doesn’t have bedbugs.”

WE FIND THIS PLACE that’s somewhere between a hotel and a motel that seems like maybe it is not actively battling an infestation and also won’t care that we’re technically underage, and we walk inside.

There’s a person with faded orange hair at the front counter, their phone tilted sideways, a Marvel movie blaring at full volume.

“Excuse me,” Peter says, standing up nice and tall, or well, even taller than usual. He’s clearly attempting some approximation of Adult, and I have to stifle a snort.

“Yeah?” the front desk person says without looking up. “Goddamn Iron Man,” they mumble to themselves.

“We would like a room for the night, please.”

The person—Kam, according to their name tag—lets out the most belabored of sighs and pauses their movie. They swivel to a computer that looks like it was imported by some 1980s time traveler. They hit a few keys and then turn back to us. “We have a king bed available.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “Can we get two queens?”

“You cannot,” Kam says. “That’s the only room we have left. Take it or leave it.”

“I can’t believe this,” Peter says to himself. “I’m living an actual trope.”

“What?” I say.

“One bed. It’s a whole thing in romance books.” He sucks his cheek with the dimple like he’s trying extremely hard not to make any kind of face.

“This isn’t a romance.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I was just saying. Tropes are funny. Well, not funny. But they exist. Actually, tropes get a bad rap in romances, but they’re not just used in genre storytelling. Even lit fic uses them. It’s a really misunderstood concept and—”

“Are you okay?”

Peter lets out a breath. “Yes. I’m fine. Definitely fine. Do you want to try and find somewhere else?”

I shake my head. “Get the room. It’s whatever.” I’m starting to feel really drained and the texts from Charles are clawing their way into the back of my brain. I need this day to be over.

Peter nods and turns back to Kam. “We’ll take the room.”

“That’ll be six hundred and twenty-three dollars.”

My eyes practically fall out of my face. “What the fuck? For this shitty place?”

Kam looks up at me blankly. “Yes, for this shitty place.”

“Sorry,” I say. “But come on.”

“It’s New York, baby. You want to stay at the Holiday Inn for forty-nine bucks, go to Florida.”

“Listen—”

“It’s fine,” Peter cuts in. “We’ll take the room.”

“Peter,” I hiss. “We cannot afford this. My Greenlight debit card has like sixty dollars on it.”

“I have money.”