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He lays propped up on his elbow, watching me with my erect finger hovering over the controls. “See that red arrow pointing up? Press that one.”
Hahahahaha! Seinfeld’s live studio audience chimes in.
I shoot him a sideways glance and reluctantly press the up button. “I stand by my phrasing.”
—
Later that night, I wake up, shivering beneath my covers so much you’d think I was in one of those sleazy-motel vibrating beds. I slip on my glasses. It’s after midnight. Nick left the light on but he’s nowhere in sight. Where’d he go?
“Nick?” No answer. Did he turn the AC down (I mean up) just to screw with me while he snuck out with some friend? “No funny business, my ass,” I say, teeth chattering like one of those windup toys.
I shuffle over to the AC and hit the off switch. Like a zombie, the damn thing doesn’t die. “You gotta be kidding me.” I try again, on and off, on and off, but it blows on. Great. Of all the motels in downtown Atlanta, we’ve got the one with the AC ghost.
Then, the door swings open and I catch a glimpse of something white floating just above the carpet in my peripheral.
What in the...
“Ahh!” I scream, jolting back on my butt, clutching the drapes.
“Ahh!” A horror-filled man-scream echoes back. Where’s the damn pepper spray when you need it? I blink and take in the spine-chilling stranger.
Oh, hahahaha, it’s just Nick.
“Why are you draped in a blanket?” I ask, yanking myself up.
The door slams shut behind him. “I just spent the last twenty minutes at the front desk trying to get them to do something about this piece-of-shit AC.”
“And?”
“They just gave me a couple extra blankets and said good luck.” He plops a folded blanket on my bed and swaddles himself tighter.
“Can’t we open a window or something?” I rub my shoulders briskly, tottering over to my suitcase for a pair of warm socks and my hooded sweatshirt—which was a total afterthought.
He flops back into bed and rolls himself in the blankets like a burrito. “Nope, they’re just for show.”
“Figures,” I say, dressing my feet. I never sleep in socks. Not even when there’s snow on the ground.
“Is that where you went to college?” Nick asks, and I glance down at the UT logo.
“Yep. Hook ’em horns.” I flash him the Longhorns sign, just long enough to perform my obligatory alumni duty, then huddle under layers of blankets.
“Football fan, huh?” he asks.
“Of course. It’s part of a Texan’s DNA.”
“Right... you think we can sue the motel?”
“For what? Meat lockering?”
He chuckles through chattering teeth. “But seriously, can it get any colder in here?”
The answer to that is yes. By two in the morning, the two of us are out of bed again. Desperate for warmth, we’ve gathered anything that resembles fabric from around the room and now we’re on to the curtains.
No joke.
Nick’s balancing on the wheeled desk chair wearing his leather jacket while I hold it steady. “How in the hell do I unclip these?”
“Who cares? Just rip ’em down!” So much for a good night’s rest.
“You know, we could stay warmer if we slept in the same bed.”
I slowly turn my head to see if he’s serious. I think he is. Me, Nick, one bed? Sounds amazing, but it’s way too risky. Especially after I catch a glimpse of his abs when he stretches up for the curtain rod. “Probably better not to share anything tonight except an oddball road story.”
“I’m not trying to get you between the sheets, but I feel like Leo in The Revenant with his frosty-ass beard and frostbitten mouth. What if we get hypothermia?”
I want to tell him that he’s being dramatic, but my fingers and toes are now numb. “Curtains first.”
So here we are, bundled beneath every blanket, towel, and pillow we can find, topped off with the damn blackout drapes from the window. Nearly an hour later, I’m shivering too much to sleep. Maybe my eyelids are frozen too. I can’t hear Nick breathing, which means either he already froze to death or he can’t sleep either. I shut my eyes tight for a moment, praying I don’t regret this.
“Psst! Nick.”
