AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Enzo glances at me.
“I need clothes. I have nothing. A toothbrush would be nice.”
He mumbles something.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says and doesn’t speak the rest of the way.
After a not-so-quick stop at Target—because who comes out of there with only the items they went in for?—we arrive at the hotel.
Enzo slides his card across the counter to the hotel employee. “Two rooms.”
“No.”
“What?” He looks at me.
The woman behind the counter holds his credit card, intrigue in her features.
“You might have a concussion. The doctor told me the signs to look for. How am I going to do that from a room away?”
“I’m fine. I told you.” He nods to the front desk employee.
She moves her hand to swipe the card, but I stop her.
“I’m not calling your mom tomorrow when you don’t wake up and saying, ‘Well, he told me he was okay.’ Do you want me to make that call? Because I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want to make that call to my dad.”
His body deflates like a balloon and I worry he’s going to fall to the floor. He’s tired. That’s one sign of a concussion.
“Well, Mother Teresa, what do you suggest we do?”
I look at the front desk employee. “One room please.”
The woman smiles and I bet she’s thinking, “Yeah, I’d play the concussion card to share a room with him too.”
“One room?” Enzo says it as if I asked him to buy me a box of tampons.
“We’re adults. I’m sure there’re two beds.” I whip my head in the front desk girl’s direction. “There’re two beds, right?”
She nods.
“See. We’re good. You sleep in one bed and I sleep in the other. Do you snore?” I wave it off. “It doesn’t matter. I bought earplugs at Target just in case.”
“Good to know.”
The woman sets up our room, and we walk over to the elevators.
“I’m not sure why you want to share a room with me,” he murmurs once we’re in the small space.
“Because I don’t want you to go unconscious and die. Sorry for caring.” The door dings and I file out, following the signs to the room. “Are you hungry?”
“No. I just want to lie down.”
“Okay, but no shutting your eyes.” I wiggle my finger in front of his face, and he blows out an annoyed breath.
I open the door and step into a typical hotel room. Probably not Enzo Mancini’s typical hotel room, but there’re two beds, it looks clean, and there’s room service, so we’re good. As I inspect the sheets, Enzo puts his computer bag on the chair and falls into the other bed on his back, blocking the light from his eyes.
“So you’re picking that one?” I ask.
