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“Well, get the manager back here then,” I snap.
I know, I’m being a jerk. But right now, it’s easier to channel my anger into this situation than focus on who I’m really angry with: myself. I should be with Legs tonight, not trying to sort out this impossible room situation.
“That won’t be necessary, Cyrus,” Annie says to the receptionist.
I look at Annie in indignation. “Yes, it will.”
She pulls a face, like this is just a tiny hiccup instead of full-blown heartburn and indigestion. “This isn’t Cyrus’s fault, it’s mine. And Rosemary’s. Quite the busybody, isn’t she?”
As we’ve recently learned, Rosemary—who is no ordinary dear old lady—overheard that the hotel was filling up while Annie and I were otherwise engaged. She then proceeded to tell my good friend Cyrus here that Annie and I were traveling together, madly in love, and only needed one room.
All she had to do was point out the whole “Annie hanging off my arm and laughing like a drunken fishwife” situation going on in the hotel’s entryway, and that sealed the deal. Cyrus—who apparently just wanted to get back to that sneaky book he’s hiding behind the desk—obediently checked us into one room without thinking to check first.
Now, the last and final room in the hotel is long gone to another traveler. That room was also apparently the last viable dwelling place in the entire vicinity of the airport.
“I’m not sure ‘busybody’ is the word I’d use,” I grumble.
“Cheerful thing, aren’t you?” Annie smirks. Clearly, my rotten mood won’t be bringing her down anytime soon. Even though this particular predicamentdefinitelyaffects us both.
I’m tired, irritated and don’t want to be here. And I’m sure she doesn’t either. The least she can do is act like it. All this bouncy-bouncy, happy-clappy, eternal-sunshine crap is getting to me.
“I’m a realist,” I say flatly. “And I really don’t want to share a hotel room with you tonight.”
It’s not personal, it’s just the truth. I don’t share intimate things—like hotel rooms—with anyone. Never mind quirky, cute strangers who seem intent on crashing into my life at every opportunity.
Instead of being offended, Annie turns to me with another one of those mad grins. Despite the late hour, her lips are bright ruby red. The sky might as well be falling down, and yet, she prioritized putting on a fresh coat of lipstick.
It is a good color on her, though. You know, if I was the type of guy to notice that kind of thing.
“Just like you didn’t want to go to dinner with me,” she says with that knowing smile of hers. Like she has a secret I’m not privy to.
I actually forgot I said that. Told you I wasn’t good when I’m put on the spot.
Although, in my defense, it didn’t sound like she had any interest in Rosemary’s suggestion, either.
“No,” I respond grouchily. “That was different.”
“Ooh, which one’s worse?” she teases. “The thought of eating with me, or the thought of being my roomie for the night? I don’t snore, you know. At least, I think I don’t. Guess you’ll find out soon.”
She says this like she can’t think of a single other reason I wouldn’t want to have a sleepover with her at a grotty airport hotel.
“As long as you don’t continue talking in your sleep, I’ll live,” I reply.
Annie seems undeterred. “Well, seeing as I owe you one for pretending to be the love of my life, why don’t I see if I can sleep in Rosemary’s room tonight? Least she can do for causing this mess.”
I nod once, relieved. Tomorrow, I’ll be sending a very sternly-worded complaint to both the airline and the Econo Hotel for this mess. But for now, we’re going to have to make do. “That would be ideal. Or as ideal as it’s going to get.”
I turn back to Cyrus, who has given up any pretense of caring about our situation and has his nose stuck in his book. “What’s Rosemary’s room number?” I ask, tapping the desk to get his attention.
He looks up with a sigh. “‘Fraid I can’t give out that information, sir.”
“Are you freaking kid—”
“It’s okay,” she says, looking at Cyrus. “We’ll make do.”
“We absolutely will not—” I start.
But then, Annie lays a soft hand on my arm. Her touch makes me jolt.
