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What the fuck is going on? I can’t believe it. Concordia is a seven hour drive from Oakdale, so our road trip includes a night in Clayburn, a small town on the way. I reserved two rooms at the Clayburn Inn, but now, the receptionist is giving me some bullshit about how one of the rooms isn’t available.
“What do you mean?” I rasp, shooting daggers at the middle-aged woman. She doesn’t look apologetic in the least.
“As I explained, Mr. Burns, we had a guest pass away in her room this morning. It’s nothing to be worried about because she was eighty years old, but I hope you understand why we need some extra time to clean, sanitize, and just make sure everything’s okay. The medical examiner was here, and there simply wasn’t enough time to prepare for your arrival.”
“What time did she die?” I rasp. “If it was early morning, then you’ve had plenty of time to clean up.”
“Daddy, that’s not nice to ask,” Mari whispers, tugging at my elbow. “Come on, we’ll find another place to stay.”
But the receptionist merely shakes her head.
“I’m so sorry, but the Clayburn Inn is the only place around these parts, so you’d have to drive another hour or so to find lodging. But again, Mr. Burns, would it be alright to share a room with your daughter for one night? I assure you, our rooms are very comfortable and there’s plenty of space for you both.”
I shake my head with frustration because this is not what I anticipated. It’s already hard enough as is for me to be around Mari in our home, and the two-story is almost four thousand square feet. To share a tiny hotel room, on the other hand? To be almost on top of those sweet curves and to have her plump form breathing softly as she sleeps mere feet away? Hell no. I can’t handle it.
“We’ll find another place,” I growl, already turning from the desk. “Come on, Mari.”
But then, the receptionist sweetens the offer.
“We’ll comp you this night, of course,” she calls. “On the house. And did I mention there’s a sofa bed too? It pulls out into a comfortable double.”
The comping means nothing because money is no object. I make millions of dollars a year, so one night in a hotel isn’t going to break the bank. But the sofa bed on the other hand … nowthat’sa game changer.
“So there are two beds,” I say in a low tone.
The middle-aged woman nods agreeably.
“Yes, absolutely, if you count the pull-out couch. I’m so sorry I didn’t mention it before. I had no idea it was important to you.”
I almost bellow with rage because that’s themostimportant detail, and she didn’t think to say anything until now! But Mari pulls at my elbow again.
“Come on, Daddy,” she whispers. “It’s fine. I’ll even take the pull-out, so you can have the big bed.”
Of course, no such thing is happening because I want my stepdaughter to get a good night’s sleep before she begins college. But I allow myself to be pulled to the elevator as Mari smiles sweetly at me.
“It’ll be fine,” she soothes. “Besides, isn’t this such a cute little hotel? I love it.”
I look around. It’s seems okay. The elevator takes us up to the fifth floor, and Mari opens the room door with her key. Then we step inside, and I almost let out a bellow of rage.
“Are you shitting me? This room is fucking minuscule! There’s no room to even open the pull-out!”
“No, it’s fine,” says Mari, already running to the sofa bed. She struggles with the item, trying to get it to open up, but that thing looks like a behemoth from the seventies, and it’s not giving up its secrets.
“A little help?” she pants.
I stride over to the pull-out, intent on tearing the thing to pieces, but even my superior strength can’t get the damn thing open. What the hell? Not only is it from the 70’s, but it probably hasn’t been opened in the last thirty years either.
“Fuck,” I grunt while throwing my shoulder against one arm of the sofa while bracing my back against one wall. My hands reach deep into the sofa, trying to expand the damned thing, but my efforts are futile. “It must be stuck.”
“Must be,” Mari muses, panting beside me as she too strains. Then, the whole thing goes berserk, literally pushing us backwards as it pops out on its springs.
“Oof!” my stepdaughter cries, landing on her padded bottom, big breasts bouncing. I stumble back as well, only to narrowly avoid getting smacked on the head by a pillow that comes shooting out like a catapult.
“What the fuck?” I growl, staring at the mess before us. “What kind of sofa bed is this?”
After all, the contraption looks utterly crazy with a twisted wire frame, a mattress that’s literally spilling out its cotton guts, and sheets on top that look none too clean.
“I think it’s broken,” Mari says in a small voice. “I guess no one’s used it in a long time, and they didn’t know downstairs.”
