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It’s fine. Soon I’ll be in a room all by myself. I just bet he’s in a room by himself too.
“You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” he says.
“No rush.” I wave goodbye and escape into the air-conditioned lobby and find the facilities. When I make it back to the front desk, Nick still hasn’t come inside.
The clerk greets me and I give him my name for the reservation. After a few clicks on his keyboard, a wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a reservation under the name Olivia Vincent.”
“What was that?” I’m pretty sure I misheard with all the “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” lyrics resounding in my mind. Lord knows that song will be stuck in my head for hours.
“No reservation.”
Now my ears are fully engaged and I get that sinking feeling in my gut. You know, the one that tells you you’re screwed. The automatic doors open and I get a whiff of Nick’s Tobacco for Idiots cologne followed by him whistling Journey.
“What’s up?” he asks without a care in the world.
“Apparently, they don’t have my reservation.”
“Hmm.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe it’s under my name.”
The clerk checks for our missing reservation and his face relaxes. “Yes, here it is. See, it was under your husband’s name all along.”
“He’s not my husband,” I say at the same time Nick says, “I’m not her husband.” It’s as if we’re declaring the other has cooties.
“Oh.” The clerk looks confused. “Well, that explains the double beds.”
“Double beds? You mean double rooms?” I ask.
“The reservation’s for one double room. Correct?”
One room. Did he just say the only reservation we have is for one room?
Nick clarifies with two fingers in the air. “We should have two separate rooms.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I only have the one.”
My road buddy and I trade glances. “Then we’re gonna need another room, please,” I say.
Without hesitation or hint of regret, the clerk simply says, “Unfortunately, we’re all booked this evening.”
Uh-oh, I really hope he’s joking. “Don’t take this the wrong way but how can this place be fully booked?”
“It’s a holiday week.” Why anyone would want to spend Fourth of July week at a motel in the middle of Atlanta is beyond me. “Perhaps you can stay with your not-husband.”
My gaze wanders over to Nick—a man I’ve gotten to know for only a day (day and a half, tops). A man who tells smart jokes onstage, looks great in leather, and makes girls giggle. Giggle! I can’t stay in the same room with him. Not if I want to keep my end of the bargain with Bernie.
“Maybe I should find another motel.” I pull out my phone and attempt a nearby search.
Nick nudges my arm. “Just bunk with me.”
“What is this? Summer camp?” If it were, I’d totally sneak out in the middle of the night to make out with him while the mosquitoes eat us alive.
“It’s just a couple nights.”
I totally forgot. We don’t leave until Tuesday. That’s just great. The only thing worse than resisting temptation for one night is resisting it for two. The guy already knows I’m a mouth breather. After a couple nights, what else will he know about me?
Of course I can’t exactly express these concerns. So I say, “Sure, for you it’s no big deal. You bring home women you hardly know. And how do I know you won’t kick me out when your Atlanta friend comes over? Or worse—invite me in on a threesome?”
Nick smirks at this idea. “Well, if you’re open to it.”
No way. If I was ever with Nick, hypothetically speaking, I’d want him all to myself.
“In your dreams, Fonzie,” I tease.
“You think I wanna listen to you snore all night after driving for ten hours? No. But that’s the road. And look at it this way: if we split a room, we can save the cash. Which means more money in your pocket. And trust me, if this is now your full-time gig, you’re gonna want to cut all the costs you can.” A valid point my budget can’t argue with. “Didn’t I tell you to be prepared for anything?”
“Yes.”
“Like it or not, Olivia, we’re in this together.” He holds up three honorable fingers like a Boy Scout. “And I promise, no funny business.”
