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“Por favor,” Yasmine shouted. “Jesus, I can’t take y’all anywhere!”
When we got to the counter, we were greeted by a bored-looking, middle-aged white man. He looked at us from under a droopy brow. “Yes?”
“We’re hoping to book some rooms for the night,” Yasmine said. “Do you have any vacancies?”
The man regarded all of us in turn. “How many?”
“As long as each room has two beds, we can do four rooms.”
The man looked away to jiggle his computer mouse. As his face became awash in blue light, he tapped some of the keys. Eyes moving back and forth, he said finally, “we have two rooms: one is a suite with two bedrooms, four beds, and the option for a cot. The other has a king-sized bed. Do you want both?”
Yasmine shrugged. “Sure, that works. How much?”
“$120. Two rooms, $60 each.”
“Oh,” she said, grinning sheepishly. “Right. Philip, do you have the card?”
Philip handed the desk attendant a card. Jean Lee whispered, “Who’s stayin’ in the king-sized bed? I mean, I’m willin’ to take one for the team if—”
“Can you be quiet for a minute?” Yasmine said through gritted teeth. “We’ll figure it out in a minute.”
The man sighed and ran five hotel key cards through a machine, then another two through. He handed the cards to Yasmine and said, “These five are for Room 7. These two are for Room 12. Someone will come by with the cot for Room 7.”
Yasmine nodded.
The man tapped his finger against the desk as the receipt printed. Face still holding his bored look, he handed it to Philip. “Sign, please.”
Philip signed.
“You’re all set,” the man said. He opened his newspaper. “Have a good stay.”
As we gathered all of our stuff, Jean Lee said again, “So who gets the king-sized bed?”
Yasmine turned to the group and adopted her Official Group Leader look. “You know the rules,” she said.
I grumbled the whole way to Room 12, with Andrew surprisingly chipper behind me. “Can’t believe they stuck us in a room together. With one fuckin’ bed.”
“We drew the short straws, and, as a reward, you get to sleep with me.” I grit my teeth, the grinding doing little to soothe my nerves. The look on Yasmine’s face—a tiny smirk of satisfaction quickly brushing her lips before she stowed it behind a more stoic look—made me wonder if we’d been set up.
“Anyway,” Andrew continued, “the room has a king-sized bed, Jones. Don’t get all riled up.” I could hear the little-brother syndrome creeping in his voice. “I know you like to get handsy but remember: you’re spoken for.”
I glared at him over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. If you forget, I can remind you. In fact, I think we should tape a picture of your fiancé above our bed, just to make sure.”
“Andrew, if you don’t stop talking right fucking now—”
“Okay, shutting up now.” Even still, I could tell he was grinning behind me.
When we finally reached Room 12, I tapped the card against the reader. A friendly green light appeared, and the door opened with an annoyingly chipper click! I grit my teeth again and shoved my bags through the door.
“Ah yes. The illustrious motel room.” Andrew adopted a snooty-rich voice, complete with his best English-butler accent. “Here, we have our functional coffeemaker. Or, from the looks of it, nonfunctional.” I snickered.
Walking over to the bed, he placed his hands on the side and did a front flip with his legs splayed out in front of him. “Comfy enough, I guess,” he said in his normal voice. He patted the space beside him. “Come try it out, Ace.”
I shook my head, dropping the key card on the tiny desk below the window. “I’m good, thanks. Don’t want to spend any more time on a joint bed with you than I have to.”
He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? What, you think I’m gonna petition you for sex or something?”
