“Wanna eat somewhere, or get food to take back to the hotel?” I asked, finally not able to take the quiet for another minute.
“Take it back to the hotel,” she said, voice sounding far away. Like her mind apparently was.
“Any preferences?”
“Whatever is nearby the hotel is fine.”
It was like pulling teeth to get any kind of discussion out of her.
“Here,” I said, tossing my phone onto her lap, smirking when she stared at the damn thing like I’d dropped a toad there. “Look for places in Fredrickson that have decent enough reviews,” I said, for some reason needing to see her doing something other than just staring off into nothing.
With that, doing so somewhat reluctantly, she started searching. “The Chinese place is the only one that doesn’t sound like we’d catch a new strain of salmonella,” she concluded.
“Like anything in particular?”
“Vegetable lo mein,” she supplied. “What?” she asked when I must have shot her a surprised look.
“Expected something on there that I can’t even pronounce.”
“Highbrow Chinese from a takeaway place doesn’t really exist. At least from what I could remember. I haven’t had it since I first moved to the city. But the lo mein was my favorite. I can order if you want,” she volunteered. “So we can pick it up on the way. No one would have to go back out.”
I was going to have it delivered, but I was liking the sound of her talking too much to tell her not to do more of it.
“Sure. Go ahead. Order me some shit. I’m not picky.”
That kept her talking for a few minutes, throwing out options, then demanding to know my opinions on shrimp, chicken, pork, and various vegetables.
It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was conversation.
I would take what I could get.
“Come on,” I said, parking in the strip mall where the Chinese place was located.
“We have five more minutes,” she insisted.
“Drinks and snacks,” I said, jerking my chin toward the convenience store. “And don’t say to just grab you something. Come pick your own shit,” I said, going around the car to yank open her door, waiting for her to move outside.
With that, we stocked up on drinks. I found out she had a sweet tooth from childhood that meant she liked Devil Dogs and Swiss Rolls. And I swear to God, this woman squealed when she found a small box of Star Crunch.
“I thought they stopped making this!” she told me while she, I shit you not, hugged the box to her chest. “I actually looked at the grocery store by me. They didn’t carry it.”
“Think snacks are regional. They don’t sell Banana Pudding Rolls in Navesink Bank.”
“Well, because they sound revolting,” she supplied, walking over to pour herself a large coffee from the bar.
“Did I make fun of your Star Crunch?” I asked, watching as she grabbed a second cup… and started making a coffee for me.
“Well, no. Because Star Crunch is chocolate, crispies, and caramel. There is nothing to make fun of.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I agreed, thankful that she seemed to shake the mood that had plagued her the whole ride. We grabbed the food, then made our way to the hotel.
“This is really nice,” she said as we made our way into the elevator, leaving the bags to be dealt with later.
“Did you think I’d make you stay at a sleep-and-fuck?”
“A… what?” she asked, turning to me with brows drawn low.
“Sleep-and-fuck,” I supplied. “A motel right off the highway where truckers pull off to catch some sleep in an actual bed. Or…”
“Where people pay to fuck,” she finished for me.
My head never whipped around so fast in my life, lips already twitching. “What did you just say?”
To that, her lips twitched too. “You heard me.”
“I’m afraid I missed it,” I told her, both of us knowing I was bullshitting.
“I am assuming you were referring to the type of establishment that is cheap enough that people – likely people having affairs, or men paying for a prostitute – can excuse paying for it for just an hour,” she supplied. “To fuck,” she finished, giving me this teasing smile that looked way too damn good on her face.
“Look at you,” I said, elbowing her arm, “with the foul fucking mouth.”
“Your poor, virgin ears,” she shot back as we walked out of the elevator and down the hall to our door.
“Apparently, I need to let you splurge like a five-year-old in the snack aisle more,” I told her as I slid the card into the door, letting her move inside first.
To be honest, I usually didn’t do hotels. I went for the kind of motels that were a single step up from sleep-and-fucks. Usually doing two rooms that connected through the bathroom. Because I had no fucking interest in being near my clients longer than I needed to.