Page 57 of Road Trip to Forever
“How was he a creep?”
“He was looking at you.”
Her eyebrows lift. She smiles and touches my arm. “Patrick Walker. Are you jealous?”
“No,” I say. I lean against the steel wall and huff. “I was jealous when I saw the bartender talking to you at the party last week. Tonight, I’m just annoyed.”
“You were jealous of the bartender? The kid who was so young, he’s probably never voted in a presidential election before?”
“Of course I was. You were laughing with him. Smiling. Having a grand ole time.”
“I smile at a lot of people. And I laugh at a lot of things.”
“I know you do. I didn’t like that I wasn’t the one making you happy.”
There’s a moment of silence until the elevator dings and the doors open. We walk down the carpeted hall and I follow behind Lola, tugging the cart with me.
“You don’t have to worry about bartenders or hotel receptionists, Patrick. You make me smile the most,” she says.
“I do?”
“Yeah.” She lowers her chin and stops outside our room. “You do.”
Hearing that I make her smile the most inflates my ego to astronomical proportions. A burst of pride explodes inside me. I want to lift her up and spin her around. Find a million new ways to make her happy, then find a million more.
Tell her how you feel,a voice inside my head says.
Soon, I think.Soon.
I tap the room key to the door. The lock flashes green and I turn the handle. The barrier doesn’t budge, sticking against the frame and refusing to move.
“I think the ghosts might already be messing with us,” I say.
It takes some finagling and a strong push from my shoulder that’s going to bruise in the morning, but the door finally opens with an unenthusiastic creak. A rush of stale air wafts into the hallway. I stick my head in the foyer and flip on the light switch. The bulb in the entryway flickers twice, then goes out.
“Should we announce ourselves?” Lola whispers. “Offer our kidneys for two nights of good sleep?”
“Probably a good idea. Want me to cut you open first? You won’t have to deal with the cleanup.”
“Gladly. You know I’m squeamish. Thanks for being so considerate.”
As soon as we file inside, Lola unloads the bags from the cart and drops her duffle bag to the carpeted floor. She maneuvers her suitcase to lean against the beige wall and puts her hands on her hips, surveying the space.
The paint is chipping. The curtains over the window look like they’ve been through a paper shredder. Something smells vaguely like mildew and wet socks. She turns and stares at me before we simultaneously burst out laughing.
“Are you thinking that—”
“We’re definitely either going to get sick or die in here?” Lola finishes for me. “Yeah. I am. The smell is—”
“Repulsive,” I say. “Maybe we can open the balcony doors and get some fresh air?”
“Fresh, humid air,” she says. “Nothing says comfort and tranquility like sweat rolling down your back while you’re trying to sleep. I’ll take full responsibility for this. The pictures online were a lot nicer than our current situation.”
“You mean they didn’t have handprints on the wall and a duvet cover from the late eighties as their advertising? I’m shocked.”
“We should get out of here, right? Grab our last supper before we’re held captive by spirits or die from carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice. I saw a burger joint a block away. We’ll eat, then we can see how much time we can spend outside of the room before we’re forced to sleep in this hellhole.”
