Page 41 of Triple Play

“So you don’t have space for us?” I ask.

The clerk bends over his computer, pecking frustratedly at the keys. “Let me check.”

Grousing at him won’t make the situation any better, though part of me does want to know if he knows who I am—who Felix and I are—and can make accommodations accordingly.

We could go elsewhere. Surely there’s an available bed between here and Florida. Still, I could use a break after being on the road for nine hours. So could Lilac, who is doing admirably, but whose limits I don’t want to push.

I’ve also been fantasizing about a bed for the past two hours. Sometime in hour six, driving always goes from mindless to absolutely mind-numbing. I spent most of it thinking about beds. Specifically a bed with Shira in it, and the bare skin of her hips, and our touching the way we did at lunch…except without an audience. Or with a very specific one.

That must be the tiredness talking.

“Okay.” The clerk looks up from his computer. “I have good news but not great news.”

“Lay it on me.”

“I did find a room—it’s one of our junior deluxe suites.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“It comes with a king bed and a pullout sofa.”

So bad news…for Felix. “Let me ask my party if that works for us.”

Felix and Shira are chatting on one side of the lobby, next to a set of potted ferns and a spinning rack of souvenir postcards Shira is leafing through. Her shirt is rumpled from hours in the car; even Felix’s beard looks road weary. Not a great time to spring the only room at the inn issue on them.

Still, I explain the bed situation, bracing myself for their disappointment.

“Shit,” Felix says, “I’ve slept in worse.”

“We’re all gonna be in the same room?” Shira asks.

“Seems like. I can find somewhere else.”

Except the look in her eyes isn’t quite objection. “Sounds like a party.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t have to be.”

Shira stands up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “When I was nineteen, I spent a month sleeping in my car. I can manage sharing a room for a night.”

She what? I can’t contain my reaction—I don’t know what’s playing out on my face. Probably the same thing that’s on Felix’s: pity and an attempt to hide pity that makes it somehow worse.

Shira hasn’t said much about her life before we met. Still, it’s hard not to collect pieces in scraps: that she isn’t close with her family. That she drives a rust-spotted car. That she’s getting a late start on an education.

That she was apparently homeless for a month when she was barely an adult. I told her that I wanted to meet her family—to tell them how amazing she is. Now I want to meet them to ask what the hell was wrong with them that they couldn’t see that.

She’s also looking at me, startled, as if she didn’t mean to let that slip out. Her teeth sit firmly on her lower lip.

It’s okay. Except I have no idea what that’s like—not even on my family’s worst day. I don’t want to embarrass her. “Thank you for rolling with this.”

When I get back to the desk, the clerk is gripping the edge of the counter like he’s expecting to get yelled at. Don’t you know who I am? A response that won’t make more beds appear. “The suite you mentioned sounds great,” I say.

“Oh.” He practically sags in relief. “Terrific.” He taps out a few things on the computer, then slides three keys across the counter. “And for your trouble—” A voucher for room service. He runs through various amenities: a business center I mostly tune the details out for. A weight room I probably should use. “And the hot tub on the fifth floor is part of our outdoor deck experience.”

Room service. A hot tub. A big-ass bed. Things could definitely be worse. “Perfect. Thanks again.” And I practically whistle as I approach Shira and Felix with the keys.

Fifteen minutes later, Felix and I are standing in our hotel room, about to get undressed. We hauled our stuff up into the room, did the cursory inspection of its bed and couch and desk. “Gonna shower,” Shira says. “I’ll meet you all up there.” Then removes herself to the bathroom.

Leaving us standing there looking at one another.

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