Page 8 of Christmas With the Jerk

At least our rental car is now parked directly in front of our door and yes Thorne is still in it, sleeping. I think about my pathetic 1992 Honda Civic and I’m grateful we rented. There is no way it would have survived this.

I slide the key into the lock and hear the distinct click of the door unlocking. The hinges creak loudly as I push it open, stepping into the room with a mix of dread and curiosity. I didn’t knowplaces like this still existed. I glance around the small, musty room and imagine this being a movie set for a spooky, winter mystery.

The first thing I notice is the orange, brown and green color scheme, and then the pungent smell hits me. It’s a strange mix of stale air and cleaning products. Not exactly comforting. The carpet is an ugly shade of brown, matted down from decades of use, and the walls are covered in a faded floral wallpaper that was probably once considered chic.

The bedspreads on the two full beds are the same brown-and-orange plaid that seems to have been left here since 1978. A small TV sits on top of a wooden dresser, the kind with a tube screen that looks like it might flicker to life if you bang the side hard enough.

I take a step further in, eyeing the vintage lamp with a crooked shade on the bedside table. It’s barely hanging on by a thread, like everything else in my life right now.

I've never seen it in person, but I'm thinking the Bates Motel might be nicer than this place.

Home sweet home. "You get what you get," I mutter, taking it all in, steeling myself for telling pretty boy out there this is his home for the night. I'm guessing anything less than The Ritz is a dump in his world. It might actually be entertaining to see his face when I manage to wake him up and break it to him.

It's better than ending up in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. I doubt his Italian silk socks would keep his feet very warm.

There’s only one room available, of course. So not only does he have to slum it for the night, but he has to share the experiencewith me. Thank God at least there are two beds. I curse softly under my breath, grateful for that small mercy.

I turn back toward the door to head outside to get my bag and wake up Thorne and tell him about our very own Christmas miracle. The moment I turn on my heel, I walk straight into him. He’s standing in the doorway, looking irritated and exhausted, same way I’ve looked for hours.

I jump back, startled. “You’re awake.”

His eyes narrow. “You weren’t planning to just leave me in the car to freeze, were you?”

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off, stepping into the room and glancing around, his lip curling in mock disgust. “What, you didn’t think I’d want to stay at this five-star establishment with you? Really, Woodley, I thought you’d at least spring for something a little more luxurious for our first night together.”

The sarcasm is dripping off him, and for a moment, I can’t help it—I laugh. It’s quick, sharp, more from the exhaustion than anything else, but it breaks through the tension hanging between us.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, walking over to the bed and throwing my phone down. “I chose the fanciest place in town. Really thought I’d treat myself. I wonder if we can snag a massage at the spa before we take off in the morning.”

Thorne lets out a snort, and the corners of his mouth twitch into something that might have been a smile. “In all seriousness, I thought we agreed to drive through the night so we would have tomorrow to go over everything rested. Why didn't you just wake me?”

I shake my head, crossing my arms. “You wouldn’t wake up, and I wasn’t about to kill us both trying to drive through that storm. We need to sleep if we’re going to make it the rest of the way tomorrow. Trust me, I’m not thrilled about stopping either.”

He finally stops, turning to look at me. For a second, he seems almost humble. It must be the fact that I'm delirious. “Again, you could’ve woken me up.”

“Again, I tried,” I snap, the fatigue creeping into my voice. “But you were out cold. What did you want me to do, shake you violently while I was trying to navigate the blizzard with one eye closed?”

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fine. Whatever. But next time, never mind, forget it."

"Say it."

"I don’t need you making decisions for both of us, okay?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, maybe if you hadn't been so quick to claim the easy leg to drive you would be more understanding. I had to make an executive decision while you got your beauty rest.”

He shoots me a glare, but it’s half-hearted. “Executive decision, huh? Oh, okay. So you're in charge here? Got it. Great c-suite level decision-making there. I’ll make sure to leave a review on Yelp. ‘Charming décor, perfect for lovers of the 1970s.’”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a small part of me that appreciates the sarcastic banter. For a moment, it cuts through the irritation, and it almost feels, dare I say, friendly.

“Well,” I say, glancing around the room, “it’s Christmastime. Consider this part of your Christmas bonus.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Some gift.”

We stand there for a moment, the tension easing just slightly. I can still feel the weight of the trip, the snowstorm outside, the looming pitch meeting in Boston. But for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of something lighter. It doesn’t last long, but it’s there.

"Since you got your panties all twisted because I made a decision without consulting you, please feel free to pick your bed. But it better happen quick, because I'm about to fall out."

"That one," he points to the one closest to the door. Good, that is the one I didn't want. If Norman Bates is coming in here to get us, he will get Thorne first.

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