Page 63 of David's Love

We’re too far from his house or his hotel, and we don’t want to fuck in the car.

He holds the door for me, his gaze tipped down, his attention on some search results his phone has produced, while I slide into my seat.

It’s late and since this is Halloween night, it might pose a challenge.

He rounds the car and reclaims his seat.

Turning on the ignition, he places the first call.

There are no rooms.

He slowly lets the car roll and makes another call. This time he gets no answer.

I touch the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Let’s drive. I’m sure we’ll find something.”

He spends a couple of seconds reading my eyes.

“Are you sure?

“Yes. We’ll find something. I’m sure we will.”

We drive back and follow the northern shore, heading east.

The scenic view captures my imagination.

The houses and roads are pretty, and before long, we spot a sign.

“What about that?”

It’s a small motel with a cute sign and a lit entrance.

A few cars are parked in the front.

“Yeah. That might work.”

He turns left and enters the parking lot before pulling his ride to a full stop.

I wait for him while he makes a beeline for the entrance, and a few minutes later, he’s back with a key in his hand.

“I ordered some real food and coffee,” he says as I step out, and he slams the door shut.

A short trip later, he pushes the door to a dark room open. He turns on the lights, and a small space fills my view. It has a green carpet, a big wooden bed with a thick mattress, plump pillows, a duvet, and blankets.

It doesn’t look bad at all. Two small armchairs and a table lean against the window wall.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, removing his jacket and setting the bottle of wine on the table.

Two glasses and two water bottles sit in the center of the wooden table.

A soft knock on the door makes me glance at the entrance.

“It’s the food,” he says, pivoting to the door.

Whoever is outside––a woman, I believe––hands him a tray.

He thanks her and locks the door.

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