Page 29 of The Prodigal

Threatening to annoy the sanity out of guests is probably not the hospitality Bill prefers from his guest services, but Remington is no normal guest. He doesn’t like generosity or kindness. He responds to threats and sarcasm.

Lucky for him, I’m a fast learner.

“I swear I will use my master key and open this door myself, 101. Don’t tempt me!”

The door two rooms down flies open, and Frankie shoots me an annoyed glare. “He’s not in there. He’s down at the laundry.”

Oh.

Shit.

I step back from the door like I wasn’t just being a complete psycho and offer him an apologetic smile. “Thank you. Let me know if you need anything this evening.”

Bless him. He doesn’t say another word. I appreciate him not allowing me to embarrass myself further. “Have a good evening.”

I wave a quick goodbye and nearly sprint down the sidewalk to the self-service laundry we have attached to the motel, which is also where we keep the ice machine. It’s no state-of-the-art laundry facility, but it gets the job done, just as long as you have time to wait for two dry cycles.

I find Remington at the laundry, just like Frankie said. Except he’s not reading some Playboy magazine atop the washer with a cigarette like I expected. Instead, he’s hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees in the plastic chair that he must have dragged from his room.

“I thought you would take your clothes to the cleaners.”

He lifts his head far enough to meet my eyes. “And I thought you could read a room better than you do. Clearly, we were both wrong.”

I brush past him and set the bag of food on the washer before hoisting myself up. “I can read a room just fine, thank you.”

The deep sigh he lets out would get on my nerves if I wasn’t used to his moods by now.

“The head down, squinting eyes, and closed-off vibe emanating from you clearly indicates you want to be left alone.”

He nearly growls. “Bingo.”

“You also probably need a pain reliever for that headache you have going on.” I may not be premed, but I know when someone isn’t feeling their best. “I have some in the lobby. I can get you one if you need it.”

“I don’t.”

Sure, he doesn’t, but arguing with him will get me nowhere. I came to feed him and say good—well, good evening now.

“I brought you something.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Thanks?

Wow. I expected a ‘leave me alone’ or a ‘fuck off.’ ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ is definitely an improvement.

I open the bag and allow the smell of greasy fast food to waft through the air. “Eating will help your headache.”

“I told you. I don’t have a headache.”

I shrug. “Okay. I’ll eat yours, then.” Honestly, I’ll save it in the break room refrigerator because there is no way I can eat two chicken sandwiches and a large fry. But Remington doesn’t have to know that. All he needs to think is that I’m capable of downing this entire bag of food while he sits there and suffers.

With my legs swinging in front of the washer, I open the bag and start with the french fries. “I didn’t see you on campus today.”

He grunts out a non-answer.

“I thought maybe I would since you seem to enjoy sitting on the bench at lunch, stalking me.”

That has his head snapping up. “I don’t stalk you.” His forehead wrinkles, and his eyes squint shut.

---