Page 15 of The Primary Pest
“Oh, shoot. How do I—” Whatever button he’d pushed, the phone kept on ringing until Carl answered.
“SeaView Motel. How may I be of service to you this evening?”
“Um. I wondered if—” A single look from Dmytro stopped him. “I’m just bored, Carl, I’m sorry.” He drew out the words like a dying man. “What’s there to do around here?”
“Well—” Carl probably would have answered, but Dmytro took the phone from him and hung it up.
“Little hint,” Dmytro offered. “When you’re in hiding, you hide.”
Ajax went to sit, but at the last second, he stopped himself. “Well, that’s disgusting.”
“What?”
“The bedspread.” Ajax didn’t like having to explain something so obvious. “This”—he pointed—“has probably been jizzed on by everyone who has ever used this motel.”
“How do you figure?” Dmytro’s question sounded genuine.
“How old do you think it is?” Ajax whispered.
“Old.” Dmytro glanced at the faded paisley pattern. “But statistically speaking, at least half the visitors have probably been women. Some were likely children. Not everyone jizzes on motel bedspreads. Some people might, for example, pull the bedspread down and jizz between the sheets, and some might fuck in the bathroom, or up against a wall, or over the chairs. I bet some have even enjoyed fucking right up against thatwindow. I know I would. I have jizzed all over motels like this one, but never on the bedspread. That would be unsanitary.”
The weird thing was, Ajax couldn’t tell whether Dmytro was joking. His face was devoid of any clues. Maybe he was glad to make Ajax uncomfortable for a change?
“I think you’re probably an outlier,” Ajax managed to say hoarsely. “What happens now?”
“We wait for a replacement vehicle.”
“So we’ll remain here for now?” Dmytro glanced toward Ajax when he said that as if he had to steel his resolve. “We’restuckhere?”
“The breakdown gives Zhenya the time to set up decoys, so we sit tight and see how things play out. I need to catch a few winks anyway.”
“Can I spa, at least?” Ajax asked. “If I can’t swim, can I at least spend a little time in the hot tub? It might relax me. I’ll sleep much better.”
Dmytro smirked. “The bedspread is bad, but slightly above room temperature human soup water is all right?”
“Hello, chlorine.” Ajax shrugged. “You don’t have to understand. You just have to remember I’m theprimary.”
“That’s true, but your parents are the client.”
“And my parents love me.” Ajax wasn’t above playing the baby billionaire card if he could stretch his muscles out in a hot tub and it helped him sleep. “They want me to be happy.”
A slight frown dented Dmytro’s forehead. “The video that started those death threats was”—Dmytro showed the first sign of humor—“surprising for someone who worries about germs.”
“Alcohol and I are frenemies,” Ajax admitted about the rant and the subsequent confessions—among which was the delight he took in certain sex acts that no one with a germ phobia would consider. “Alcohol loosens me up, but obviously that can backfire.”
“Obviously.” Dmytro spoke in sympathy. “I once drank so much I entered the wrong house. My wife—”
Ajax waited, but Dmytro didn’t finish his sentence. Ajax chose not to ask. Dmytro wore an expression so hollow he didn’t dare.
“What are your daughters’ names?” he asked instead.
After a moment’s hesitation, Dmytro answered, “Alexandria and Penelope. Sasha and Pen. Sasha is the elder.”
“We could go down to the spa and talk there,” Ajax offered hopefully. “If we spa, you can make sure no one in this fine establishment kills me while I warm up. It’s really cold on the coast, isn’t it?”
“Should have thought of that before you gave your scarf and hat away.”
He flushed. “I didn’t—”
