“Yeah, my key card doesn’t work. Which you clearly already know. Are you guys having a problem or something?”
I gently toss it on the countertop, trying not to react as he clears his throat, hacking up too many sounds. Ewww.
“Allergies,” he offers, skating my key card across the cheap fake-wood laminate counter toward him.
All I can do is smile tightly because, for fuck’s sake, just get me the hell out of here and into my less gross room. The fact that I can think that should be considered a health violation.
“Here’s the thing, love,” he levels. “I can’t make you another key. It’s impossible.”
“Are you kidding me? How long will it take to get a new one?” I shoot out quickly, but he shakes his head as his words sink in.
What. The. Fuck.
“Your credit card declined. You birds chose to pay by the day. No cash, no room.”
Fuck. Fuckkkkk. We only did that in case we could get a better room.
I open my purse, running my hand through my hair. But all that’s in there is some Mentos, my ID, and a slot machine cash-out slip for $0.32. I left my debit card in my room and took cash with me last night.
Shit.
My chest begins rising and falling faster because what am I supposed to do? Call Millie? Call my sister? The bank? Oh fuck, the bank…they think this is fraud.
“Listen,” I rush out, hoping to negotiate. “All my stuff’s in the room. Just let me in, and I can change out the card. It probably declined because the bank thinks the charge is fraudulent—”
His face says no before he does.
“No. Can. Do. Call your bank. Clear it up. The room’s yours again.”
My shoulders sag as I let out a harsh breath, narrowing my eyes at him. I’m going to punch this dude in the fucking face.
I reach inside my purse so I can call said bank, but as I pull it from my bag, staring back at me is a black screen…the kind that only a dead fucking phone produces.
“Come on,” I growl-scream. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
All my patience gives. It straight-up leaves my motherfucking body, and I punch the air like I’m fighting with a fucking ghost. I’m huffing, a little breathless but not embarrassed, as I blow my hair from my face and look back at D-rate Brad, who shrugs, picking up another wing, talking as he chews.
My palms lie gently on the counter as I say my words with forced calm.
“It seems as though my phone is dead. So can I use your landline, please?”
He shakes his dumb fucking head again.
“Nah, can’t do it. Guests only.”
The rest of my words come out as sarcastically as I mean them.
“That how you got your five-star rating? By being a dick?”
“No, it’s because of the blow jobs the cleaning crew gives,” he counters, tossing the slurped-over bones back into the Styrofoam carton.
I groan, looking down at my phone before I hold it up to drive home my desperation.
“Look, just let me charge my phone for five minutes. Then I’ll call my bank. And I’ll get you the money.”
Our eyes meet again, and without missing a beat, he says, “Chargers cost five bucks.”
I almost scream, Motherfucker.
The grip on my phone is deadly. I feel like I could bend the metal. My molars clamp down so hard they might break as I stare back at him. But if they do, I’ll look like a fucking crackhead.
I blow out a harsh breath, gripping the edge of the counter as I lean closer to him, my voice perilously close to murder.
“Listen to me. I just did an epic fucking walk of shame through a Vegas casino, wearing this peekaboo tummy dress and dried sweat. I’m wearing whore clothes in the daytime. Whore clothes are meant for the night…for when people are whoring.” I hear the bell jingle on the door behind me as my hand slaps the counter. But I’m officially at rock bottom, so I don’t care who hears me. “I’m pretty sure there’s still cum on my back from last night. Actual fucking dried-up jizz. Check-in Charlie…I just need a Big Mac. Fries. A Coke…with light ice. And a goddamn shower. In that order. So, what do I have to do to make that happen? And don’t say you because I’ll vomit all over your shitty lobby.”
A laugh from behind me immediately draws my attention.
“Thank god,” I breathe out, throwing my arms in the air in celebration, locking eyes with Millie over my shoulder. “My fucking bank card declined. I was dangerously close to giving five-dollar blow jobs for a charger.”
Check-in Charlie chuckles and wags his brows, so I flip him off as Millie sashays over, pulling her credit card from her wallet.
“We wouldn’t want that… P.S. You look like sex. Like straight-up fucking, Eleanor. Exactly what happened last night with the football team after we parted ways?”
Her card hits the counter as she turns toward me with a smirk, waiting for my answer. I smile, biting my bottom lip, and shrug.
“Let’s just say I put a quarter into the slot machine of life and got a full house.”
six
“I’d rather have third-degree burns than that dirty dick in my mouth.”
crew
I push my burger away, not hungry, because Claire really did try to kill me during my workout today. My stomach is still fucking queasy, even though I puked my guts up twice on that damn field.
TJ looks up over his food, furrowing his brow.
“You good man, or did itty bitty do you in?”
I rub a hand over my bare stomach, my skin still clammy from the sweat. The good news is if there was any booze still left in my system, it’s gone now.
Nate laughs, chugging his water.
“Better you than me. I woulda dug a fucking hole and buried myself if she’d made me run one lap. I’ve never been so hungover than I was this morning.”
I nod, yawning, contemplating the idea of taking a nap since it’s almost noon, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I lean sideways on the couch, reaching into my shorts before my eyes narrow in on the text from Josh.
Josh: The judge wants us in chambers to sign papers in one hour. One hour. Grab your Cinderella, and let’s get this done.
Me: Got it. One hour. Cinderella in tow.
“What’s going on?” TJ asks, still stuffing his face.
I push off the couch, stand, and grab my T-shirt off the back, answering him as I slide it over my head.
“Nothing. I got a date at the courthouse.” My head pops through the hole, and I smile at the guys. “Time to get me divorced. But if I’m lucky, I might score with my ex-wife.”
They laugh, but I’m half serious. Eleanor was definitely a fucking memory I’m tucking away for a rainy day.
I snag my phone off the couch, shooting off a text to her.
Me: Hey, you want the D? Yeah, you do. I’ll swing by and pick you up in forty-five minutes for the courthouse.
eleanor
“Fuck,” I grumble, standing next to my bed, messing with the cord attached to my phone.
“What’s wrong?” Mills chimes in as I pretend misery.
“This stupid charger wasn’t working. My phone’s still dead. Where’s that other charger you used yesterday?”
She looks thoughtful for a minute as she stretches. We slept most of the morning and into the afternoon, but it was the only real way to survive our hangovers.