"Bite me," I wheezed, struggling to my feet. One thing was clear; I couldn't have done a better job wrapping myself in the sheet. With it tangled around my legs, I pitched forward, landing directly in Grant's arms.
"You've gotten pretty forward with age," Grant teased, wrapping his hands around my biceps to steady me. "I mean, biting you doesn't sound like that bad of an idea, but we should probably build up to that."
"Very funny," I snapped. It was aggravating that I couldn't seem to get my act together when he was around. When I finally managed to untangle the sheet from my legs, I threw it across the room in a fit of anger. It fluttered harmlessly to the floor, taking the oomph out of my action. >"Okay. I'd offer to drive, but I'm not sure I'd be able to fit behind that steering wheel," he said sardonically. "Maybe if there's an Enterprise in town we can look into trading this thing for something bigger in the morning."
"I'm okay driving," I said, yawning again. Once the yawns started, there was no stopping. "I drive all the time for work," I added.
"You're some kind of chef, right?" he asked, draping his arm across the back of my seat. If there was something that would wake me up, that was it.
"Um, yeah, but I run a cooking blog," I said, shifting uncomfortably. Grant acted like he didn't notice and continued to talk.
"That's cool. What's your blog called?"
I mumbled the title under my breath.
"Sorry, can you repeat that?" he asked, sounding amused.
"Cooking for Love."
He chuckled. "Still hung up on that whole love thing, I see," he observed.
I flushed slightly. I knew my reasons for leaving Woodfalls were common knowledge. I couldn't expect anything less from our small town. "What's wrong with wanting love?" I asked defensively as I maneuvered around a semi-truck that seemed to be having a hard time staying in its own lane. As we passed, I could see the driver was texting on his phone. What an idiot.
"There's nothing wrong with love. You've just always been a bit obsessive about it."
"Obsessive?" I asked in a slightly raised voice that bounced off the tight quarters of the vehicle. "I don't see anything wrong with wanting to find my soul mate," I argued.
His laughter boomed through the vehicle. "Did you say soul mate?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.
"What's wrong with that?" I bristled.
"It's just so cliché, believing there's only one perfect person out there for you. True love is a give-and-take relationship that takes years to perfect," he stated.
"Well, thank you, Dr. Phil. Are you a love therapist now?" I snapped. My faith that my perfect match was somewhere out there had been keeping me going for so long. It was the whole reason I traveled so much for my job. I have this fantasy of walking into a romantic restaurant and waiting at the bar for my table. The bartender sets down a glass of red wine and points to a tall, dark and handsome gentleman at the other end of the bar who raises his glass when I look in his direction. He walks over confidently and introduces himself. The connection is instantaneous. We have dinner together and talk all night long until we share the most passionate kiss ever as the sun rises in the horizon and we have our happily ever after. It could happen.
"Nope. I read it on the back of a cereal box," he quipped. I elbowed him in his ribs, but he deserved it. I hated that I was always the butt of his jokes.
"Hey, kidding. I learned it from watching my parents all these years. They love each other deeply, but that's because they're willing to put the work into their relationship. You can't just expect to have some love fairy wave her magic wand and poof, you've met your soul mate," he said sarcastically. He removed his arm from the back of my seat and I couldn't help feeling like he was mad at me or something, which was utterly ridiculous. If anyone should be pissed it was me.
I stewed on his words, not saying anything for the next ten miles. When another billboard appeared declaring we were two miles from our gas needs (their words, not mine), I let out a small sigh of relief. I was ready to get out of the car and put some space between us. I had no idea how I was going to handle the rest of the trip when the first hour had pretty much done me in.
Grant must have felt the same since he looked relieved when our exit came into view. Merging onto the off-ramp, I followed the signs to the only hotel in the area.
"Roach motel, anyone?" Grant said as I pulled into the parking lot that was in dire need of some repairs, but seemed to be the least of their problems. The office had an illuminated sign, but the first few letters were burned out, so all it said was "fice."
"Are we sure it hasn't been condemned?" I said with dismay. I was by no means a snob, but I did expect a certain degree of cleanliness when I stayed in a hotel. Hopefully, it had fresh sheets and towels and clean floors, and not to knock this place any more, but I would prefer it if the night manager wasn't picking his nose as we walked in the front door.
"You folks like a room?" he asked, chewing on his thumbnail that had just been in his nose. Double gag.
"Are there any other hotels in the area?" I asked hopefully as Grant snickered.
"No, ma'am. We here have the only accommodations in a twenty-mile radius," he said proudly, spitting a section of his nail off to the side.
"Charming," I replied.
"Two rooms," Grant said, stepping in before I had the chance to say anything more.
"Two? I thought you two were together," he said, looking at me with a whole new level of interest.