Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Mercifully, reflections can’t lie, and mine bouncing off the automatic glass doors of the reception area is shocking.
I look like a swamp rat.
After scoping the area, I plop down my medical bag next to the wishing fountain at the side of the hotel’s entrance. The water pumping through the Greek goddess-inspired fountain is freezing, but it gets the job done. Within seconds, the mud on my face is cleared away, and my goopy hair is pulled back in a low bun I secure in place with a pen from my bag.
I’m so put together, I smile at my reflection this time around instead of grimacing. The mud did wonders for the fine lines I can’t stand in the corner of my eyes, and even with my slicked-back hair exposing the scar JR traced earlier, it adds definition to the roundness of my face.
My springy steps dampen a little when the hotel clerk spots my entrance. His eyes still rake in my body, but with my clothing in desperate need of laundering and my feet only covered by socks, I’m not exactly hotel guest material.
“I was in an accident,” I advise like it will excuse my three sizes too large shirt and pants. “This was all the tow truck driver had.”
“Oh dear,” he mutters, his high pitch indicating why his sweep of my body was quick. It’s as eccentric as the flail of his hand when he asks if I’d like him to call me an ambulance.
“Oh no. That isn’t necessary. I’ve already been seen by them.” When his cocked brow announces he doesn’t believe me, I blurt out, “I’m also a doctor.” I hand him the medical license of my alias. “So the only thing I need you to do is book me into a room, then point me in the direction of the closest dry cleaner.”
“Honey, every Quality Inn has an in-house dry-cleaning service.” He tsks me before adding, “But I’ll be sure to jot down directions to the nearest boutique.” After drinking in the dirt wedged under my nails, he mutters, “And a beautician. Sheesh. I haven’t seen nails that bad since Britany went crazy.”
Since he accepts the wad of cash as down payment for my room and doesn’t bat a fake lash at my request for a room facing the freeway, I don’t respond to his multiple snipes about my disheveled appearance. Excluding my face and hair, I feel horrible, so I can only picture how bad JR is feeling.
The remembrance sees me snatching up the keycard the clerk sets down and scampering toward the elevators at breakneck speed. I’m halfway there when the growling of my stomach stops me in my tracks.
After spinning back around to face the clerk, I ask, “What time does room service cut off?”
While cocking his hip, he arches a perfectly manicured brow. “Does this look like the Ritz?” Before I can answer him, he asks, “If our guests are hungry, we feed them.”
When he hits me with a wink, I realize I judged him too quickly.
He’s more playful than rude.
“Thank you.” I wait for him to accept my praise with another wink before slipping down the corridor I’m praying like hell leads to an unalarmed emergency exit.
I send thanks to God when my push on the lock doesn’t awaken the guests with a screaming siren.
“Hey,” I greet JR, shocked by the surprised expression on his face. “Sorry it took so long. The clerk was extremely… chatty.” I almost said flamboyant until I realized that would be categorizing him in a way I plan to no longer do. Perhaps if I hadn’t misjudged JR so fast, his trust would be a little higher. “I asked for a room with a view of the freeway. Figured it would be best to keep an eye out just in case.”
After entering the elevator, I shift all my focus to JR. “Are you okay? How’s your breathing? Any struggles or sharp intense jabs near your ribcage?”
Before he can answer me, the elevator stops on the second floor. The instructions on the keycard state our room is on level twelve.
I smile at the elderly lady who bounces her eyes between JR and me for two long seconds before she slowly slides into the elevator.
With the elevator being designed for a maximum of four travelers, I attempt to scoot over to JR’s half so we’re not invading her personal space. I say ‘attempt’ because the instant I sway away from the lady, her hand jolts out to grip my wrist.
While keeping her eyes locked on the elevator panel announcing she’s going to the rooftop pool, she tugs me closer to her. Although appreciative of her worry—if more people were like her, the world wouldn’t be such a horrible place—I shake my head so fast, flicks of mud dot the mirrors lining the elevator walls.