Open Lanes

by Mary Morano

  “Everything okay?” He asks as he looks me up and down as if he’s searching for visible injuries.

  “I didn’t have a bathroom emergency!” I blurt out before I can stop myself, then hide my face in my hands.

  “I didn’t think you did.” He responds with a smile. “I figured you needed a few minutes out of the car after… you know.”

  “Mm-hmm… yeah… I did… I just got caught up talking to Emma. Sorry I took so long” He nods with a sly smile, and my mind starts questioning whether he knows why I had to call her. He couldn’t, could he?

  I pull into the parking lot and watch as she jumps out of the car, barely even waiting for me to put it in park. When she asked if we could stop now, I was going to argue with her. Tell her to hold on for a little while longer. I didn’t want to get off the highway if I didn’t have to. You never know where you could end up. Plus, getting back on can be a real bitch sometimes. Then I looked over at her and saw her practically shaking. Her skin was pale, she was sweating, and her eyes were darting around like they were looking for an escape. I knew she was panicking. So, I did the only thing I could think of, I veered to the right and got the fuck off, finding the first parking lot I could for her.

  I lean my head back against the seat after I made sure she got into the bathroom, thank you to whoever’s idea it was to put in windows along the whole side of this building. I take a deep breath and try to figure out what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t actually know why she is panicking, so that makes things a little more difficult. At this point, I don’t know if our progress has been moving forward or backward. Is she upset because she realizes I have been texting her this whole time, or because she realized just how much of a manipulator her ex really was? There is a good possibility it is the second one, even I’m surprised at the extent of his craziness.

  Deciding to ‘phone a friend’ for advice with my dilemma, I pull up the contact for the dumbest smart guy I know, Justin, AKA Tattoo. Tattoo and I grew up on the hockey circuit together, we never played on the same teams, but competed many times. We often attended the same clinics and camps as well, since he was from Florida too. There are a lot of guys I could probably call right now, friends from home, other guys on the team, but there is something about Tattoo that makes him the one most of us go to for advice on almost everything. If you can ignore the crazy things he says, you usually get golden advice.

  Disconnecting my phone from the Bluetooth, while keeping one eye on the bathroom door, I dial Tattoo’s number.

  “Ping Pong! What’s up homie? You’re missing a crazy party tonight. It’s a glow in the dark theme. I bought tons of blacklight body paint for people to use and we are replacing all the lights with blacklight bulbs. I’m wearing nothing but paint tonight!” He shouts through the phone. This dude is crazy, but he sure knows how to throw a party.

  “You know Coach is going to blow a gasket when he sees those pictures, right?” Coach had been on us all season about the inappropriate pictures that kept showing up on social media. The only reason the college hadn’t stepped in was because of how much we did for the school; they liked the money, so they looked the other way. Coach didn’t give two shits about the money we brought in. That little vein in his forehead would start pulsing and out would come the garbage pails. He would drag them straight onto the ice then skate us until we puked.

  “Season is done until next year, he can keep his vein in his head until then.”

  “Right.” I told him, already imagining Coach banging on the door bright and early tomorrow morning. “Anyway, you got a minute. I need some advice.”

  “For you? Anytime. When your dick likes her pussy, you want to let them out to play.” He says with a laugh.

  “You’re an ass. I don’t need sex advice. I need girl advice.”

  “Hold on, I need to change my hat then. Okay, here it is. Girl advice hat on. Tell Dr. Tattoo what’s going on.” I pause for a minute wondering if this was just a waste of time, but with few other options I decide to just tell him and hear his thoughts. He listens quietly, only humming every so often, like he’s making a note. Hell, knowing him, he’s probably sitting in an armchair, legs crossed with a notepad and pen ready.

  When I finally finish, he asks, “So how are you feeling about her now that she’s not just a dream girl that you fantasized about? Did you play her up in your mind and now you’re wishing you weren’t stuck on this road trip with her?”

  “No, Dude, I think I’ve fallen even deeper for her. She’s funny, smart, and she’s fucking beautiful. It’s not only sexual though. Yes, I want to fuck her a million different ways, but it’s more. She’s shy but feisty. She blushes with her whole body. It’s freaking adorable. It has me making all kinds of inappropriate comments just to see it. And she’s so fucking competitive, it’s such a turn on. Then when she loses, she crosses her arms and does this little pouty huff before she stomps off. Fucking sexy as hell.” I tell him while smiling at the memory of her losing in Donkey Kong.

  He doesn’t say anything for so long that I pull the phone away from my ear to see if I lost him. Nope the call is still connected. “Tattoo? You still there?”

  “Uh. Yeah. I’m just a little shocked right now.” He mutters out then takes another moment before continuing. “Fuck, you’re like, in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Love? Am I in love with her? I take inventory of my body, noticing the lack of panic at the word love. Huh. Interesting. “I’m not sure if I’m that gone yet, but I may be pretty close.”

  “Well, fuck. Let me switch hats again, this isn’t simply girl advice, this is ‘The Girl’ advice.” I hear rustling and wonder what any of these hats actually look like. For some reason I picture his big Irish ass sitting around in a top hat now and laugh to myself.

  “Okay, I’m ready now. So, here’s my advice. Play it cool, she sounds like she needs some time to process her changing feelings toward you. I think she’s starting to realize that you aren’t all that bad. Play that up. Have fun with her. Show her you’re interested in learning more about her. Find out more about what she’s interested in. Keep it friendly, flirty maybe, but not too much. Help her relax around you. Then take it slow and let her toy around with the idea of you guys being more. And for God’s sake give that girl a real apology, you dick.” He tells me in his therapist voice, which sounds an awful lot like Billy Crystal did in that mob movie from before we were born.

  “I plan to. I’m just waiting for the right time.”

  “When is that?”

  “I don’t know yet. I figure, I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “If you say so. Oh, and Brayden?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ever tell her you think she’s sexy when she’s mad, that shit will not end well.” See? The man is a fucking genius when it comes to advice. “Where is she now anyway?”

  “Probably hiding in the bathroom calling a friend for advice.”

  “You two are both idiots then.” He says with a laugh before hanging up on me. I look at the phone, wondering what the hell he means by that. With a shake of my head, I get out and head inside to stretch my legs while I wait for her. I know another lady walked into the bathroom while I was on the phone with Tattoo. I’ll give Nicole until she comes out to finish her panic attack, then I’m going to yell through the door to check in on her.

  We drive toward the night’s accommodations in uncomfortable silence. At least it feels that way to me. In my head, I’m trying to figure out what it means that he has been texting me for so long with no response and how I feel about it. What did he want to talk about? And why? Why didn’t he just approach me on campus when I never responded? Why didn’t he say something to his parents? Surely, I would have heard from my parents if they knew I had been ignoring him. The questions circled around in my mind like a tornado with no answers in sight.

  Deciding to distract myself before I go crazy, I reach into my bag and pull out my kindle, which I always keep there for emergencie
s. Opening it up to the last book I was reading, I allow myself to disappear into my favorite fantasy world for a little while.

  “What are you reading?” His deep voice startles me out of my reading trance, and I look up annoyed that he interrupted me during a good part.

  “A book.”

  “No, shit, really? What’s it about?”

  “Small-town romance. They were friends in high school and then went their separate ways before moving back after bad breakups.” I summarize as succinctly as possible, trying not to encourage anymore conversation than necessary.

  “Read it to me.”

  “What?”

  “Read it to me.”

  “Umm… why?” He huffs a breath of frustration out at me like I’m the one acting weird here.

  “I know you like reading, and you obviously are enjoying this book, since you are sitting there lost in your own world. You’re flipping pages faster than I would ever imagine possible. So, read it to me, I want to know what has you so interested. It will be good for us both. You can read, and I get some entertainment while I drive.”

  I look over prepared with a snarky remark, when I see the serious look on his face. I look down to the book, and then back up. He has no idea what he’s asking for, I think with a smile spreading across my face. No problem. He wants some entertainment; I can help him out. I scroll back a few pages to find the exact spot I want and with a smug smile, I start reading out loud.

  “His cock twitches inside of me and I know he’s close. His warm mouth bites down hard on my nipple while he pounds into me. My hands are still tied to the bedposts, but that doesn’t stop me from pulling at the binds as I ache to run my fingers through his hair. He pulls out, flipping me over, before entering me again with no warning. His fingers find my clit and he puts the slightest bit of pressure on it as he rubs circles around it. My orgasm rushes through me as I scream his name into the night air. His thick length continues to pulse inside as he releases into me before he rolls over and asks why we waited so long to do that.”

  The car jerks sideways and he starts choking on air.

  “What the hell?” I scream as he gains control of the car, steering it back into the center lane.

  “What the hell me? What the hell you? I ask you to read me a nice love story and you start reading some porn.” He screams back.

  “It’s not porn. Sex is a huge part of love. So, it’s a huge part of any good love story.”

  “Do you write that way too?” He asks, no longer screaming, but with curiosity in his voice. It has my heart beating faster. I don't like it. Not at all.

  “I mainly write romance, so like I said, it’s a huge part of a good love story.”

  “Interesting. I’m sorry I almost killed us; I just didn’t expect that to come out of your mouth. The books I always had to read never had anything as good as that in it. Maybe I would have read more, if it did.” He says with a wink in my direction, and I snort out a laugh at his ridiculousness before putting the reader away in favor of music.

  When we pull up to a dingy looking motel a while later, I begin to get nervous again, but for a much different reason this time. This place definitely does not look like the picture on the website. Brayden parks the car in a spot directly in front of the crooked sign that says office. We both look around, taking in the area surrounding us. The paint is peeling and more of a gray or even yellow in some areas than the white it is supposed to be. The windows in the rooms either have cracks or look like they haven’t been cleaned since the ’70s, and the building looks like it probably hasn’t seen a single repair since the same decade. The parking lot is full of beat-up cars and broken beer bottles. In the distance I hear police sirens playing on a constant loop. Brayden clears his throat and I look over at him. His eyes swing around taking everything in, as he fidgets uncomfortably in the driver's seat. At least I’m not the only one who seems apprehensive about this place.

  “Maybe we should try another place?” He whispers into the dark car as if he is afraid someone will hear him and be insulted.

  “There was no other place even close to our route that had any open rooms besides this place. Apparently, there is some big music festival nearby, so everyone else was booked up.” I tell him, also whispering, though I’m not sure why. He heaves a sigh, looks around again, before turning his gaze to me.

  “Okay, fine. We don’t have much choice other than sleeping in the car, I guess, and that doesn’t seem any safer. But we’re not getting separate rooms. I’ll try to get us a room with two beds, but you WILL stay with me so I can make sure you’re okay.” He watches me, knowing I’m about to argue, and I don’t disappoint.

  “We—ARE NOT—sharing a room.” I tell him, even though I’m not sure exactly why I’m arguing this point. I sure as hell would feel a lot safer if he was there to stand between me and whatever degenerates frequent this lovely establishment.

  “No arguments, Nic. Either this or we keep driving around to every hotel in the area until we can find a safer place, and who knows how long that will be.”

  I look around one more time before deciding maybe this isn’t a sword I want to die on. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep here in a room by myself anyway, it kind of reminds me of the Bates Motel. God only knows what kind of murderers and rapists hang around this place. I silently nod my acceptance, not willing to give him any more than that. With a smirk and a shake of his head, he gets out of the car, walking around to my side to open the door. This protective gentleman routine he has going on is kind of hot, I think to myself before I’m able to stop it. While mentally chastising myself, I step out. He puts his arm around me pulling me close then beeps the doors locked as we head into the office. All my mental preparation goes out of the window as my brain short-circuits, while his touch and scent surround me.

  I try not to be obvious about sniffing him, but he smells sooo good. Fresh, and outdoorsy, almost like what I would imagine expensive cologne would smell like on a Christmas tree. Manly. The exact smell you would want on your boyfriend's hoodie when you steal it so you can wrap it around you on the nights he isn’t there with you. Safety, comfort, lust, sex all wrapped up in a scent. Shit. Why does my mind keep going down this path? Focus, Nicole stop letting your hormones control your mind.

  He holds the door open for me and we walk into a room filled with smoke and the disgusting aroma of cigarettes. Behind the Formica counter is an older man. He’s got a bald spot on top of his head with his five pieces of hair combed over, like that’s going to hide it. On the desk sits an open two liter of soda and a plate of Chinese food. Next to it, he has a cigarette burning in an ashtray, alongside two other packs and a lighter. His eyes are focused on a small TV that is playing some old sitcom. When the bell above the door rings, announcing our presence, his head turns toward us and he drops a few pieces of fried rice that he was trying to get into his mouth onto his pot belly. His beady eyes look us up and down before he puts his fork down, and with a sigh asks how he can help us. So skeevy! I open my mouth to speak, but Brayden beats me to it.

  “We have a reservation for two rooms, but uh… we’re only going to need one.” He says in a deep commanding voice. I notice that he is now standing up straight, allowing his height to intimidate. His muscles are tense, waiting to strike at the first sign of trouble. Aw! My protector! So, freaking sexy! My stupid hormones prove once again they have no sense of self-preservation as they swoon. “Preferably, two beds if you have it.”

  The guy behind the counter grumbles before moving the mouse next to him to wake the ancient computer. He looks over at us, then back at his computer before saying a word.

  “Better by me. I make more renting it out by the hour then the price for the night. I can put you in room 21, around the corner. It was already cleaned; checkout is at 10.” He tells us in the gravelly voice that leads me to believe he’s at least a two pack a day smoker. I quickly hand over a hundred-dollar bill, and he slides me back only twenty.

  “It�
�s supposed to be sixty a night per room.” I tell him while pointing to the sign on the wall that says the same thing. “I gave you a hundred dollars and you only gave me twenty back. You still owe me another twenty.”

  “Twenty-dollar cancellation fee. You want it or not?” He passes a key through the small window, handing it directly to Brayden, who takes it and leads me out with his hand on my back.

  “There is no cancellation fee.” I tell him as if he doesn’t already know. “He’s pocketing that extra twenty!”

  “Probably, but let’s not ask for any trouble, right now.” He says with a jerk of his head toward the car. He’s right, I know he is, but it just seems so wrong to let that sleezy guy make twenty dollars off of us when they are obviously misrepresenting themselves. With a scowl still on my face, we drive around the building, parking directly in front of our room.

  We make sure to bring all our important stuff in with us, but thankfully he leaves his hockey equipment, minus his stick, in the car. He joked that the smell would probably deter anyone from wanting to steal the car. Joke or not, I was glad he wasn’t bringing it into the room. I wasn’t sure I would be able to sleep with that smell.

  Once we are locked inside, he moves the desk in front of the door to provide some extra security. I lay down blankets on top of both the double beds in the room, there is no way I’m using their sheets and blankets when they rent rooms by the hour. YUCK!

  He throws his stuff on the bed closest to the door, before resting his hockey stick against the wall next to him. I’m guessing that’s his weapon of choice if he needs one. He’s pretty good with that thing, I bet he could really hurt someone with it. I feel safer already just thinking about it.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower real quick. You going to be ok?” He asks me, interrupting my thoughts of him swinging his hockey stick around, naked.