“No.”
“I paid cash through the week.”
“Then check out and get your money back.”
“That sounds responsible and annoying.”
“Office.”
She sighed dramatically.“Bossy biker hostage escort.Great.”
Anchor opened the door wider.“Let’s move.”
We headed across the parking lot toward the motel office.Pearl and Anchor stayed near the bikes while I went in with McKayla.
A bell jingled above the door when we stepped inside.
The office was small with a fake plant in the corner and a front desk that had probably been refinished with hope and cheap varnish.A woman maybe in her mid-twenties sat behind the counter scrolling on her phone.
She didn’t look up right away.
McKayla cleared her throat.
Nothing.
McKayla glanced at me, then back at the woman.“Hi.I need to check out.”
The woman sighed like customers were an unfortunate part of working at a motel and finally looked up.Her eyes moved to McKayla for half a second and then landed on me.
And stayed there.
Of course.
Her entire expression shifted so fast it was almost impressive.“Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter.“Hi.”
McKayla blinked.
I didn’t.
“Checking out of room eleven,” McKayla said.
The woman kept looking at me.“Sure.Was everything okay with the room?”
“It was a motel room,” McKayla answered.“So… technically yes.”
The woman smiled at me like McKayla hadn’t spoken.“Need a receipt?”
“No,” I said.
McKayla looked at me.“I might.”
I glanced down at her.
She shrugged.“Taxes.”
The woman finally brought her attention to McKayla again, but not for long.“Right.I can print one.”
She typed slowly.Very slowly.Then looked at me again.“You from around here?”
