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"Allergies," I simply shrug.
"To men or life?"
“Touché," I smirk.
Harper opens her wallet, revealing a stash of cash. When you're on the run, you use cash or bitcoin, I've learned.
Before she approaches the stranger, she leans in and whispers to me, "There's a gun in the center console. If that asshole tries anything, take it and shoot his cock off."
"What?" I shriek, my eyes darting to the console.
"Jesus, Pops, I’m joking. But it dried up those tears, didn’t it?"
"Dried up? You almost made me piss myself."
She clutches her stomach, laughing as she walks over to the stranger. I watch her exchange money with him, then return to the car.
Not fully trusting her, I open the center console to find it empty. "Poppy," she's still laughing, "This is a rental car. When did you see me put a gun in there?"
"How should I know? For all I know, you're going to tell me you have superpowers and just conjured one up."
Her laughter now makes her seem like a drunk driver. I reach over and grab the steering wheel. "Can you focus?" I hiss.
"Fine," she straightens, still fighting back a grin.
Indeed, a complete shit show.
***
"We absolutely cannot sleep here, Harper. Seriously, your jokes about catching an STD barely scratch the surface. If our skin even grazes that—" I gesture toward the so-called bed, an excuse for a mattress perched atop a wooden frame, with a "headboard" comprising merely two flat pillows. "That abomination pretending to be a bedsheet looks like it's harboring its own ecosystem of diseases. I'm pretty sure we contract something just by looking at it."
Taking a hesitant step closer, I continue, "It's porous. It could double as a sponge. I bet they don't even bother washing it between guests. It's practically begging for a biohazard sign."
I glance at Harper, hoping for a laugh, but her worry is evident. Her eyes dart around the room, her tongue flicking over her teeth as if tasting her own anxiety. "I just need a few hours of rest before we hit the road again," she says, her gaze still scanning the room as if it's a crime scene under a blacklight.
Our drive from Texas to North Carolina, our hometown, stretched into a seemingly endless road trip punctuated by countless bathroom breaks. Now, well past midnight and exhausted from the day's journey, we've unwisely opted to crash at the first roadside motel we stumbled upon.
Big mistake.
I'd rather gamble with my luck sleeping in the car than dare to undress even a toe in this room.
"We can always—"
"We can what? Sanitize the whole place with bleach?" I throw my hands in the air in exasperation. "Our only viable options are to caffeinate ourselves to high heaven and keep driving, or, I don't know, maybe sleep in the car."
Harper nods slowly, wrapping her arms around herself, a shiver running through her. "What's that?" Her eyes snap to the corner of the room, her voice tinged with fear.
"What?" I lean my torso closer but wisely keep my toes distant from the disaster zone masquerading as a motel room. Despite having recently come into a trust fund, I've never been one to shy away from getting my hands dirty. But this? This crosses a line for my personal health and safety.
"It looked like a tail," Harper gasps, pointing to the corner with the precision of a sniper.
"A tail?" My voice escalates into a near shriek.
"Rat!" Harper screams.
When it comes to the showdown between my best friend's safety and my own, rats are where I draw the line. You don't go toe to toe against the Trojan horses of the bubonic plague.
Shit! What if a flea had already jumped on me?
