Page 45 of Room Serviced
“You, too. Text me when you get home.”
“Sure,” she said, and then they were just standing there, looking at each other, like Sloane had forgotten how to open car doors and Max had forgotten how to walk away.
Before she could overthink it, Sloane leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“See you around,” she said, opened her car door, and got in.
The first thing Sloane did when she got back to her apartment, after opening all the windows and flopping onto the couch, was text Max and then toss her phone onto the coffee table. She took several deep breaths and then thought about what she was going to eat for dinner. Was there anything in the fridge? Had Jess, her roommate, gone grocery shopping while Sloane was in San Diego? Or had she done what she normally did when left alone and eaten crackers with peanut butter, Oreos, and olives straight from the jar?
Sloane wasn’t judging. Last time Jess had been out of town, she’d had a bag of baby carrots and a can of tuna for dinner. In her defense, she’d at least used a fork for the tuna.
She was still on the couch when Max texted back.
Max
Welcome home. I’m almost to Santa Clarita.
Sloane
Don’t text me while you’re driving!
Max
I’m using voice to text, chill.
Sloane
Don’t do that either, it’s still distracting
There are studies showing it’s still not safe
Max
Do the studies show how boring this drive is when there’s traffic and you don’t have anything to distract yourself with?
Sloane
You’re not supposed to be distracted!
Listen to a podcast, stop texting me, voice or not
Max
But podcasts don’t lecture me about road safety
Sloane typed I bet you could find one and then deleted it because she wasn’t going to encourage him, for fuck’s sake. Though if he got into a fender bender—nothing major, obviously—because he was texting, and then wound up coming back here because it was too late to…
She sighed dramatically at herself, sat up, and texted Jess to ask if she wanted in on getting shawarma delivered.
Chapter Thirteen
“Right. So,” Max said, and handed Zach another beer, “am I gonna get sued?”
Before answering, Zach scanned the label like it wasn’t another of the exact same IPA he’d just finished. He nodded slightly to himself before taking a sip. “About what?” he finally asked, leaning back into Max’s couch.
“For, I don’t know, besmirching the character of the Hotel Bellwether,” Max said. He paced the length of his living room, laptop and empty takeout containers on the coffee table between him and his best friend.
“I’m about ninety-five percent sure that’s not a legal term,” Zach offered.
