Re: Motel 77: Cris & Sam
"Okay." His fingers warmed over fishbelly-white dredging his shirt. The cab slowed, and Cris looked up. "This is us, baby. Let's get in there, huh? Then we can talk." His gaze flicked subtle to the cabbie, then back at Sam. He tapped her under the chin, but the movement was slower than normal, lingering insteada a bap of fingertips. She said the shaking was from seizures, but it was habit to run palms over exposed skin, habit and hope that it could make a difference somehow, that he could in the lifea the farera, insteada being nothing more than a drop in the ocean that swelled insidea her—insteada adding a crack to the basina of her body or making her tell him, over and over, she was damaged, when he didn't even remember saying it. "Ven."
Outta the cab, Cris pushed the door back with his ass, ducked in, and helped Sam out. He gave a nod to the driver. This time, he didn't scoop the girl up offa the sidewalk though. The hotel in fronta them was some Hampton Inn made to look like more than a two-star hotel with alla its neon ribboning, but it wouldn't have roaches and it wouldn't have a working girl sucking guys off the room over, just beneath wedding vows exclaimed with too much ardor.—The driver got them a room, some connectiona his, so they wouldn't have to keep a card on hand, a card and ID, yeah? So all they had to do was go in, shove money at whoever, and get upstairs.—Which is exactly what they did. It was a brief, too-secretive thing, but Cris didn't care. He didn't care 'bout the girl who kept looking over his shoulder like he wasn't wearing a badge over wet denim. He gave her what she needed, he took that keycard, and he started them up to the third floor, arm around Sam in the elevator, and finally swooping her back up when the thing dinged and pushed their stomachs with gravity.
This room was nicer. Simple, but nicer. The air was turned off by housekeeping earlier in the day, but the closed blinds kept somea it in, in spitea air still warm with sun.—It was clean, bed, walls, lights, nothing peeling, nonea that. Cris set Sam on her feet and closed the door with his ass, shedding the bag he had looped over his shoulder. His hand on the smalla her back, he looked down.
"Tell me what you need first, mami. You want warm water? Meds? Sleep? You just gotta tell me what you need."