Constance was fed up. She was going to break the ice whether Someone liked it or not. He had tried to book two separate rooms but she quickly scolded him for how suspicious that would look.
“ONE ROOM,” he mumbled under his breath, trudging down the hallway with a frown.
“Two separate rooms…” she murmured back, “And how do you figure we would have communicated with each other that way? These hotel phone lines aren’t exactly secure.”
“Communication is unnecessary,” he said routinely.
“Everything is unnecessary!” she whispered harshly.
They arrived at the door and Someone swiped the key. He pulled his luggage in and instantly began surveying the premises. Constance dragged her suitcase into the room and heaved it onto the bed, quickly plopping down beside it.
“Shotgun!” she shouted playfully. Someone said nothing in response. He only continued to inspect the room, putting his ear to the wall, looking behind the curtains, and staring intensely at the little green light on the television’s cable box.
“Come on! You’re not even going to fight for the bed?” Constance asked jokingly, “Say, ‘You take the couch ‘cause you’re the one who wanted to get one room. If we had gotten two rooms, we would each have our own bed.’ or something,” she mock-voiced him in her best comical British accent. Someone paid her absolutely no mind.
“You’re no fun. No fun at all,” she exhaled, lying back on the bed.
“I suppose you don’t understand,” Someone started, unplugging the phone from its jack, “Fun is–”
“UNIMPORTANT,” Constance said loudly, completing his sentence, “I get it. I get it.” With an exaggerated sigh, she rolled over to face him. He was peering under the lampshade in deep concentration. There was no doubt this guy was all business… but why had she heard so many crazy stories about him? What could she do to bring out that fun side?
