Too Many Beds

Drystan pulled me closer, one hand holding his tattered cloak above our heads. The worn fabric was useless against the torrential downpour that had lasted almost three days now. I was frozen to the core, teeth clattering, but that didn’t stop the single spark of desire that flamed when our bodies touched under the cloak.

Our feet splashed through the puddled cobblestone streets, my old leather boots squishing and squashing their way from inn to inn. We’d been on the road for days, and I was in sore need of a warm bed.

Unfortunately, all of the inns we’d passed so far were fully booked.

“Down there,” I heard his voice over a clap of thunder. I peered through the onslaught and caught a neon sign blinking through the night.

Ye Old Towne Taverne and Inn. Now Open.

We ran to the inn, rainwater dripping down my face in rivulets. Drystan threw open the door for me and I burst inside, glad to be out of the storm.

But my relief was immediately extinguished when I saw my surroundings.

The entryway was made of white marble, with a round table in the middle of the foyer boasting an exotic floral arrangement the size of an elephant. A portly man in a tuxedo made to take our jackets, and Drystan’s face burned red when he realized he had to hand over his soaked, threadbare cloak to the gentleman.

“I don’t know if we can afford a room here,” Drystan whispered to me as the butler disappeared his cloak.

But I wasn’t about to go back out in the storm. No, even if we had to rent a broom closet, I was staying put. A broom closet wouldn’t be so bad, after all. We’d been dancing around each other for most of our trip, and I’d been looking for an excuse to be in close quarters with Drystan for days. If we did end up in a broom closet, we’d certainly have to huddle for warmth – and strip off most, if not all, of our wet clothes.

The image of his bare, sculpted arms encircling me in the dark, one blanket to share between us, brought some heat to my freezing extremities.

No, a broom closet sounded like just the ticket.

“Let’s just see what they have,” I whispered back.

He squeezed my hand in reassurance and led me to the front desk. A man with a crisp suit and crisper haircut staffed the desk and greeted us with a professional smile.

“Welcome, honored guests, to our opening weekend. Reservation?”

Drystan coughed. “Um, no,” he started, “No reservation. Do you happen to have any open rooms?”

“No reservation, eh?” the clerk said, leaning across the desk to get a better look at us. I could feel Drystan’s resignation beside me, but I wasn’t about to give up that easily.

Luckily, after a moment’s pause, the clerk broke out into a large grin.

“No reservation, no problem! We have plenty of space. What sort of accommodations are you looking for? We have kings, queens, double queens, triple queens, stadium sleeping, sensory deprivation chambers, firm beds, soft beds, firm beds with soft spots, soft beds with firm spots, water beds, water boards, water rafts –”

Drystan’s blush deepened.

“Sir,” I interrupted, “Thank you, those all sound like excellent options. But we don’t have much money –”

I looked to Drystan, who pulled out his small leather pouch. As he put it on the desk, I heard our last two coins collide with a muffled clink.

The clerk looked down at the pouch with a serious face, and then back up at Drystan and myself.

“Nonsense!” he declared, “We are in the hospitality industry, and by the looks of you two, you could use some hospitality.”

Drystan’s posture relaxed with relief next to me.

“Thank you,” he said to the clerk, “Really, we’ll take whatever room you have, we’re not picky –”

“Not picky at all,” I chimed in, “We’ll take your smallest, least expensive room, please. Even if it only has . . .”

My eyes darted to Drystan, who was watching me with rapt attention, hanging onto where this sentence was going for dear life.

“. . . one bed,” I finished, noting the excitement flickering in his gaze.

We stood there, eyes locked, anticipation thrumming between us. Yes, this was my confirmation -- he’d been having the same thoughts about me as I’d been having about him since we started this journey.

It was so on.

After a long moment, the clerk waved his hand at us to get our attention.

“What?” I asked.

“I said,” he answered irritably, “Payment is no issue at all. It’s our opening weekend, and we have almost no reservations. You simply must enjoy the Inn, in our best rooms.”

He turned to Drystan first.

“Sir, for you, might I recommend our Presidential Suite? It comes with an oversized king bed, eighteen pillows, a jacuzzi, and personal chef.”

Drystan raised his eyebrows, impressed by the jacuzzi. I, on the other hand, was curious to hear more about this private chef.

“And for you madam, might I recommend the Penthouse Suite? Complete with a sauna, steam room, massage room, massage parlor, parlor room, game room, and room room?”

Wait, was he offering us two rooms?

Also, what was a room room?

No, I thought, This is my chance to get close to Drystan. We need to share a room.

“Really, that’s not necessary –”

“Then perhaps, sir, instead of the Presidential Suite, could I recommend our Executive Room? It has a full office, as well as a bathroom office, bedroom office, and Peacock subscription to stream The Office –”

Drystan shook his head.

The clerk was undeterred. “Or perhaps our Mountain View room? The vista out the windows is simply superb. Or perhaps our Mountain-Themed room? Complete with your own climbing gear and s’mores ingredients, you’ll feel like you’re back at camp –"

What kind of hotel was this?

“If you two prefer coordinating accommodations, we have our Dual Rooms, and also our Duel Rooms –”

This was getting out of hand.

“. . . or the Panic Room, which comes with a personalized escape room –”

My own escape room? Now that sounded interesting . . .

“There’s also the jungle room, the tundra room, the arctic room – which is actually the same as the tundra room, since the arctic is a tundra –”

“STOP!” Drystan suddenly yelled. The clerk froze.

“I’m sorry sir, is something wrong?”

Drystan looked between me and the clerk several times.

“We’re umm . . . we’re really just trying to fuck.”

The clerk didn’t move. He just stared at Drystan for what felt like the longest moment in the history of time before closing his eyes and nodding his head once.

“Of course, I’m sorry. Here,” he brandished a set of keys attached to a fluffy heart keychain, “The Romantasy Book Special. One lumpy cot, one tiny blanket, no fireplace –”

I ripped the keys from the man’s hand and Drystan gave him a two-finger salute before whisking me away to the elevator bank.