Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Chelsea,” I let my roommate’s name out with the breath that was designated for my scream. “For fuck’s sake, don’t do that again.”
“Not Chelsea, it’s Ainsley. How many times do I need to tell you?”
“How many times do I need to tell you not to burst into my room? Especially not at six in the morning. Most people are asleep.”
“I saw the light under the door.”
“I’m sorry I keep forgetting you changed your name. I’ve called you Chelsea my whole life, so forgive me for calling you a different name. It’s gonna take me a hot minute.”
“It’s not my fault my parents chose a stupid name. All the Chelseas I know are bitches. Total stuck-up bitches.”
I hold my tongue on what I really want to say but can’t suppress the eye roll. Chelsea—sorry, Ainsley has been my friend since middle school, and most days, I wonder why. She doesn’t respect my boundaries, she lies constantly, and she is overall a terrible roommate.
“All right… Ainsley, what happened to you today?”
I listen to her story, like I always do, knowing most likely none of it ever happened. See, this is what I meant when I said she constantly lies. Making up stories or ridiculous facts about herself is kind of Ainsley’s thing. When we were in middle school, she told everyone that her great-great-grandfather invented the pencil. Then in high school, she had everyone believing she was going to Harvard, which was somehow a little bit more believable because Ainsley is actually really fucking smart. Still, it was just a lie.
I don’t know why she keeps doing it, but sometimes I do wonder. Does she even know herself, or is she so caught up in the picture she has painted of herself that she’s lost sight of who she really is?
“Are you even listening?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I stopped listening about ten minutes ago.”
“What’s wrong? What did your dumbass brother do this time?” Ainsley props her hands on her hips like an angry teacher, ready to hand out some detention slips. And then I remember why she’s been my friend for so long. She is the only person who always looks out for me, who always sees my struggles when no one else does. And she is the only one who doesn’t judge me for still sticking with him even after all the shit he put me through. She understands why I do the things I do, and I do the same for her. I guess you could say we’re fucked up together.
“He borrowed some money from the wrong people. A lot of money, and he could not pay it back.”
“Shocker. He’s such an idiot. And how exactly did he get you roped into it?”
I don’t want to tell her the whole thing, so I give her the washed-down version of what happened yesterday.
“Wow. What a shit show. At least you made it out of there all right. If I were you, I would forget about it and be glad the cop let you go without interrogating you for hours. God, Teagan, he could have thought you were involved.”
“Yeah, I know. I got lucky.” Either that, or there is way more going on than I imagine.
“So what now?” Ainsley asks, flopping down on the mattress next to me.
“I was about to search the address and try to find out more about that hotel.”
“Well, get typing! Now I want to know more as well.” Excitement fills Ainsley’s voice. Her lighthearted joy about this new task is infectious. For a moment, I forget all about my worries and enjoy playing a seasoned detective.
Grabbing my laptop, I put my fingers to the keyboard, type in the address, and wait for the search results to show.
“Well, that’s weird. Nothing is coming up,” I state the obvious. At least not on the first page; I scroll down, skimming through all the results not connected to anything remotely like a hotel. Out of desperation, I let the second page load.
“That could be it!” Ainsley points at one of the listings.
The Hotel; luxurious stay for members only.
I can’t click on it fast enough. That has to be the place. After an excruciating twenty seconds of loading, the website finally pulls up.
“That’s it!” There is a picture of the inside of the lobby. I recognize it right away.
“Wow, you weren’t joking. It’s fancy as fuck.” Ainsley puts her face so close to the screen I have to push her head out of the way to see for myself.
“There isn’t much,” I point out. The website looks professional, but there isn’t a lot of information. No sub-pages. No member login or room reservation option. No contact phone number or email.
“What kind of hotel is this?” Ainsley asks, confused.
“I have no freaking idea.” I really have no clue what I’ve got myself into, but something tells me this isn’t the last of it.