THE PAIN OF OTHERS by Blake Crouch Page B

do?”
    “I’m not sure I under—”   
    “It’s a blizzard out there, the roads are closed, and now you’re telling us you’re the only game in town, and you’re booked?”
    “I’m really sorry.”
    “Where are we supposed to sleep?   Our car?”
    Jessica appears on the verge of tears.
    We hand Ron a notepad and tell him to write down his cell phone number, promising to call if something opens up.
     
    -6-
    Ron and Jessica sit in their Mercedes, watching the snow accumulate on the windshield, piling up in the city park, a deep bluish tint settling over Lone Cone.
    “Are you fucking kidding me, Ron?”
    “I know.”
    “Do you?   Because I thought you were the one who was supposed to call and get us room reservations.”
    “We weren’t gonna stay here, Jess.   Remember?   Spend the day and drive to Aspen .”
    “Well it didn’t work out that way, did it?”
    “No.”
    “So maybe having reservations as a backup plan might’ve been a bright idea.   Right, Ron?”   He’s been staring through the glass, his hands gripping the steering wheel, and now he glances over at his wife, into that wild-eyed, exacting glare he figures she terrorizes her firm’s paralegals and secretaries with.
    “What?” he says.
    “Why didn’t you take care of that?”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Fuck you, Ron.   I don’t want to sleep in my fucking car tonight.   That isn’t what I had in mind for my Christmas vacation while busting my ass these last—”
    “I get it, Jess.”
    Ron pulls the key out of the ignition.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Baby, let’s go get a big, hot meal, drink the best wine on the list, and forget about all this shit for a while, okay?”
    Jessica pushes her short brown hair behind her ears, Ron feeling, hoping he’s cut the right wire, disarmed the bomb.
    “That actually sounds nice.”   He has, and he loves this about her—how she can go from psychobitch to DEFCON 5 in two nanoseconds.
    “My cell phone’s charged,” he says, “so let’s think positive thoughts.   Maybe while we’re eating, we get a call from the inn, saying they’ve had a cancellation.   This whole thing might just work out.”
    Jessica’s smile makes Ron slide his hand over the console, let it work down between her blue-jeaned thighs.    
    “Hey now,” she warns.   “You gotta earn that, big boy.”
    “You think so?”
    Apparently not, because she pulls his hand into her crotch and moves her hips forward and Ron undoes the button on her jeans and pushes his fingers between cotton and skin, until he feels the warm, wet slick, wondering if that’s been there since the rage, has a hunch it has.
    She moans, stretching for the button on his slacks. Pulls his hand out of her pants and leans across the console into his lap.
    He reaches down and finds the right button and the seat hums back, giving Jessica more headspace between his stomach and the steering wheel.  
    The windshield cracks.   Flinching, Ron’s eyes shoot open and Jessica bites down and then pops off, and they both say, “What the fuck?” in unison.