thirty-six hours with you | georgenotfound x reader

14. the motel

I sit on the side of the road with my suitcase, backpack and my phone charger. The man told us to take out anything important from the car since they'll have to take it overnight.

George sets his own suitcase next to me. He has his backpack on his shoulders as he looks at me expectantly.

"What?" We had a small moment of laughter, but it seemed to dissipate quickly. The frustration between us was still strong.

"I need help with the ottoman," he admits.

"Seriously?" I ask, "My car isn't being impounded, George. It'll be fixed tomorrow."

"But he said anything valuable." He lowers his voice as the tow truck guy walks by. "I just don't want to break it."

I stare at him for a second, debating if we really want to transfer that ugly thing back to some sort of hotel. A hotel we can't seem to find online, actually. In the end, I let out a long sigh. "Fine."

George sits on top of the ottoman as we wait now. The car is already hooked up to the tow truck; we're just waiting for our uber now.

"Can you find any hotels?" George asks, "I don't even know what state we're in."

"You're in the nowhere zone of Tennessee," the tow truck man says, "There's not going to be more than a little motel for about an hour or two."

"Where's the mechanic shop?" I ask, "Is that near a hotel of some sort?"

"One sec," he says before disappearing into the front seat of his truck again.

"Well that was helpful," George mumbles. I hit his arm, and he winces. "What was that for?"

I don't reply as the man comes back to hand me a card. "This is the guy I work with directly; I'll bring your car to him to fix. If you want to use anybody else, then it will be an extra charge," he explains, "There's a motel about ten minutes from his shop."

I glance down at the card and see the number. It looks like he's going to close soon, so he probably won't be able to fix my car by then.

"We will give him a call tomorrow morning then," I say, "Thank you."

"No problem."

George pulls up the motel from his phone. "It doesn't look too bad," he says, holding the phone up for me to see.

The bright pinks, blue and yellows decorating the exterior of the motel are a little tacky, but it doesn't scream disgusting to me.

"That's all we got," I remind him.

Our Uber pulls onto the side of the road to pick us up. I stand a little straighter.

"I can't find the number anywhere though," George says.

"Well, we're just going to have to wing it." I try to be more positive even though this seems hopeless at the moment.

O O O

The Uber drops us off at something that looks slightly more run down version of what George showed me on his phone.

"At least there's no police tape or a murder scene or something," I say when we step out of the car.

George rolls his eyes, paying the driver. He goes to the back of the car to help take out the suitcases. When the ottoman appears behind his bag, I give him a look.

"Just help me with the damn ottoman, y/n." He huffs.

We walk the bags and furniture into the motel's small lobby. I'm going to walk up to the desk, but I remember the workers and concierge from before. George has more of a chance to get us rooms than I ever will.