Going to a hotel

The hotel Layla has in mind isn't far and you chase her into the lobby of the posh establishment, still slightly hobbled by the obvious tent in your pants. Along the way from the pub 2 blocks away, you had gotten a couple of horrified stares from some old ladies who have been around long enough to know why you were walking weird. By the time you catch up with Layla, she's leaning over the counter to speak to a concierge in uniform. According to the name tag on his chest, his name is Ron and he looks almost too young to be working in a hotel.

You didn't catch what Layla had said to him, but Ron the concierge looks at you, then at Layla, you again, then finally back to the TV presenter. "Pardon, miss. We don't charge rooms by the hour. There's a hotel down the street you could try. The Mirage. Very popular with uh, with uh..." Ron is unsure how to finish his thought, and the pale young man is blushing just thinking about the words he's not saying.

"With prostitutes, you mean?" Layla says, feigning insult. The concierge smiles sheepishly and shrugs as he looks to you, likely thinking you're paying for Layla. Much to his surprise, Layla reaches into the front of her dress, pulls out a black credit card, and hands it to him. "That's too bad. I was going to invite you to join us," she teases Ron.