SSS 2 - Take Sal with you

You don’t feel like you have time to argue. Besides, is this really a crisis? It's not like you'll seriously be putting Sal in any danger.

“OK,” you say, and Sal hurries back upstairs to get dressed. You wait awkwardly. What is this feeling? These girls know who you are, but not what you’re doing here. Maybe this is what Colby feels like when she comes to CCL House. You’ll have to make extra sure that Colby doesn’t find out.

Sal returns in sensible leggings and a hoodie. A minute later you’re climbing into the gray Sequoia beside her as the storm hammers the windshield. It’s so dark.

“Joely’s car would be better for this,” Sal mutters as she hits the button to start the engine. “Tell me the truth now. What’s really going on?”

“I sent my girls on a drop. They haven’t come home yet.”

“No shit,” Sal replies, cutting you off before you can go on. She cuts the wheel and takes the car onto the highway. “Nobody wants to go anywhere in this. Where are we going?”

You stick your phone to the clip on the dash so she can see the route. You turn up the volume so that Siri can talk over the rain.

“Like I was saying,” say, a bit waspishly, “I can’t reach them and I got some weird texts and a creepy phone call.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m serious. They sent me peach emojis. That’s referencing what happened.”

Sal snorts. “I know that. I have a Peachface outfit. We were going to use it to scare you. Would have too, if we hadn’t hooked up.”

“We didn’t hook up. I seduced you,” you correct her.

Sal snorts, then tilts her head. “I guess you did,” she says with a sigh. “You little weirdo.”

“I’m a femme fatale.”

“Not too fatale, I hope. Are you still in touch with Athena?”

“Of course. I’m her most beloved,” you say, placing your hand demurely on your chest.

“Does your girlfriend know that?”

“Of course,” you lie.

Sal just shakes her head.

“I’m the President of CCL,” you say defensively. “I have a lot of love to give.”

“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Sal replies dryly.

Once you’re out of town, the going gets tough. There’s a lot of standing water, and you can feel the wind pushing the car. Visibility is terrible.

“Yikes,” Sal mutters.

“Thanks for coming out.”

“We’re going to a motel, right? Because we aren’t coming back in this,” she says with a shudder. “Guess you’ll just have to find some way to show me your appreciation.”

“If you were horny, you could have just called.”

“Or I could’ve done what I was about to do, which was watch the new season of Bridgerton with this crazy new vibe that I got from that psycho biker chick.”

“We can do that together,” you say, hurt.

“I only bought one.”

“Well, that’s just selfish. You don’t love me.”

Sal rubs her face, smiling. “God. Your girlfriend puts up with a lot, doesn’t she?”

“She’s a trooper. I made the whole house listen to me boning her tonight.” You adjust your seat.

“Are you serious?”

“She was all insecure about nobody knowing that we were together. Now, everybody knows. I’m the perfect partner. At least she knows I’m not ashamed of her or something.”

“Oh my god. But isn’t she going to be ashamed to show her face around your asshole girls?”

You bristle. “They aren’t all assholes.”

“Yuki still comes over like twice a week just to use our workout gear and flex on everyone. The fitness center is literally closer. But she comes to the house,” Sal says. “You embrace that CCL is sluts. Can’t you embrace that you’re assholes too?”

“No, no, no. See, this kind of incendiary rhetoric is what led to a literal **** spree,” you counter. “You can’t be saying that stuff.”

“I thought that **** spree was because three narcissists teamed up to boost their profiles because they felt like everyone else on earth was an NPC,” Sal replies.

You sigh. “Well, yeah. But your rhetoric isn’t helping!”

“What are you supposed to be, Rachel Maddow?”

“I can roleplay that in bed for you. Lots of edging you but you never get off.”

Sal shudders. “No. I’ll pretend you’re Ariana Grande.”

“What?” you ask, baffled.

“You resemble her. Different hair, different ears. You’re actually black. But otherwise?”

“That’s a lot of differences,” you insist.

“No, no.” Sal waves a hand. “Let me have this.”

“Isn’t she like fifteen?”

“She’s almost thirty.”

“She looks fifteen,” you say huffily.

“You look fifteen. When you take your glasses off,” Sal adds.

You keep a close eye on your phone, but nothing comes through. The drive isn’t very far, but it takes three times as long in this weather as it should.

You feel a surge of triumph when you pass a brightly-lit gas station. It means you’re close.

“What is it?” Sal asks, seeing you pressing your face against the window.

“I don’t see anyone in there,” you reply, peering at the station. “No cashier or anything.”

“I’d have gone home too.”

“Yeah.”

It’s not much farther to the motel. The place might not have a working phone, but it does have power. Some lights are on, although not many. This place has volume for tourists. It’s bigger than it looks, but there must only be a handful of people staying.

You and Sal get out of the car and hustle through the rain into the office, which is deserted.

Politely ring the bell?

Or go full Meredith Powers?