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Slowly, the elevator climbs the building, stopping on every floor to let a few more people out. As it hits floor ten, I excuse myself and step out, Miles following in my slipstream. “Hey, what room you in?”
“Ten-forty-seven,” I say, giving most of my attention to my bags whose wheels keep getting stuck in the carpet.
“Sick, I’m in ten-forty-six. Coincidence that, innit?”
“I don’t want to hear one single sound from you,” I snap, grunting as my bag almost trips me up. “I’m being serious.”
We pause outside our rooms, and he presses the key against his lock, giving me a look like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just winks and vanishes away into the room, leaving me in the corridor, tired and furious and holding two enormous bags and a swirl of emotions that all come down to his cheeky blue eyes.
I am so fucked.
CHAPTER 14
MILES
There's nothing like winning a game to make you feel truly on top of the world. I might as well be hammered right now.
It’s all about the glory of it — of having grass-stained knees from doing an epic skid; of ripping your shirt off because otherwise you’re going to burst; it’s doing laps of the field like you’re floating, flying like nothing can touch you, all while the crowd screaming your name, chanting for you because for that one second you are the most important person in the world.
As I sit in the changing room, I let the adrenaline wash over me, staring at the wall as I keep replaying the goal, the way it flew past the keeper and hit the back of the net, the way it was just what we needed in the final minute of play to secure the win. We really needed that. But with a star player like me, it would be embarrassing if we lost. Even a mediocre British Premier League player would blow away these Americans.
But I’m awesome.
My hands shake as I untie my laces. I can barely feel my feet as I kick my boots off, but it does make me realize how much I need a shower. With just my towel on, I wander into the showers and try to ignore the black mold growing between the cracks in the tiles. At least the water pressure is okay.
I shut my eyes and imagine the game again. I know everyone wants to keep me out of the press, but surely a win like this deserves a headline: Miles Hamilton, back on fighting form, leading the Macaws to victory. I can see the front page now.
There is absolutely nothing in the world that could make me feel bad today after this. There is no force on Earth that can bring me down from this high. After the last couple of months I've had, this is reminding me why I love soccer.
And I've managed to get the best spot in the changing room, the one that’s ever so slightly hidden in the corner so I can have a moment to myself in peace. I sit back down after my shower and enjoy the quiet. I'm a friendly kind of guy, but sometimes you just need a couple of minutes to yourself after a big win to really soak it all in. It also means I can overhear what everyone else is saying without them remembering that I exist.
“It's supposed to be the hot place to go,” Raphael is saying. “My friends in the city tell me that if you want to have fun, this is the place to do it.” I can just see his smug bastard face, that wink and grin like he’s the coolest, hottest guy ever created. Our teammates murmur in agreement, though whether they actually care or they’re just following him like blind sheep is anyone’s guess.
I pull on my post-game T-shirt and everyday running shoes and decide to make a break for it before they can invite me out too, which is the next logical step in their plans. It’s not that I don’t want to go to the hot club in Boston; it’s just that I have a different idea of the kind of fun I want to have tonight.
As quietly as I can, I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder and creep away, trying not to let my shoes squeak on the polished floor. As the door swings shut behind me with a creak, I hear Pete say, “Hey, where’s Miles?” Knowing I exist to these people even when I’m not there brings a smile to my face, but I won't be distracted from my plan.
The fact is, no girl in Boston can measure up to the one who’s come all this way from Miami just for me.
I have to turn the brightness all the way up on my phone to see the map as the sun shines on the screen, and I let it blindly lead me through Boston. The streets are hot and humid and going underground to catch the subway makes little to no difference to the temperature. It might even be more humid down here. I’m going to be drenched through with sweat by the time I get back.
It feels like it takes an age for the train to come, but finally I jump on the blue line back towards the hotel. The train rattles ominously as it races over the tracks, and I find myself missing home again. This weird subway has absolutely nothing on the Tube. Now that’s a train network.
At least the map isn’t telling me I have to change. I’m good at following directions, but I really don’t feel like anything complicated right now. I’m still flying high, and I don’t want the stupid, rattly trains of Boston to ruin my day.
It’s a short walk from the stop to the hotel and I go fast despite the heat. Finally, I step into the lobby, glad for the air-conditioning even as it starts drying the sweat onto my body. Even though I had a quick shower at the club, I still feel the need to shower again.
The adrenaline is starting to wear off at last, leaving me sleepy and ready to have a lie down. Before I can even make it to the lift, though, predictable as the sunrise, Olivia appears out of nowhere. “I thought you’d be going out today, after that win.”
“It was pretty good, wasn’t it?” I grin, another shot of joy rushing through my bloodstream.
“It’s always good to see the Macaws winning,” says Olivia diplomatically, like she doesn’t want to give me a compliment. “But it’s not like you to miss an opportunity to go out drinking.”
“Who do you take me for?” I say, gasping and pressing my hand to my chest in mock offense.
She raises both eyebrows. “Surely the great Miles Hamilton can’t be that exhausted from just kicking a ball about,” she says. “I could be forgiven for making the assumption that you’re losing your stamina.”
“Maybe I just wanted to be somewhere you could keep an eye on me.”
