So you mentioned you have underground parking?
Sunshine
Say the word, baby, and I’ll move you in this weekend.
Laughing, I turn off my phone’s screen, then look out the window. Our texting lasted a good chunk of the flight, and I’m feeling much calmer than before. It’s nice knowing Max has my back. No one in Atlanta believed me about Javier, but Max never doubted me. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a man so quickly jump to my defense. Max doesn’t even know the whole story. He believed me from the beginning.
It leaves an odd sensation in my gut, but I find that I don’t hate it.
Feels something like peace.
DidI overstep by encouraging management to put everyone in the same hotel? Probably. But no one said anything, so I’m running with it. I only got one raised eyebrow from Dante Russo, who seems to be noticing the electricity between me and Layla. To counteract that, I steered clear of Layla for the last twenty-four hours. I don’t need anyone putting two and two together that there may be something going on, even when there isn’t.
But man, would I love there to be.
It’s been fun chatting with her here and there, but especially over text. I’ve also continued to chat with Kale Kween, although I feel really bad about that one. I keep hoping I’ll have an epiphany on how to explain that I know who she is, and admit my own identity, but I can’t come up with anything. Deep in my soul, I know if I tell Layla that I’m Ground Man, she’ll never speak to me again. The thought of that makes me sick, so I keep up the ruse.
The weather in Houston is hot and muggy, and I grimace as soon as I step off the airplane. Gross. How do people live like this? Becca tried to explain the concept of humidity and dew points to me at an event for Jamie’s foundation last year, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. It all makes zero sense. It’s a measure ofmoisture in the air, so how can there be negative dew points? I don’t get it.
By the time we arrive at the hotel, I feel like I’ve sweated through my clothes. As we retrieve our bags, grab our room keys, and head up to our rooms, I find that Layla has stepped into the same elevator as me.
“Floor?” I ask.
“Nine,” she answers. I secretly cheer, as I’m also on the ninth floor.
Two others get out on the ninth floor, and I motion for Layla to step off the elevator before me. I’m even more thrilled when I follow her down the same hallway, finding we’ve been given rooms beside one another. Knowing others are around us, I avoid eye contact as I swipe the key against the lock, then quickly stride inside. Whipping out my phone, I wait until I hear the muted sound of a door closing before calling her. I don’t let her speak before I blurt out, “I swear this was a coincidence. I just said the women should be on the same floor.”
“Uh-huh,” she says dryly. “Convenient that our rooms connect too, isn’t it? Nicely played, Sunshine.”
Whipping around, I see the locked door I could use to access her room, and I audibly groan. God dammit. Now I know I won’t sleep tonight.
“I didn’t even know the rooms here have connecting doors,” I croak, acutely aware of my dick becoming rock hard in record time. Images of Layla asleep, naked, cross my mind, and I force myself to breathe as all the blood rushes to my groin.
“You’re telling me you’ve been in the League for over a decade, and you’ve never noticed this?” she asks, her tone accusatory. “Teams stay in the same hotels, Max. I find it hard to believe Bridge Point never played in Houston.”
Oh, we played here. Lost a pennant here once. But I’ve never been here, in the same hotel asher, so it’s all moot. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I really don’t keep track of the staffduring road trips. I’m pretty self-involved when I’m focused on a game.”
“NowthatI can believe,” she says with a snort. “I’m a little surprised a hotel of this caliber still has rooms like this. Isn’t it a safety concern? Why not renovate and remove these?”
“Some hotels like to stay more on the classic and traditional side, I think,” I tell her as I toe off my shoes. Falling onto the bed, I continue. “There’s a hotel in Miami that’s the exact opposite of this. All modern with glass and sharp edges. Shower wall is glass, which is right next to the bed, and through the shower you can see the toilet. Zero privacy.”
“That sounds like an absolute nightmare, but honestly, that sums up Miami and South Beach perfectly.”
“You been there a lot?” I ask as I recline against the pillows. I immediately sit up, rearranging the ridiculously fluffy and air-filled pillows, into a pile of four. The part I really hate about road trips is the fact that every hotel has completely awful pillows with no structure or support.
“Once my mom moved to Florida, I’d visit her as often as I could. It was easy when I lived in Atlanta. We’d go over to Miami once or twice a year. It’s not my favorite city in the country, but I love how full of culture it is. And the food is amazing.”
I chuckle. “Leave it to Layla to connect a massive metropolitan area to food.”
“What can I say?” she giggles. “I love food. Finding fresh ingredients and learning the history of where a recipe came from is so special to me. The general main ingredient might be the same, but how one spice or herb changes it up never ceases to amaze me. Do you know what differentiates a Cuban bread from a French bread?”
“No,” I say quietly, loving how animated her voice is as she talks about what she loves.
“The main ingredients are the same, but Cuban bread also includes Lard.”
“Lard? Like fat?” I ask.
“Yup. Well, French bread can include different kinds of flour as well, but the Lard in Cuban bread gives a very different flavor.”
