Page 31 of The Silent Count
I hold up the golden key card holder that has the wordsPresidential Suitewritten across the bottom in red cursive letters. “It has two bedrooms.”
Lea taps her pointer finger against her lips, likely contemplating the potential outcomes.
“What are we gonna do about the curfew check?”
“Well, you could hide in the closet,” I offer jokingly.
She paces the small area behind her suitcase as if she’s seriously considering what I said to be a viable option. “Not a bad idea, Parker.”
I do a mental fist pump at her, not rejecting my idea straight out of the gate. It’s not like I have a history of inviting teammates over to my room to hang out during away games. If anything, they expect me to stay in my room until morning. I have never been one to slip out after bed checks either, so my track record on that front is squeaky clean.
The last thing anyone would expect is for me to have a girl in my room. Let alone to be harboring the coach’s daughter.
“Why don’t you go up to the room now to get settled, and I’ll hang out in Abel’s room until everyone’s settled in?”
“Oh,” her voice raises an octave, and a small smile pulls up one corner of her lip. “Now you want to go somewhere separately? This is news to me.”
“Only took three tries to get it right.”
She shakes her head playfully. “Don’t you think he’ll find it weird that you’re hanging out in his room with your suitcase?”
I see her point.
Abel might be my best friend on the team, but the two of us still don’t hang out together during overnight games. In fact, we hardly see each other outside of practice and those team mandated events we hate so much. From time to time, we’ll grab a beer—maybe once a month, if that—but that’s the extent of our friendship outside of work. I prefer to keep to myself during the season, and take trips up to Connecticut to see my mom and Georgia when I’m not training.
Some people might find it weird, but it works for the two of us. Both of us grew up with our father figures, and don’t let people in easily. I know I can always call him if I need him, and he knows he can do the same with me. It might be unconventional to some, but neither of us sees a problem with it, so I don’t care what anyone else thinks.
“I…” Right as I’m about to offer a half-assed suggestion, I catch someone from the cleaning crew out of the corner of my eye. They’re wheeling a cart down the hall that is stacked full of towels and bed sheets. A handful of the pre-filled shampoo and conditioner bottles roll off a cart, and they pause just long enough to pick them up, then continue on until they’re out of sight. “Cleaning crew. That’s it,” I mutter to myself.
“What?”
“I’ll tell him they’re still cleaning my room and I need to crash them for a few minutes while they’re finishing up.”
Lea nods to herself before turning to me with her palm held out. “Give me the key, and I’ll see you in half an hour. I’ll leave the door unlocked so you can slip in, but send me a text first so I don’t accidentally scream and blow our cover.”
A teasing smile transforms over my face, thinking about all the other ways I could make her scream in this hotel room.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Parker,” she scoffs.
You know what? On second thought, maybe I do like it when she goes back to using my last name whenever she’s annoyed with me.
THIRTEEN
LEA
I’mashamed to admit I haven’t thought about Lucky Charm in weeks. Our messages that were once few and far between have become nonexistent, and it’s because of my doing.
I couldn’t stomach it anymore. Messaging with Fortune, day in and day out, knowing I was keeping a secret. Before our meeting earlier in the week, I had every intention of telling him the truth until my dad walked in. I meant what I said when I told him he deserved someone who could give him all of themself. There’s a twinge in my gut at the thought that he might be upset when I tell him, but the guilt that’s been eating away at me supersedes the potential pain I might feel later.
The hot tub bubbles around me as I toss the idea around in my brain—contemplating how and when I’m going to come clean.
Should I wait until after this trip? Or maybe until after Thanksgiving?
Regardless, I need to wait until after tomorrow’s game, at the very least. Barging into his room and confessing now would mess up whatever pre-game rituals he takes part in. I don’t want to carry the weight of a shitty game on my shoulders if he plays like shit because of it, either.
A gust of wind swooshes across the balcony, and the crisp air blows against my cheeks. The steam rising from the hot water is keeping me warm from the collarbone up, but when a breeze rolls through, I feel the sharp sting of the icy weather.
When the door to the living room of our suite creaks open, I twist my neck so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. Fortune steps out onto the balcony, and my heart stops. His washboard abs are on full display. Carved little squares that I’ve dreamed about running my hands over again.
