“Aye. The team paid for the room. No noise violations,” I say through a shaky laugh.
“Yes.” He cuts his eyes at me and answers the person on the other end of the line. “If you could send someone up to tell his Black a—to keep it down. Thank you.” He hangs up, tightens the string on his flannel pajama pants, and mumbles to himself on the way to the bathroom.
Kendrick and I agreed to share a room during away games. Shins must be on a couch in the hotel lobby, the way Bread is murdering that woman. I can’t complain, given my own track record with disturbing the peace. But I’d usually stay in a separate hotel room, or her house if the vibe was there.
Except this year.
My sex drive is never satisfied, but the urge to get a nut off with someone whose name I won’t remember in the morning just isn’t there.
Many of Houston’s finest women were out last night. A few caught my eye, but none held my attention enough to take it farther than a nod or a dance. I haven’t been out in a minute, and I came back to the room with Kendrick. Between the early flight, team meetings, practice, and dinner at the bar, I passed out the minute my face hit the pillow after a quick shower.
I didn’t read Miriam’s texts until I woke up. My phone was on airplane mode, and I missed wishing her a happy Valentine’s Day. Not that I celebrate. This time every year, I’m hundreds of miles away from anyone I’ve been inside of who expects flowers, candy, and an invitation to give love a try.
I bought Miriam a few gifts from the Space Center, which I visited today before our final practice. A 3D-model kit, astronaut kitchen mitts, and freeze-dried ice cream aren’t much, but they’re things I figured she’d like. A “thinking of you” gift in a miss-your-friend kind of way, because I do miss her. Not talking to her is eating at me. It didn’t bother me in the past, when she lived in a different state, but it does now.
Valentine’s Day falling on the exact date I happened to be near the Space Center is just a coincidence. Dessert and some trinkets aren’t a declaration of love. I don’t make those, and I won’t start on this holiday, of all days.
Kendrick pads across the room in his house slippers. He has a newspaper tucked underneath his armpit, his signal for me to not go into the bathroom he blew up. Our hotel room isn’t the biggest. The mattress barely accommodates my height, but the sheets are soft.
“Maybe he fell asleep,” he says about the welcome silence.
“Let’s hope so. We need to be at the field by nine.” I roll over to the shared nightstand and grab my phone.
DMs I ignore and a text from my mom.
Nothing from Miriam.
“Does that tight lip mean she hasn’t hit you back?” A hint of humor laces Kendrick’s tone. “Maybe she’s out.”
Miriam did text that she was spending time with Marcela before she went silent. I’m just checking to see if she made it back home safely. It’s midnight in Buffalo, an hour ahead. There’s black ice on the road and pool-size potholes she’ll hit if she’s not careful. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t verify proof of life?
I scroll through the photos of tonight’s fundraiser Marcela posted on her social media. The only reason I follow her is because her sister refuses to get online. The event was packed with people laughing and dancing. My brows narrow at an imageof Miriam at the bar. She’s in a black dress that curls up her thighs, sitting next to the guy from the workplace she turned down.
Dickhead.
Heat flares inside my chest. My jaw clicks, and I resist the compulsion to fly home. They’re not touching, but his big-ass knees are disrespecting her personal space, if you ask me. He’s staring at her. Hard. Her smile lifts her dimples, and I don’t like that shit.
I have no right to be this tight over a photo, but seeing all of her teeth on display for him fucks with me.
Maybe Dickhead was a guest, but he’s one more eye-fuck away from visiting somebody’s hospital.
Something about him is off.
Or you have an issue with anyone pressing up on her.
I scoff and type a quick message.
Did you make it home?
Alone.
“Can’t ask that,” I mutter to myself.
You looked beautiful.
Respectful and within the boundaries of our friendship. If she asks, I’ll tell her I was online and saw the fundraiser photos. Harmless. She doesn’t need to know I’ve checked my phone all night in case she wanted to talk.
“You good?” Kendrick asks my profile.
