"Nope, I can come and grab my breakfast, and lunch, from my car before the race tomorrow."
His eyes travel behind me to the two brightly colored boxes on the seat holding my next four meals.
"Is that all you have?"
"Yep."
We turn and walk towards the lobby after I lock the car.
"You can't race on only a granola bar." Miguel tells me.
"Who says?"
"You’ll burn thousands of thousands of calories tomorrow. You need to refuel with gels mid-race. Did you carbo load yesterday?"
"I got an extra shift meal of butter chicken and white rice. I'm good."
Miguel doesn’t comment further as we pass the front desk. I hold my breath hoping he just keeps walking and doesn't test my sold out theory.
"When did you try to book your room?" He asks as we successfully make it past the lobby to the elevator.
"Oh, um a few weeks ago." I lie.
"Yeah, you gotta book rooms as soon as the schedule is announced at the end of the season. I usually book them and then cancel the reservation if I decide not to run one of the events."
Must be nice.
"That's a good idea." I say instead.
We stay quiet in the elevator and as I follow him down the carpeted hallway to his room.
For a fraction of an instant my brain reminds me this is kind of crazy. He’s a stranger, I don't actually know him, but I oddly don't feel afraid or hesitant at all.
He steps into his room and holds the door open for me. I mutter a thanks as I pass him and try to hide the way I inhale deeply for a hint of the sweet pepper scent of him.
The bed is still made but all the pillows are piled on the near side and a fancy memory foam pillow rests on the far side. His race day items are lined up on the floor under the desk like it’s a transition area. On the desk his wet suit is folded neatly with his swimcap on top, his cycling top folded next to it, and his bib is already pinned to his race belt next to that.
"Neat." I comment and Miguel just grunts and takes my bag to the dresser.
I plop down on his bed and bounce a few times after throwing my blanket off behind me. "So we're adults and can share a bed, right?" I ask.
"No, you're sleeping on the floor." He says with his back to me.
"What?" I stand and roll my shoulders back in preparation to defend my womanhood which means he needs to defer to me and give me the whole bed if he isn’t willing to share. But then he turns and his smile almost blinds me. His entire face is involved in the expression and lines crease his cheeks. It’s beautiful. I blush with the full attention of his teasing on me. I laugh nervously, "very funny old man."
"Don't speak to your elders like that." He chuckles and I feel lightness float through my body on the waves of the sound.
"Oh, so now he's a funny man." I observe as I cross over to my bag for my toothbrush. Miguel doesn’t move out of my way so I am met with a wall of cinnamon I now know comes from the gum he’s chewing.
"I can be funny." He says with a snap of the gum as he follows me to the bathroom. "But fifteen minutes ago your plan was to sleep in the backseat of your car so I figured the floor was still an upgrade."
I decide not to respond because he's not wrong. Instead, I brush past him to the bathroom. I shove my toothbrush in my mouth and get to work maintaining my oral hygiene. Miguel follows, drops his gum in the wastebasket, and lets the side of his mouth lift in a smirk. He really is a work of art when he smiles. I battle against my own smile before I glance up and our eyes catch in the mirror.
As we brush our teeth side by side the sound of the bristles grating back and forth fills my ears and then the buzz of his automatic toothbrush fills the small bathroom. Our eyes stay locked on each other in the mirror until I break the connection to spit into the sink.
When I stand and find Miguel's eyes in the mirror again, he's paused his brushing and is just holding the automatic brush against his teeth as it continues to whir.
I flash a little smile and push past him out into the room.
