The other team members chatter about the upcoming game. Florian looks sad, and I know it must be strange he’s not playing.
Everything between us is stilted and awkward. Two days ago Florian said goodbye to his family.
The bus zooms forward toward our hotel.
“This is like Puerto Rico,” I say to Florian. “Sort of!”
Florian gazes at me contentedly as I list all the similaritiesthat I’ve found so far between Tampa and San Juan. It’s mostly the weather.
But then, I haven’t left the bus.
The hotel is big and pink and vacation-y looking, the sort of place that sells images of itself on shirts and mugs.
Daniela goes to the front desk, then returns after a few minutes looking triumphant and grasping a stack of keycards.
“And here are your keycards,” Daniela says, giving keycards to me and Florian.
Florian’s eyes widen. “We are sharing a room?”
“Of course. You’re boyfriends.”
“Oh.” He blinks, and Daniela’s forehead crinkles, even though sudden facial movements are not something that a woman of her age wants to do.
“That is correct,” Florian says. “We are together. Thank you, Daniela.”
I look at the keycard. “317! That must be on the third floor. We need an elevator. Unless you want to walk—maybe you want to walk! Since you’re an athlete.”
Florian gives me a soft smile. “An elevator is fine, Mateo. It is right behind you.”
“Oh!” My cheeks heat—so does the back of my neck—but Florian’s smile doesn’t change. He takes my bag and then walks to the elevator.
I hurry after him. “I can carry those!”
“I had a head injury,” he says. “Not a back injury.”
“Yes, but?—”
Florian steps into the elevator, then I step in quickly beside him. The elevator is full of people. They are tourist families in colorful shorts and flip-flops. Some of them have wet hair, coming from the pool behind the hotel, and water drips over the faux-porcelain tiled floor.
They eye Florian and me curiously. I wonder if anyone recognizes us. The children start to chatter amongstthemselves, and Florian presses against me as more people fill the elevator.
I stiffen and resist the impulse to lean into his selection of sturdy muscles. He stiffens too, and oh God, I’ve made things awkward again.
I glance at Florian, and he looks worried.Shit.
The elevator pings on the third floor, and we weave past the playing children and their proud parental figures. The hallway is quiet, and the doors of the elevator slam behind us before they zoom upward to more luxurious suites.
Not that this hallway isn’t sufficiently luxurious.
Technically, Florian is staying in my room.
I never thought I would have a job like this, and it is amazing.
Until I joined the Blizzards, I’d never stayed at a hotel as nice as this. I’d seen the fancy hotels in Puerto Rico only on the outside. They’d been large and imposing, despite their colorful tangerine and pink outsides, the color depending on which billionaire in the US ran it.
But now I’m in Florida with the Blizzards and I’m in this hotel.
Florian walks beside me. We don’t talk, which is fine. Normally, I do the talking. But for some reason I don’t know what to say.
