He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and debating if he wanted to watch something on TV or read the book he’d picked up in the airport, when his phone buzzed with a text.
He glanced at it.
Joel:Why did you have to invite me to a game in the most humid place in the country? I’m melting.
Quentin grinned at his phone and typed a quick response.
Quentin:I take it you’ve arrived in Tampa?
Joel’s response was a selfie of him on a hotel balcony. His cheeks were flushed, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead, and his T-shirt ringed with sweat around his neck and underarms.
Quentin:Did you run a marathon? Congrats!
Joel:Rude. I climbed two flights of stairs.
Quentin:LOL. Are you worried about performing in this weather in Orlando?
Joel:I’m hoping it’s at least less humid there. How is it so warm inNovemberhere?
Quentin:There’s this thing called Climate Change…
Joel:Has anyone ever told you that you’re a smart-ass?
Quentin:No, people have only ever told me I’m a delight.
Joel:I regret to inform you that everyone in your life is lying to you.
Quentin smirked. Then, he realized that Joel washere, in Tampa, even though the hockey game wasn’t until tomorrow.
Quentin:I thought you’d get in tomorrow, before the game. What brings you to Tampa early?
Joel:I needed a break from the tour crowd, TBH. Harlan’s here, but Shivonne is back in Orlando with the rest of the team.
Quentin:Is everything okay? Did you need a break for a specific reason?
He realized that he actually cared to hear Joel’s answer. Despite everything, when they had first met each other, and despite the fact that he still occasionally found Joel rather infuriating, he realized he was genuinely beginning to consider Joel a friend.
Joel:Nothing specific, just the usual exhaustion with people after you’ve been in close proximity for a while. It’s good for me to take breaks every now and then. I’m an introvert by nature, and touring is a busy and crowded life.
Quentin:I get that, with hockey. We’re rarely alone.
Joel:And, tbh, my tour manager and I don’t get along that well. He has one vision for the tour, and I have another.
Quentin:Don’t you get to decide things yourself? You’re Joel Beckett.
Joel:Gee, thanks, I didn’t know that.
Quentin:I just meant…you’re one of the most famous people in pop music, and your brand is huge. I thought you’d have more say over your performances.
Joel:The general idea is mine, but Braun (the tour manager) is all about merch and marketability and what’ll sell. I just want to focus on good music and having a fun time.
Quentin nodded to himself. He was beginning to get a better picture of Joel’s perspective on the world and on his work, and he liked it. He had misjudged Joel when they first met, thinking that Joel was aloof and arrogant and full of himself. In reality, Joel was introverted, maybe even shy, and knew how to put a face on for cameras and interviews, but at his heart, he was an artsy, musical kid who wanted to have fun with his songs, and Quentin admired that, and he thought he could understand it and relate to it, in his own way.
Then he had an idea.
Quentin:If you need alone time tonight, I totally get it, but a lot of the other guys went out to dinner tonight, and I’m just chilling in my hotel room. I was thinking of watching a movie, if you wanted to join.
Several miles away, Joel stared at his phone screen, not blinking. His heart pounded in his chest. Quentin had just invited him over to his hotel room. There was no way that there was any secondary purpose in Quentin’s mind right now. Surely, he was just being a friend. A pal. A bro. He was bored and being nice, and offering Joel some company.
