“I, uh, I just wanted to say thank you. For listening, at the airport. I didn’t have a chance to…” There’s nowhere safe to look. Not his eyes or his mouth or his abs or the defined V that points at the shorts that are all he bothered to pull on before opening the door. I keep getting distracted, words harder to hold on to than cupped water as I focus on the carpeted floor.
“You are drunk.” He sounds amused.
When I glance up, he looks it too. One corner of his mouth has curved up, that damn dimple creasing his cheek.
“I had a couple of drinks,” I concede. “We were…celebrating.”
“Good.”
“You’re my coach. You’re supposed to tell me to stay focused, not chug margaritas.”
His smile grows. “You do not need anyone to tell you to stay focused, Claire.”
I sigh. “You sound like my sister.”
“Ouch.”
I forgot he knows my relationship with my sister is complicated.
“Cassidy and I could be best friends now,” I say defensively.
“Are you?”
“We’re…better,” I say. “We double date now.”
“I noticed.” His tone is dark, mouth smoothed to a straight line.
“Oh, right. You were there. I…forgot.”
I’m not great about achieving casual on a good day. Late and tipsy on tequila? Not even close.
“You forgot.” It’s a statement, not a question. “That is a surprise, considering you left your date to chase after me.”
I scowl at him, crossing my arms. “Only because—what are you doing?”
Otto steps into the hallway, shutting his door behind him. He pries the paper envelope containing my room key from my palm, glances at the number written on it, and heads left.
I hurry after him, hissing, “I don’t need an escort.”
“Well, you have one.”
He slows his pace, allowing me to catch up with him. My door is only three down from his. We reach it quickly, Otto swiping the card and turning the handle. He enters first. Annoyance and anticipation kick my heart rate into higher gear as I follow.
“Ireallydon’t need?—”
“Drink this.” He shoves a water bottle into my hand, then heads into the bathroom.
I’m tired and tipsy enough to care less than I otherwise would, but I distinctly remember leaving a mess of makeup and toiletries on the countertop. I close my eyes and chug water, wishing I’d wake up and realize this was all a dream. That I walked straight back to my room after stepping off the elevator.
Otto returns with an elastic and my toothbrush, a neat line of toothpaste already on the bristles.
I set down the water bottle and take the elastic, the fluttering in my chest as I tie my hair back impossible to ignore. I’m not used to being taken care of. I’m always the one taking care.
“Won’t your girlfriend care that you’re in my room?”
I should be more concerned with other people—particularly one of my teammates or Coach Taylor—but I’m not.
“I do not have a girlfriend.”
