Page 24 of Break Out

“Of course. I’m no fair-weather fan.”

“You okay?” Aubrey whispers, leaning closer to me.

“Fine,” I mumble, turning to stare out the window.

The rest of the short drive passes quickly with Al pointing out different places we should check out while we’re in Key West. After I pose for a selfie and sign the Storm hat he pulled out of his glove box, he shakes my hand, and we go inside the hotel.

“Does that ever get old?” Aubrey asks as we make our way to the check-in counter where she greets the clerk and gives him her driver’s license. I’m not sure how to answer her question, so I shrug when she turns to look at me.

I appreciate the fans because that’s who we play for, but it does get old. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the days when I was a no name rookie instead of one of the top scorers in the league who everyone recognizes. What I wouldn’t give to just be normal Brody Thompson for one day instead of Brody Thompson, top five in points in the league last season and the guy who lost his team the chance at the Cup.

Aubrey studies me, perhaps waiting for me to answer her question, but we’re interrupted by the clerk who says, “I’ve got your reservation. Two adults for six nights. You’re with the Fairchild/Daniels wedding.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Good news, you got upgraded to a suite,” he says, studying his computer screen.

“Oh?”

“We have you in a one-bedroom king bed suite,” he says, reading from his screen as he keys our keycards.

“There’s been a mistake. We should have a room with two queen beds. Do you have any regular rooms with two beds?“ Aubrey asks, frowning at the clerk.

He glances between us but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he clicks some keys on his computer. “I’m sorry Dr. Fairchild, that’s the only room we have available. There’s also a note with your reservation that this was done at the request of the”—he mumbles something under his breath before continuing—“the bride.”

“Clara.” Aubrey huffs under her breath. “Okay, thank you.”

The clerk gives us our keys and directs us to the elevators that we need to take to get to our suite.

When we’re on the elevator, Aubrey turns to me. “What are we going to do?”

“It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” I lean against the wall, watching the numbers light up as we slowly ascend.

We finally arrive on the sixth floor, and the door opens. I gesture for Aubrey to go first and follow her down the hall.

At the door she pulls out the keycard and taps it on the lock. With a click the door unlocks and we walk in. Just inside the doorway is a small kitchen area. I’m impressed that we have a full-sized fridge, a two-burner stovetop, a microwave, and even a dishwasher. Not that we’ll have need for any of them, but I suppose it’s nice in case we end up with leftovers we need to reheat. We walk through the kitchen and into a small sitting room with your typical stiff looking hotel couch, two side chairs, a coffee table and a TV on a table on the far wall.

Aubrey sets her bag on the couch and walks into the bedroom.

“Maybe the couch is a pullout,” she says when I step in behind her.

I highly doubt it, but I don’t say that. Instead, my gaze sweeps around the decently sized bedroom. There’s another TV in here, mounted on the wall across from the bed. A nightstand on each side of the bed and a dresser against the wall near the doorway. Off to the right are two doors—one is probably the closet and the other I assume is the bathroom.

“Aubrey, we can share. We’re adults. We’ve been friends for how many years? It’s not like we’re strangers. It’ll be fine.”

“Brody,” she protests. “I’m going to see if the couch is a pullout bed.” She steps around me and walks out the door.

I run a hand through my hair. Why is she so stubborn? We’ve been friends since high school. Surely we can share a bed for a week.

Walking out into the living room I find her sitting on the couch with her head in her hands, all the cushions on the ground.

“You okay?” I ask, dropping down next to her.

“No,” she mumbles through her hands. “It’s not a pullout.”

“Come on.” I place my hand on her arm. “Let’s get something to eat and then we’ll figure out the sleeping situation. I’ll sleep on the couch if you really don’t want to share the bed. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Her lips quirk up. “You’ll sleep on the couch? I don’t think you’ll fit.”