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"I heard it."

"Did you like it?"

"No."

I come out of the bathroom in a towel. Just the towel. I take my time finding my clothes. I bend over my bag on the floor and dig through it for a really long time, looking for a pair of socks I know are on the top.

Nothing. He doesn't even look up.

I eat everything in the minibar. All of it. The Pringles, the peanut M&Ms, a little bag of trail mix that costs twelve dollars, and I hold each wrapper up and read the price out loud.

"Bus money," he says.

"What?"

"Coach takes minibar out of your per diem."

I look at the trail mix in my hand. Twelve dollars. I put it down very carefully.

"You could have said something."

"I just did."

I lie down on his bed. Right on it, on top of his bag, next to him, on my back with my arms behind my head.

He looks at me then. Slow. Down at me, sprawled across the moose bedspread with my wet hair soaking into his pillow.

"Get off my bed."

"Make me."

He goes back to his phone.

So I start asking questions.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Nothing.

"Boyfriend?"

He scrolls.

"Do you sleep in your pads? Is that a goalie thing? Do you hang upside down in your closet? Is that why you get up at four-thirty? To feed?"

I'm trying not to laugh at myself. He's trying not to do anything. There's a little muscle in his jaw jumping.

"What's your middle name?"

"Get off my bed, Lindqvist."

"Tell me your middle name and I'll get off your bed."

He puts the phone down on his thigh and studies me.

"Josip," he says. "After my grandfather."

I'm so surprised he answered that I sit up.