My gaze lingers on the tub. Someday I’ll have one. For now, Paige and I just have a shower stall so small I bump my elbows on the wall while washing my hair.
I pick up the towels and I’m halfway back across the room when I see a piece of paper folded in half on the counter. Garbage? I should probably just leave it there in case it’s not.
It looks like a note. I bend down until I’m eye level with the counter and try to peek inside. Normally, I wouldn’t look at a guest’s personal note, but with Jake…I’m just too curious to ignore it.
I can’t read it. Damn it. I drop the towels, pick up the note and open it. It’s handwritten.
Are you snooping, Miranda? Of course you are, because you’re intrigued by me. The feeling’s mutual. I think we need to discuss the sexual drought you mentioned the other night, so here’s my number. I wish we could talk in person, but I’m in Winnipeg.
Waiting most impatiently,
Jake
PS You’re probably thinking about putting the note back on the counter in the exact position you found it so you can pretend you didn’t read it, but what fun is that? I know you’re reading it. So call me.
I smile and set the paper on the counter. Who is this guy, spending the night with someone else and then leaving me his number?
He’s a total player, that’s who. I’m just another piece of ass to him.
I shake my head and bend down to get the towels.
But wait—he said he’s in Winnipeg. Maybe that’s where he’s been all weekend.
I stand back up, my arms empty.
Ugh. I kind of hate that I want to text him right now, but I do. This is how it begins. Smart Miranda, who remembers how awful it feels to be used, dumped and/or cheated on gets overridden by Stupid Miranda, who gets all hot and bothered over some abs and a little witty banter.
I take out my phone and message the number on the note before Smart Miranda can intervene.
Hey, it’s Miranda.
I immediately see the three dots that signify he’s writing back, and my heart beats faster as I wait.
Jake: Hey. I’m at the airport. Flying out for a game tonight. Was hoping to hear from u.
Me: Were you traveling over the weekend?
Jake: No, just today.
Me: Why is your room so clean then?
Jake: U don’t think I can clean up after myself?
Me: Isn’t cleaning up after yourself for mortals?
Jake: Are u saying I resemble someone immortal? Like a Greek god maybe?
I roll my eyes at the screen.
Jake: U just rolled your eyes, didn’t u?
Well, that’s freaky. I turn and look around the room, wondering if there’s a camera in here.
Me: How did you know?
Jake: I just knew u would.
Me: Huh. Well aren’t we just bffs?
Jake: With benefits, I hope?
Me: Ha! Cleaning your toilet is all the benefits you’ll get from me.
Jake: Ha? Wtf? Like sleeping with me is laughable?
Me: You’re an STD vending machine.
Jake: Never had a single one. I use condoms every time.
Me: Still a no. Besides, didn’t you just get laid last night?
Jake: Only if my choking my own chicken counts.
I laugh at that, but then remember how clean his suite is.
Me: I know you didn’t sleep here last night.
Jake: Did too.
Me: Why would the guy who can’t buy his own bottle of Evian clean this place?
Jake: Okay, so I had a little help.
Me: Help?
Jake: I hired someone to clean it, okay?
Hired someone? I just stare at the screen, shocked, before I regain my senses.
Me: Was it my vacuum lines?
Jake: Pretty much.
Me: Really?
Jake: I did it so u could put your feet up and text me instead of working.
I look up from the phone screen and see myself smiling like an idiot in the bathroom mirror. It was an oddly sweet gesture. I’m trying to decide how to respond when another message from him comes through.
Jake: Have to go, it’s boarding time. Text later?
Me: Ok.
—
I tuck the note into my pocket and consider putting my feet up as Jake suggested for a couple seconds. But I wouldn’t feel right about it. I’ll go restock down in the supply room and maybe I can get out of here early to study for my exam tonight.
And maybe I’ll be checking the NHL schedule to see if I can catch a certain game when my exam is over.
Chapter 9
Jake
I listen to my chill playlist on the flight to Winnipeg. This is the start of my routine for away games. I can’t spend any emotional or physical energy right now. All my focus is on conserving myself for later.
Dave Matthews and Ed Sheeran will keep me relaxed for the whole flight. None of the guys will talk to me today unless I talk to them first. They’re all used to my game-day idiosyncrasies.
I’ve got lingering feelings over Tuck’s mention of my mother Friday night. I’m not so much pissed at him for bringing her up, but I’m angry at myself. Also resentful and guilty. Those feelings are a bitch until they pass. I’ve felt enough of those things to last me a lifetime.
Knowing my parents, I have to think they understand, at least in part, why I haven’t talked to them in so long. I just can’t. Maybe someday it’ll change, but I don’t think so.
I’m wondering if I said anything about my family to Miranda the other night. I was a mess and it was weighing on me. I might have let something slip, but I don’t want to bring it up in case I didn’t.
We hit some turbulence and I close my eyes, zoning out to the music. I can’t let anything reach me right now. No stress, no worries.
My mind wanders to Miranda. I probably would have gotten her number from someone else if I’d had to, but I like that she reached out to me instead.
Good thing she’s not pissed about the other night. I wanted to thank her for getting me back to the Dupont, but nice gestures don’t come natural to me. I’m awful at that shit.