Chapter 5 #2
I roll my lips between my teeth as I try to figure out how to tell him I can't afford a room without admitting I can't afford a room. I might feel perfectly adequate with the money management skills I’ve developed but there’s no telling how someone else might interpret the current state of my bank account.
For the record, it’s pretty dire.
His dark eyes search mine and the spark of whatever I felt as we raced against each other on the path is there. The teasing, the competitive fire, the desire to win. The challenge of conquering an unknown opponent.
"The hotel's sold out." I come up with, not knowing if it's actually true, but wouldn't that be convenient? I wouldn't have to admit I can't afford the hotel room that is normally $130 a night but with the race in town they upped it to $330 a night.
"Fine, then you're staying with me." He says as he reaches across to pull my duffel out. His body covers mine and his spicy scent fills the car. His lean, firm, body barely touches mine in the confined space but I feel his presence like a pressure on my chest regardless.
I blink to process my surprise as he slings my bag over his shoulder and holds out a hand like a fucking prince helping a princess out of her carriage.
If only.
My wits return as I look at his outstretched hand.
"I can't stay with you."
"Why not?"
"I don't know you."
"Oh, so now you're worried about stranger danger?"
I square my blanket-clad shoulders and straighten my spine. "Yes."
"Fine," Miguel runs a hand through his hair which falls loosely around his face and reaches his chin.
He exhales as he looks to the heavens for guidance and support.
His dark brown eyes meet mine, "I'm a forty-three year old professional TP Triathlete who has enough of a moral compass to know you shouldn't be sleeping in your car. "
Not bad.
"Do you have any pets?" I ask because I can’t fold after only one sufficient answer.
"What? Why do you need to know if I have any pets?" His brow scrunches together and with it the lines around his eyes crease deeper. It adds dimension to his face and makes it more difficult to look away.
"Because it tells a lot about a person." I tell him, sitting as tall as I can in my cotton cocoon.
"How so?" The creases of his eyes have turned playful. He’s indulging me and I have to work hard not to crow with pride because I won him over.
I run my tongue against my teeth considering how to answer. "Well, if you have a dog then you're a social person who enjoys the company of others. If you have a cat then you're more likely an introvert who tolerates other people when required."
"What if I had a gerbil." Miguel asks.
"Do you have a gerbil?" I barely get the question out without a giggle. How is this conversation even real?
He just shrugs and the little movement makes him seem much younger than his forty-three years.
But I like that he’s playing along.
"Well, if you had a gerbil it would mean you tend to feel lonely but instead of interacting with other people or making connections you observe them from afar." I see hints of hurt splinter across his face and immediately backtrack. He’s trying to be a good guy here. He is being a good guy here and I’m straight up calling him lonely and self-isolating.
Read the room Laney. Or, parking lot as it were.
"Or, that you love hearing wheels spin overnight and need a pet who can survive a few days on its own when you travel. "
Miguel nods. I hope I haven’t insulted him too much.
"What does it say if I have no pets?" He asks with genuine curiosity.
"There could be a thousand reasons for that. But tell me this. What pet would you get?"
"A dog."
"Great, I'll sleep with you."
Miguel coughs like he has a stack of saltine crackers stuck in his throat.
My cheeks flush a little as the echo of my declaration settles between us.
Well, there’s no going back now. Maybe I can brazenly own my confidence and embody the woman who can share a room with an incredibly attractive man without it getting out of hand.
I’m going to have to keep my wits about me, especially if he decides to pull that hair back into a bun in close proximity to me and my hormones.
But, as a person attempting to finish her first TP full length race, it would seem I love doing hard things.
Oh gods, that sounds dirty.
C’mon brain, help a sister out.
I focus on getting out of the car, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders, and keeping my eyes averted on the off chance Miguel can read my mind through them.
"Do you need anything else?" He asks after he clears his throat.
"Nope, I can come and grab my breakfast, and lunch, from my car before the race tomorrow."
His eyes travel behind me to the two brightly colored boxes on the seat holding my next four meals.
"Is that all you have?"
"Yep."
We turn and walk towards the lobby after I lock the car.
"You can't race on only a granola bar." Miguel tells me.
"Who says?"
"You’ll burn thousands of thousands of calories tomorrow. You need to refuel with gels mid-race. Did you carbo load yesterday?"
"I got an extra shift meal of butter chicken and white rice. I'm good."
Miguel doesn’t comment further as we pass the front desk. I hold my breath hoping he just keeps walking and doesn't test my sold out theory.
"When did you try to book your room?" He asks as we successfully make it past the lobby to the elevator.
"Oh, um a few weeks ago." I lie.
"Yeah, you gotta book rooms as soon as the schedule is announced at the end of the season. I usually book them and then cancel the reservation if I decide not to run one of the events."
Must be nice.
"That's a good idea." I say instead.
We stay quiet in the elevator and as I follow him down the carpeted hallway to his room.
For a fraction of an instant my brain reminds me this is kind of crazy. He’s a stranger, I don't actually know him, but I oddly don't feel afraid or hesitant at all.
He steps into his room and holds the door open for me. I mutter a thanks as I pass him and try to hide the way I inhale deeply for a hint of the sweet pepper scent of him.
The bed is still made but all the pillows are piled on the near side and a fancy memory foam pillow rests on the far side.
His race day items are lined up on the floor under the desk like it’s a transition area.
On the desk his wet suit is folded neatly with his swimcap on top, his cycling top folded next to it, and his bib is already pinned to his race belt next to that.
"Neat." I comment and Miguel just grunts and takes my bag to the dresser.
I plop down on his bed and bounce a few times after throwing my blanket off behind me. "So we're adults and can share a bed, right?" I ask.
"No, you're sleeping on the floor." He says with his back to me.
"What?" I stand and roll my shoulders back in preparation to defend my womanhood which means he needs to defer to me and give me the whole bed if he isn’t willing to share. But then he turns and his smile almost blinds me. His entire face is involved in the expression and lines crease his cheeks. It’s beautiful.
I blush with the full attention of his teasing on me.
I laugh nervously, "very funny old man."
"Don't speak to your elders like that." He chuckles and I feel lightness float through my body on the waves of the sound.
"Oh, so now he's a funny man." I observe as I cross over to my bag for my toothbrush. Miguel doesn’t move out of my way so I am met with a wall of cinnamon I now know comes from the gum he’s chewing.
"I can be funny." He says with a snap of the gum as he follows me to the bathroom. "But fifteen minutes ago your plan was to sleep in the backseat of your car so I figured the floor was still an upgrade."
I decide not to respond because he's not wrong.
Instead, I brush past him to the bathroom.
I shove my toothbrush in my mouth and get to work maintaining my oral hygiene.
Miguel follows, drops his gum in the wastebasket, and lets the side of his mouth lift in a smirk.
He really is a work of art when he smiles.
I battle against my own smile before I glance up and our eyes catch in the mirror.
As we brush our teeth side by side the sound of the bristles grating back and forth fills my ears and then the buzz of his automatic toothbrush fills the small bathroom. Our eyes stay locked on each other in the mirror until I break the connection to spit into the sink.
When I stand and find Miguel's eyes in the mirror again, he's paused his brushing and is just holding the automatic brush against his teeth as it continues to whir.
I flash a little smile and push past him out into the room.
Okay, there is definitely some tension here. I haven't flirted with a man in years, since the prime hours for bar flirting are occupied by food deliveries. And when I’m working out in a gym, guys think telling me how my form is wrong counts as flirting.
Those guys get an eye roll.
Miguel, makes flirting fun.
Testing what gets a reaction out of him is my new source of entertainment.
Plus, if I’m flirting, I’m not focused on the embarrassment of him finding me trying to sleep in the backseat of a Honda Civic.
When he steps out of the bathroom I'm already climbing into bed. He had his charger set up on the far beside table next to his fancy pillow so I took the near side of the bed.
"Move over." He says as I pull the blanket up to my chin.
"What?"
"You're on that side." He points to the far side by the window where his things are.
"Why?"
"I sleep between the door and you." He says as he pulls his shirt over his head. The world transitions to slow motion and I am frozen watching his body move with the action. His torso is trim, his pecs are solid. More ink dances across his ribcage and I want to inspect it.
Maybe lick it.
He folds the t-shirt after taking it off and places it in one of the dresser drawers. When he turns back to me, I haven't moved an inch.
"Laney, slide over."
"Oh, right." I scoot over to the other side of the bed and busy myself getting the pillows switched out. I turn on my side and face away from him because I don't think it's smart for me to be watching him climb into bed.
That’s the type of imagery my subconscious doesn’t need to actually witness.
I’ll never have a dry dream again.
I feel the bed dip and jostle as he gets settled in. I expect a pillow to find its way between us as a barrier but after a minute of stillness I don't think he placed one there.
It feels like an invitation. Or at least, an opening.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"You just did."
"Funny, okay, how long did it take you to get your Pro Card?"
"Two seasons." He says as he rolls towards me.
"Two?" I confirm. Trying not to let the disappointment in my voice come through.
"Yeah, I couldn’t crack the top five my first year. And missed the 8% cut off in one of the races. But I came back the next season and got it done." He rolls to his back and props an arm under his head as he looks up at the ceiling.
His biceps bulge at this angle and my eyes catch their contours in the dim light of the room.
"Is that what you’re working towards?" He asks.
"Yeah, my plan is to go pro and get a solid sponsorship."
"And you’re just starting?" He confirms.
"I couldn’t finish a full TP last year, so you know, tri, tri again.
" I laugh a little admitting it. Gods, what does he think about me?
"I started with Olympic triathlon distances, but, umm, want to push for more." Sure I’m in bed with the man but he is still a stranger. And I don’t think he wants to hear my whole sad story about a sickbed promise to become the best to honor my dying father.
"I understand wanting to push for more." He goes quiet but it feels like there’s more on the tip of his tongue.
I’d bet everything I have there’s whole worlds to be found on the tip of his tongue.
I swallow hard, and press my thighs together hoping to send my body the message about keeping things PG tonight.
"Umm, goodnight Miguel." I say quietly after clearing my throat. "And, thanks."
"You're welcome. Goodnight Laney."
His deep voice acts like instant melatonin and a large yawn consumes me. I curl up into the pillow and close my eyes.
I dream of winning the race and Miguel being there to hug me, a TitaniumPerson, at the line.