Twenty-Eight
COACH MICHAELS STANDS BENEATH THE BANNER strung up over the hotel reception desk, welcoming everyone to the NCAA Division One swimming conference, and holds aloft a stack of white envelopes.
As he hands them out, I tune out the accompanying drone of strict instructions – no drinking, curfew is at ten, no leaving the hotel or staying in any room that isn’t your own.
I know the drill. Just like I know there’ll be two names scrawled on the back of the envelope Coach hands me, with two keys inside, yet I still sigh at the confirmation that my request for a single room has once again been denied.
What I don’t know, however, is what the fuck I did to Coach to deserve the surname inked beneath my own. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’
‘Don’t start, Williams.’ Coach scowls at me, and I wonder if this is punishment for my lackluster performance lately – I wonder if it matters even a little that me at half-power is still better than ninety per cent of the people at this damn meet.
‘You have bigger things to worry about than your roommate.’
Actually, I don’t. This weekend is nothing but an additional practice for me.
A dress rehearsal of sorts. Unlike a lot of the students gearing up for a win, I’ve already qualified for the national championships next month.
I could swim blind folded, backwards, wearing a fucking corset to hinder my every move, and it wouldn’t matter a bit. I’m only here for the relay.
So I have plenty of mental capacity to doom spiral about me and my ex’s ex sharing a confined space.
After casting a withering glare at Coach, I scan the hotel lobby in search of my new fucking roomie.
A high ponytail calls to me from across the room, twirled around a slender finger as its owner chats to someone I can’t see, and as I huff and puff my way over there, I wonder how much trouble I would get in if I accidentally took her out with a suitcase to the ankle.
‘Hey,’ I bark, thrusting my key at Sienna without so much as glancing at whoever she’s talking to – and downright relishing the flicker of genuine fear that flashes in her wide blue eyes. ‘Don’t touch my shit, and don’t let anyone else in the room.’
Sienna gulps. Glossy pink lips part, but a baffled scoff most definitely does not come from her.
‘This is a joke, right?’
My head snaps toward . . .
Heath. She’s chatting to Heath. Chatting up Heath, if that twirly ponytail maneuver was anything to go by.
Heath, who gapes at me, slack-jawed. Expression pinched. Brows high and mouth a contortion of confusion. ‘You can’t be roommates.’
‘Why?’ I snap, my narrowed gaze flicking between him and Sienna. What were you talking about? Why are you talking to her? Was that fucking hair move working for you? ‘Am I messing up your plans?’
‘You caught me,’ comes his dry explanation, and I try not to flinch. I know he’s joking. It’s just friendly teasing because that’s what we are now – friends. Friends who exchange awkward, stilted texts. Friends who haven’t quite figured out how to slot back into each other’s lives yet.
Friends who joke about hooking up with other people, apparently.
Yay.
I turn back to Sienna. ‘Be in the room by nine or you’re sleeping in the hallway.’
Heath says my name and my roomie starts spluttering about curfew, but I don’t hang around to listen to either of them. I turn on my heel and elbow my way through the crowd toward the elevators, slamming the button repeatedly until finally, it arrives to whisk me up a handful of floors.
The doors close and my own reflection glares at me in the mirrored surface.
With a huff, I try to straighten out my expression, but that doesn’t work.
It makes it worse. No matter how hard I try, my mouth remains downturned and my forehead still wrinkles in distress, but my eyes, they change.
They go from bright with fury to clouded and . . . sad.
By the time I reach my floor, my eyes are itchy and the back of my throat is itchy, and the rest of my body is itchy too.
I need to get in my room, get in the shower, get out of my damn head, get him out of my head, by .
. . I don’t know. Meditating. Banging my head against the bathroom wall a couple of times.
Raiding the minibar because the last time I got drunk sure did work out well.
Wincing at the mere thought, I yank my suitcase down the carpeted hallway.
It takes me three tries to get the damn keycard to work so I can get in my room, and then I can’t slam the damn door behind me because it’s one of those stupid non-slammable doors, and God forbid a girl wants to slam something every once in a while.
Groaning, I settle for a feeble kick to my suitcase before rifling through the contents in search of pajamas, and mumbling a big fuck you to the dinner I’m supposed to have with the rest of my teammates.
God knows I’m not attending that – God knows no one will miss me.
I’ll just shower and change and order room service, and I’ll eat that room service on Sienna’s fucking bed while I watch the second season of The Rain, because Kai was right, and it is a travesty that I’ve never seen it before.
And that’s exactly what I do.
Robe-clad and sitting cross-legged on the twin bed besides the one I’ve claimed as my own, I’m demolishing a Caesar salad, salmon, and a side of fries when there’s a knock on the door.
Grumbling something derogatory about silly little mistresses and their apparent inability to open doors, I stomp across the room, wearing a particularly vicious scowl as I open the door.
Only it’s not Sienna lingering on the other side.
Jesus. How many times is the universe going to have me asking ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Room service,’ Imani quips, with a wry smile, not asking for permission before pushing past me.
Matilda bounces in behind her, giving me a squeeze with the hand not cradling an abundance of .
. . face masks? I think? And a bunch of other stuff.
Nail polish bottles clank together as she dumps the whole lot on the bed, and I spy a bunch of hair products from the brand I like rolling around too.
Flopping onto her side, she props herself up on an elbow and steals a couple of fries. ‘We heard about your roommate.’
Hip-checking the door shut, I lean back against it, the nervous knot of my hands digging into my lower spine. ‘So you’re here to help me dispose of the body.’
Snorting, Imani snags a bottle of nail polish remover from the pile and gives it a shake. ‘Thought this might help with the bloodstains.’
I snicker, and they do too. Tentatively, I push off the door and join them on the bed, perching awkwardly on the edge. ‘I don’t need bodyguards.’
‘Just accomplices.’
Another laugh sneaks out of me.
‘We saw your team downstairs having dinner,’ Imani explains, surveying a bright pink gel polish, ‘and noticed you were missing, and we figured we’d save your ceiling from that glare.’
I can’t even deny it – I was, in fact, one finished meal away from crawling beneath the covers and glaring at the ceiling until sleep took over. ‘Nothing better to do?’
‘Nope,’ they answer, in perfect, sincere unison.
‘I didn’t know you guys were here.’
‘We’re always here. Kai’s convinced if we miss a single one, he’ll suddenly suck.’
‘You’re his lucky charms.’
‘Exactly.’ Matilda snickers. A second later, her eyes go wide and she thwaps Imani on the forearm. ‘Speaking of. Give her the thing.’
‘Right.’ Snapping her fingers, Imani shifts to dig around in her back pocket, coming out with something that she tosses at me.
I catch it mid-air, frowning for the split second it takes me to figure out what it is.
My face falls as my heart does the reverse, leaping to my throat and lodging there, throbbing.
‘He says good luck,’ one of the girls tells me. I can’t distinguish which one, too much of my focus stolen by an orca with a wonky fin and a crooked tail and a mediocre paint job, a little too big for the keychain it’s hanging from.
Made from the same material as a surfboard, if I had to guess.
My swallow is dry – a stark contrast to my burning eyes. ‘Couldn’t give it to me himself?’
‘He didn’t wanna mess with your mojo or whatever.’
‘But you guys can.’
‘Nuh-uh. Lucky charms, remember?’
My smile is feeble, at best. Rendered entirely too emotional by a freaking keychain, I allow myself a single moment longer of what I can only describe as swooning before closing my fist around my new good luck charm.
Out of sight, but not out of mind, not even when I tuck it away in my suitcase, locking it behind a zipper. ‘Tell him I say thanks.’
‘We will,’ Matilda promises. She looks like she wants to say more – she glances at Imani, and I swear it’s like she’s asking for permission to unzip her tightly pressed lips – but she doesn’t.
Not because Imani denies her permission or because she restrains the urge, but because the beep of a scanning keycard interrupts her.
Freaking activates her. Like a dog hearing a whistle.
Before the door even swings open, she’s on her feet and halfway across the room – before Sienna even trudges across the threshold, she’s practically being forced back out. Popping a hip, she crosses her arms with a haughty little huff. ‘What happened to no people in the room?’
Beside me, Imani mimics that noise, that indignant tone too. ‘What happened to don’t fuck other people’s boyfriends?’
Sun-kissed skin flushes bright red. ‘I—’
‘Not interested.’ Matilda cuts her off with a dismissive flick of her hand. ‘Find somewhere else to sleep tonight.’
Sienna splutters. ‘Excuse me?’
Without even looking at the girl, Imani offers her a wave. ‘You’re excused. Bye bye.’
‘Dani.’
In perfect unison, the girls on either side of me kiss their teeth. ‘Dani isn’t here right now. Dani doesn’t exist to you.’
‘Dani says fuck off,’ I grumble beneath my breath.
Louder, Imani repeats, ‘Dani says fuck off. And I second that.’