“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in,” the receptionist tells me. “Mr. Davis did not inform us that he was expecting visitors, and to ensure his safety, we cannot let anyone up.”
I figured as much. It makes sense as I could be anyone, a fan, a stalker, a murderer. If they let everyone up to the players, there wouldn’t be any space left foranyone. “Can’t you call him? He’ll tell you it’s okay.” I hope. He should, we’re friends.
“I’ll try.” He reaches for the phone and dials what I’m assuming is Grey’s room number. It takes a bit, but he picks up eventually. “Mr. Davis? There’s someone wanting to speak to you, and he insists he is your boyfriend.”
Yeah, I had to lie there. I mean, I could’ve said I’m a friend, but I bet everyone who’s trying to get in says that. Maybe a bunch of people also go for the partner lie, but not as many. I think. I don’t know, honestly. I have never put too much thought into all this before.
“What’s your name, sir?” the man asks me.
“Luan Hayes.”
“Luan Hayes,” he repeats, then gives Grey a brief description of me. My hair, eye color, stuff like that. He nods, then hangs up the phone. “Room 305.”
I thank him quickly, then rush toward the elevator to get up there.
Is it weird that I’m nervous to see him again? To stand in front of him again? To be able to smell and feel him again?
Is it desperate that I want all those things more than my next breath, too?
Maybe a little… or a little more. But I don’t care. I deserve this after months of even just getting him to text me back, okay? I deserve to see my friend.
When I reach his room, I take one or five encouraging breaths before I knock on his door three times. It takes a moment until the door opens, but when it does, my breath gets sucked right out of my lungs.
Grey stands before me, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair wet, and water droplets dripping from the strands. I try not to, and yet my eyes wander over his torso, not to ogle him but to look at each of his tattoos. He has way more than I thought he did. They look so random, like most of them were drunk decisions, and still I wonder if they have any deeper meaning. If so, he won’t tell me.
I don’t know how much time passes until I get woken up from my trance when Grey snaps his fingers. “My eyes are up here,boyfriend.”
My eyes snap up at the last word, our gazes meeting. Grey looks a little bemused, the frown only half as deep as usual. There are no signs of a smile, or a smirk or anything remotely close to joy, the only way I know he’s happy to see me is the softness of his voice and the only half-deep frown.
“If I said I was your friend, that guy wouldn’t have even called you,” I defend myself. “Besides, boyfriend has a better ring to it anyway, wouldn’t you agree?”
Grey rolls his eyes, stepping aside to let me in. I didn’t think he would. Yes, I did think he’d greet me at the door, but not that he’d allow me to enter his hotel room. I thought we’d have a quick talk and then he’ll send me back home.
Technically speaking, I could’ve called Grey from my phone myself but I wanted my visit to be somewhat of a surprise.
“Let’s just hope that guy doesn’t sell this information to some news portals,” Grey says as he walks away. I follow him.
“Right, sorry. I didn’t think about that. Honestly, this whole you being aproplayer is kind of unnerving. I never even talked to a professional soccer player before in my life, and now here I am, talking toyou,Sir Superstar.”
He ignores my attempt at an apology, but that was to be expected. “I’ll just get dressed. If you need anything, take it. I don’t pay for any of it, so even if you want the most expensive drink, just take it.”
“I don’t drink,” I tell him, now getting more nervous than I did on the elevator ride up here.
My sobriety isn’t a secret because I am very proud of it, but there are still some days I want to say fuck it and pick up that bottle again. Usually I have my best friend around to stop me before I can. If Grey hadn’t told me there’s some around here, I wouldn’t have given it any thought, but now that I know and he’s going to leave me all by myself…
“There’s water, too, you know.” His eyebrows fall. “I’m not sure about apple juice though.”
“Okay.”
Grey nods and walks away, leaving me behind in a hotel living room, right across from a cabinet that looks awfully a lot like aliquorcabinet.
I’d just have to walk over there, get me a glass, and fill it up, down it and that’d be it. It wouldn’t hurt anyone.
No, yes it would. It would hurt me.
I slap my hands to my head, closing my eyes to concentrate.
You do not need alcohol to be brave.