My drunken friends’ encouragement last night was one thing—but Teddy changing my regular room for the honeymoon suite while I’m in the hotel gym? That’s on a whole other level.
You’re welcome, is his text reply to the message I send the guys on my team when my room key no longer works.
I spent the entire last year getting pranks pulled on me—it came with the territory as a rookie—so there’s no reason to assume that my keycard has suddenly demagnetized or something as benign as that. I know my rowdy-ass teammates are to blame.
WTF? I text back, sweaty and standing in the hall, and he replies,
Go to room 2001. 20th floor.
Cursing under my breath, I take the elevator up from the ninth floor to the twentieth, and discover that room 2001 is the honeymoon suite. The irony isn’t lost on me.
