“Then we need to make it count,” Natalie says, raising her glass. “To Toronto.”
“To Toronto.”
We clink glasses. I lean back in my chair and let the excitement settle over me. Going somewhere with women I care about to watch the men we love do what they do best. A year ago, my Friday nights were spent alone in my apartment with takeout and contract drafts.
Now I'm drinking champagne in an airport lounge, about to fly to Canada with my three closest friends.
My phone buzzes. It’s Logan.
You at the airport?
Me: First class lounge. Harper ordered champagne.
Logan: That sounds fun. We landed an hour ago. Hotel is nice. You'll like Toronto.
Me: I've never been.
Logan: I'm going to show you around tomorrow. I have a few hours free before I need to report to the arena.
Me: Can’t wait!
Logan: Me neither.
I put my phone away and pick up my champagne.
“That must have been Logan,” Harper says, then laughs. “You're doing the face where your eyes go dreamy when you text him. It's disgusting, and I love it.”
Avery leans across. “What face? Show me the face.”
I laugh. “There is no face.”
“There's a face,” Natalie says. “You did it at the last game, too. Every time he was on the ice, your whole expression changed.”
“Tell us about Maine,” Harper says.
I tell them about the house, the beach walks, and the shrimp scampi he made for dinner. I tell them he said I could bring my books to his study.
“He said you could put your books in his house?” Avery says.
“He said I could knock down a wall if I wanted,” I say happily.
“That man is gone,” Natalie says. “Completely and totally gone.”
Our flight is called. We gather our bags and walk to the gate. The first-class seats are wide with blankets folded on the armrests. I take the window, and Harper takes the aisle. Avery and Natalie are in the row ahead of us.
The plane takes off and New York drops away beneath us. The city shrinks to a grid of lights and then to nothing and we're above the clouds heading north.
Harper orders another round of champagne from the flight attendant. “Two hours. Nap, drink, or talk?”
“Talk.”
“About?”
“Tell me about away games.”
Harper settles into her seat. “It was our second month together. The Renegades were playing in Montreal. Cole left my name at the hotel front desk with a room key and a note that said, 'Wear something warm, the arena is freezing.' The room had flowers and a box of macarons from a French bakery he'd found near the hotel.”
“Cole Maddox bought you macarons.”
