The lock clicks before I can pocket my phone.
The door swings inward.
A tall security guard in a suit nods once. “Ms. Amato. This way.”
I blink. “Right. Sure.”
Inside, the noise gradually diminishes. Dark wood and low lighting. Polished concrete floors. Hallway walls lined with framed jerseys and black-and-white photos. The scent of cedar and expensive liquor suggests this place is high-end. The guard gestures toward anotherdoor.
“Private lounge.” He opens it. Laughter, music, and female voices spill over me.
Piper spots me first. “She’s here!” Before I can brace myself, she’s hugging me like we’ve been friends for years. “You came.”
“You text like a hostage negotiator,” I say.
“I get results.” She grabs my wrist and pulls me inside.
The space opens up to reveal plush leather booths, velvet chairs, a backlit marble bar, and a long wall of glass that overlooks the premier club below. A fireplace glows at one end. Nearby, a bartender violently shakes a canister while feigning ignorance of eavesdropping. And there are women.
Confident women, beautiful and graceful, move through the lounge with an air of ownership, as if they truly belong there. Piper points. “Toni, this is Scarlett.”
A brunette in a fitted cream dress raises her martini. I’ve seen her in the latest rom-com I watched alone on a Saturday night. Movie-star gorgeous with eyes too sharp to be decorative. “The woman who benched Max Stevens,” she says. “I’ve wanted to meet you for twenty minutes.”
I choke on a giggle. “Good to meet you, too. I’m a fan.”
“Sophie,” Piper says next. Dark-haired, chic, amused. She gives me a once-over as if she’s reading subtext.
“Oh, I love her already,” Sophie says. “She looks like she’d return a car without apologizing.”
“I would,” I say.
“See?”
Piper keeps going. “Harper Knox.” A calm, auburn-haired,tall woman perched on the arm of a chair offers a warm smirk. Elegant, understated, watchful.
Goalie-wife energy. The calm of someone who watches everything. “Anyone who can silence an arena full of players gets immediate respect,” Harper says.
“Not silence,” Scarlett corrects. “Temporary confusion.”
“Same difference.”
It’s warm and loud and I'm already relaxing, which means it's dangerous. Piper hands me a cocktail that’s already made. “What is this?”
“Something with gin and bad decisions.”
“Perfect.” We settle into a curved booth, everyone shifting naturally to make space for me. No awkwardness or performative welcome. Just space made without asking. It catches me off guard more than I’d like.
Scarlett leans in first. “So.” I should’ve known. “What exactly did Max do?”
My drink pauses halfway to my mouth. “Today?”
Sophie smirks. “No. In the spiritual sense.” Piper cackles.
“He interrupted a seminar,” I say. “Repeatedly.”
“And?”
“I benched him.” They all cheer loudly enough to turn heads.
