The team plane is nice, with leather seats and just enough legroom. I take my usual spot near the back, window seat, headphones in, hoping to sleep through the flight.
Winnie sits with the staff at the front.
Which is fine. That’s where she should sit. She’s an employee traveling for work, and it makes sense for her to be with the trainers and medical team.
It’s fine.
I glance toward the front of the plane. She’s laughing at something the head trainer said, her whole face lit up. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized Knights sweatshirt.Damn, she looks good.
“Subtle.” Zayden drops into the seat beside me, smirking like he’s just caught me doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.
“Shut up.”
He stretches out, crossing his ankles in the aisle. “You’ve looked up at her six times since we took off. I counted.”
“I was stretching my neck.”
“Six times. In the same direction. Must be a very specific neck issue.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. I shove my headphones on and crank the volume, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He doesn’t.
“You know,” he says, loud enough to be heard over my music, “you could just go sit with her. There’s an empty seat.”
“I’m fine here.”
“You’re miserable here.”
“I’m always miserable. It’s my personality.”
Zayden laughs and finally—finally—leaves me alone. I turn toward the window and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
I don’t sleep.
Every few minutes, my eyes drift open. My head turns. I look toward the front of the plane, find her blond hair, her profile, the curve of her smile.
She doesn’t look back. Not once.
Which is fine. That’s how it should be. We’re not actually together. She doesn’t need to check on me.
But some stupid, needy part of me wishes she would.
The hotel in Boston is nice. It has a fancy lobby, big rooms, and provides robes and slippers in the closet. The team occupies most of the fourth floor, while the staff is scattered throughout the building.
Winnie is on the sixth floor.
I know this because I overheard her room assignment at check-in—not because I was listening, but because I happened to be standing nearby.
I drop my bag in my room, shower, and change into sweats. Team meeting, dinner, the usual pregame routine. I’m back in my room by eight-thirty, lights off, staring at the ceiling, doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing the night before a game.
I last about twelve minutes.
Then I’m in the elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor, telling myself I’m just going for a walk. Getting my steps in. Exploring the building.
At nine PM. In a hotel I’ve stayed at a dozen times before.
I’m an idiot.
