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Bill only grins. “I know, kid. I know. And I can see on your face that you’re not over the Barrie job. But that’s not the right fit for you. You’re overqualified to be that coach’s assistant. And like Ron and I told you, we thought you deserved a different position.”
My hands freeze on the laces. “Overqualified?” That makes no sense. Assistant Coach is the next job on the ladder. I lift my head quickly. “What the heck does that mean?”
“Jamie, I’m going to cover your video session, okay? There are some guys I want you to meet. They came up from Mississauga to get to know you better.” He jerks his thumb toward the stands.
I squint at the coaches sitting in the distant seats. “Mississauga?”
He thumps me on the back. “Go talk to them.”
* * *
I get home around six-thirty. When I push open our door, a shirtless Wes calls to me from the kitchen, where he’s staring into the refrigerator. “How’d the game go, babe? And what do you want to do about dinner?”
“Dinner,” I repeat slowly. My head is elsewhere.
“Yeah, dinner? That meal that you sometimes cook but we sometimes eat out?” He rubs his perfect abs. “I’m starved.”
“I completely forgot what I wanted to do about dinner.” I completely forgot everything I’d been thinking about until the guys from Mississauga blew my mind.
“You won your game, though?” Wes says, cocking his head to study me. “I saw the final score was four to three. Figured we could go out to celebrate.”
“Celebrate.” That word snaps me out of my haze. “Yes. Let’s go out. No! Let’s order in.”
Wes tips his head back and laughs. “Which is it, babe?”
“Order something for both of us. Anything. I’m going to open a bottle of wine. There’s something I want to discuss.”
He shrugs. “Anything? Even Canadian Mexican?”
“Anything but that,” I insist as I run by him toward our bedroom. “I’m going to change and open the wine. Meet me on the couch in five.”
“Yes, Coach Canning. Hey—bring me a shirt?”
I’m so spacey that I forget the shirt. It’s possible that my subconscious just wants to skip to the part of this evening where I’m removing his shirt again, anyway. We’re going to have all kinds of celebrations, including the naked kind.
After I set two glasses of wine down on the coffee table, I fling myself onto the sofa beside Wes.
“Now spill,” he says. “Did you talk to Bill?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Wes isn’t done.
“—Did you tell him that you deserved that job? Did he read the story on the Sports Illustrated blog?”
“Wait, there’s a story on Sports Illustrated?”
“‘Family Feud’ is the title they went with.” Wes laughs. “There’s a perfect shot of you stopping my shot. We gotta frame that sucker and hang it on the wall.”
“Yeah. Awesome. Can I tell you my news now? I got transferred. And promoted.”
“Really?” My husband’s eyes widen. “To Barrie? Please don’t say Ottawa.”
“No! To Mississauga.”
“Oh,” he says carefully. “That’s not too far from here, right?”
“Nope,” I agree. “Only twenty-seven minutes down the Gardiner.”
His eyes brighten. He dives across my lap, spreading out on the surface of the couch. “Shit. I got really worried when you said transferred.”
