“Uh-uh. No phones. This is our time to catch up,” she said, waving a finger in my face. “And I booked us some fun after this, too.”
Oh, Mel. I love her, but I was ready to hang my head over a toilet and take a nap so I could get it together before the game. Maybe watch some bad TV.
I groaned. “What kind of fun? I need a nap.”
“You and Branson,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Those boys nap more than our toddler. Anyway, Branson booked us a spa day. I could have done it alone, but I want a buddy. You can nap while you get a facial.”
I pretended to be annoyed, but time in a nice cool spa in a robe didn’t sound so bad. “Alright, I can get on board with that.”
“Yay!” Mel shouted, clapping her hands as the mimosas arrived. “So, tell me about the party. Any special guests?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Who do you think was my special guest?”
“Oh, nobody.”
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“Sorry. Branson always spills every secret he’s absorbed after we have sex. He’s so predictable. But wasn’t it a nice surprise?”
I beamed. “It was. It was so weird in a way, having him there with all my people from work and comedy. Like, he fit in so well, but it’s just a worlds colliding thing. He and I hadn’t seen each other since New York.”
Mel gave a pouty lip. “He’s so obsessed with you, Kitty. I mention you and he just takes off. It’s the sweetest thing. Hecalled you Aunt Kitty to Gunnar the other day.”
I blushed. “I’ve never even met your child, Mel. What’s he up to?”
Mel caught me up on the ins and outs of the life of a two-year-old. She was one of those easy friends. We didn’t see each other much. Shit, we’d only seen each other maybe three or four times in our whole lives. I felt bad that Guy and I broke up before they got married. She did send me an invitation, but I couldn’t do that to Guy. I knew he was in the wedding party. But still, Mel and I were in synch. I could text her about any random mutual interest at any hour of the day and she’d respond right away like we’d just gotten off the phone. Friends like that are the best. Low maintenance, high yield.
Our spa day was pretty magical. Branson had gotten us each a pick-three package. Mel encouraged me to get a manicure because she’d read great reviews of them, and I added a facial and blowout. Then I wouldn’t have to do my hair for the game and could take advantage of the plunge pool and hot tub in the lounge guilt-free. Mel opted for a massage over a facial, but I didn’t need all that alcohol pushed further into my bloodstream. The day was about recovery so I could be a good hockey girlfriend in the evening.
By 3 p.m., we were pampered and glowing. We got changed and ready in the spa’s dressing room. Mel wanted to be at the arena by four.
“Why so early?” I whined. I was being a real pain in the ass. I was lucky Mel has the sunniest disposition of anyone I know.
“I like to watch them warm up! Plus I like to see all the girls who have crushes on them, too,” she grinned.
“Evil,” I gasped.
“No, it’s cute! Reminds me that I snagged a good one. I need the validation for times when he acts like a dingdong.”
But by some miracle, we walked into the arena just after four, taking our seats on the glass between the two benches. It wasunusual for us to have such good seats, but I didn’t think much of it. We cheered as the Sealpups came out of the tunnel, but as I scanned the players, I didn’t see Guy.
A light panic flashed through me. Was he hurt? Sick? Why wasn’t he out with the rest of the team?
“Where’s Guy?” I asked Mel, like somehow she would know.
“I don’t know,” she said, also concerned.
But then, in a spray of ice, Guy appeared on the other side of the glass. In a black and purple sweater. Like, an L.A. Princes sweater.
My jaw dropped as his glowing grin spread wide. He didn’t have his helmet on for warmups, which I gave him shit about most of the time, but this time, it let me look at him better. My stomach was permanently suspended like I was dropping on a roller coaster.
“No way,” was all I could say. Mel filmed us with a huge smile, as did someone from the Princes’ social media team who materialized out of nowhere. “Are you? Did you?”
Guy nodded. It was only when he motioned for me to stand up that I realized that the shock cemented me to my seat. Someone on the Princes’ staff handed me a box.
“Open it,” Guy said.
I moved the tissue paper aside to find a Princes jersey with his new number and STELLE written across the back. My hand clamped over my mouth and tears streamed freely down my cheeks.
