“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 theSports Illustratedblog?”
“Wait, there’s a story onSports 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.”
I reach down and fluff his hair. “This is a good kind of transfer. I’ll miss Bill, but it’s all worth it. Don’t you want to know what the job is?”
He rolls a little so he can look up at me. “Assistant Coach, right?”
I shake my head.
Wes’s eyes practically bulge. “What, then?”
“Head Coach. I’ll be the youngest Head Coach of a CHL team since…ever. Since the league was formed.”
Wes sits up quickly. “You’rekiddingme! That’s incredible!”
“I’m pretty pumped up. I mean—I’m a little stunned. They’re announcing it next month, and then I’ll be splitting time between Toronto and Mississauga until the end of the season, getting up to speed.”
Wes is just staring at me now. “The youngestever.”
“That’s what the man said.” I think my jaw nearly fell off when the coach told me he was retiring and had handpicked me for the job.
“Babe.” Wes scoots closer and takes my face in his hands. “You’re a fucking rock star.” Then he kisses me.
