To my surprise, the Jaguars general manager, Brady Norcott, is sitting a few tables over with his wife and the Jaguars team owner. Norcott is traveling with the team, but I hadn’t noticed his wife was with him, though maybe she just met him here. Pretty sure the team owner lives in New York, so it makes sense they would want to meet while we’re in town.
I make eye contact with Norcott, and he tilts his head up in acknowledgement.
I point them out to Sarah, but I doubt we’ll spend much time talking tonight. I have a good relationship with Norcott. He’s a great GM. But our team owner isn’t very hands-on. I’ve only interacted with him once or twice, and that’s after six seasons with the team.
Even so, it can’t hurt Sarah’s cause to have people from inside the organization see evidence of our relationship. Every person who remembers seeing us together or remembers the night we got engaged makes our case stronger.
“What about the podcast guy?” Sarah asks. “Is he here?”
I take another quick look around the room. “Right there,” I say, pointing at the bar. “Sitting by a couple of Warriors players. That’s Griffin Knox.”
Theo and I have done interviews for Griffin’s podcast, Hockey House, a few times before, and I would say we’re on friendly terms. Enough that it won’t be unusual for me to say hello to him, make sure he knows I’m here.
“Can I get us some drinks?” I ask, and Sarah nods.
“Should we have champagne?” she says. “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”
“That we are. I’ll be right back.”
On my way, I stop and shake Norcott’s hand, then say hello to the team owner. I make a point to mention celebrating with my new fiancée, then I excuse myself and head to the bar.
I lean against it right beside Griffin, glancing over at him before giving the bartender my order.
“Well, if it isn’t one of the Williamsons,” Griffin says as soon as he notices me.
I look his way and lift an eyebrow, giving him the chance to determinewhichWilliamson brother I am.
“Carter?” he asks, and I grin.
“Lucky guess.”
“Sorry about the loss tonight, man.” He gives me a good-natured smile. “You played terrible.”
“Yep,” I say. “Thanks for pointing that out.”
“You know I call it like I see it. Your brother killed it.” He looks around. “Is he here?”
“Nah, not tonight,” I say, making eye contact with the man sitting on Griffin’s other side. It’s the Warriors’ team captain, a guy named Markham.
He lifts his drink like he’s toasting me. “Tell Stone I appreciate him fumbling his last shot in the shootout.”
I cock my head to the side. “Still got a point. And that puts us how many ahead of the Warriors?”
“Six,” Griffin answers for me. “And three ahead of the second-place team in your division.”
“Thanks for the stats, Griff,” I say, patting him on the back.
“For now,” Markham says. “We’ll see who chokes in the playoffs.”
I turn my attention back to Griffin.
“So you’re flying solo?” he asks.
The bartender slides over two flutes of champagne.
“I guess not,” Griffin says, answering his own question. He eyes the champagne. “Are you celebrating something?”
“My engagement,” I say, proud of myself for not tripping over the words. “I just proposed tonight.”
