Page 69 of Icing the Enemy

The commercial shoot lasts four hours. Asking dogs to act that aren’t trained can be cumbersome, but they’re actual dogs that have been rescued from dog fighting gambling rings. Capone, a Boxer, is aggressive but eventually, I get him to settle down. He sits in my lap, and we film the public service announcement.

I went out to eat with a friend who played with me my first year on the Notes, and he now plays for the Los Angeles Vipers. His wife stops by and congratulates me on my marriage. It reminds me to text Oakley.

Me: Still awake?

Minutes later, she hasn’t answered, so I send a selfie with my friends.

Still nothing, but I realize she’s probably asleep. It’s eleven here but one in the morning in Nashville.

Me: I hope my wife is sleeping well. Text me when you wake up.

I have my notifications from Oakley set so that no matter what time she texts, it playsMy Girl, by the Temptations. At six in the morning, the song plays.

Oakley: Slept on your pillow. It smells like you. Getting in the shower, then packing, taking Dixie to the shelter, and going to the airport. Miss you.

A goofy grin takes over my face. If I smile any bigger, my ears may end up on top of my head. I’m hoping we’re on the same page. I don’t know if she’ll want to give up her trust fund or not, but I’m giving her the option.

Me: Miss you. It means a lot to me that you’re coming.

I begin my morning with a run in the hotel fitness center, and Oakley messages me back.

Oakley: First Class, baby!

She’s attached a picture of her in the seat, holding a flute of orange juice. But I have a sneaking suspicion it’s a mimosa.

Me: Only the best for my wife.

After showering and grabbing breakfast in the hotel restaurant, I catch the plane to Florida. Oakley doesn’t answermy text, so I assume she’s still in flight. My hope is that I’ll get there in time to see her before heading to the Panthers arena. I’ll play better if I can get this weight off my chest and tell her how my feelings have always been real, and I want to have a real marriage.

I know Oakley liked the sex and that may be what it is for her—just sex or just the arrangement. My palms sweat, the entire four-hour plane ride.

When the plane lands, I have three hours before I have to be at the arena. Luckily, this private charter lands at the private airport, where the general manager, Kyle, takes me to the hotel. That’s what I call five-star service.

I check in at the hotel desk, and the man working informs me that my wife has checked in. He gives me a key to the presidential suite, and I take the private elevator. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I take a deep breath and hope Oakley feels the same way I do. The door clicks to unlock, and I step inside. “Oakley.”

Maybe she’s taking a nap, or she went to explore the hotel. I drop my bag and realize there’s a postie note on the floor, then I see a trail of them. I bend down, picking up each one and reading them as I take another step.

I missed you.

Ten notes closer.

Thanks for asking me to come. (She drew a smiley face.)

Eight notes closer to me.

I hope you ask me again.

Six notes closer to me.

You’re amazing.

Four notes closer to me.

And Hot! (She drew a fire, and I can’t help but chuckle.)

Two notes closer to me.

Open the door.

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