Page 116 of Perfect Playbook

He opens his eyes again, and I must have such a horrified expression from hearingnothat the man does take a little pity. “Listen, if he has his four player tickets available, you might catch him on the ice for warm-ups. I’ll radio over.” He presses his finger to his ear and asks about the tickets.

The few minutes it takes to receive a response is agonizing.

But it’s affirmative. Before too long, a staff member comes into the hall through a mystery door with no handle. “Hi, Mrs. Hunter?”

“Yes. And our son. And my brother.”

“Great. I have your tickets. I just need some ID.”

Crap. My ID doesn’t even say Hunter. But surely Logan put my name down somewhere? I hesitate, but Marlon comes to the rescue.

“Trust me, Pat. This is Logan’s wife. I can vouch for that.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me, and for the first time since I entered this hallway, I’m grateful Marlon did hear us in that closet.

“If you say.” She waves her hand. “Come with me.”

We follow her through winding corridors and up tons ofsteps. By the time we reach the seats we’re being given, we’re what feels like a million miles away and a stadium of bodies away from my husband.

But there he is. On the ice.

We’re not exactly rink side this time. It’s a myth that players always have the best seats. Truly, we have a great view in the second tier, right in the front row, with an excellent bird’s-eye view, but we’re hardly rink side. We’re not close enough for me to get his attention.

“You guys want to weave down and see Logan up close?”

“Yeah!” Nino exclaims.

We leave our seats to make our way down, winding and dodging. Fans are pouring in like sand into an hourglass, fast and thick. Santi hangs on to Nino’s hand while I stand on my tiptoes to see which entrance is the least full. Everyone wants to see the guys warm up now.

We pass stands selling fries, hot dogs, beer, and then a merchandise shop. I have an idea. Something Logan will love. “Let’s get some jerseys.”

I practically shove my way to the front of the line and buy us all tops, find a marker in my purse to sort mine out. I toss my brother one and yank the other over Nino’s head so fast his hair rises with static.

Santi slips his on more casually and then eyes me. By now, I suppose my desperation has raised his suspicions. “You sure do need to see your husband.”

“Yup.” I take Nino’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Stay,” he says. “Are you sure there’s not more going on than you told me? The way you’re acting has me thinking this is a red alert.”

I play innocent. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m happy to be here, but why the urgency?You know I’m always up for a little mischief, desk life isn’t necessarily my thing, but…” He leans over closer and says quietly as if Nino might hear, “Stay? Are you two okay?”

“It’s about the trade. I swear. I just don’t want him making any decisions without hearing from me.”

“You sure?” His light-brown eyes bore holes right through me. “Because the way you’re acting is, how do I put this? Out of character.”

I nod and smile, but more to myself than to him. “That’s a sign right along with the fear, Santi. You’re scared and acting crazy and you know… you know you’re in love. Now let’s go.”

Unfortunately, my cute idea at the merch shop was a big mistake.

When we enter the bottom level of the arena, there are people everywhere. I worry about losing Nino in the huge crowd. But this is where Santi excels.

He takes my hand, I have Nino’s, and he somehow cuts a rude trail right through the fans, not giving a crap if anyone minds his budging. He’s right, though. Now is no time for manners. Finally, we reach the plexiglass, and there he is. Number nine. My husband. All the women around me are giddy and jumping up and down in low-cut tops, hoping to get some attention. Just then, someone plasters a cardboard sign right in front of my face.

I wiggle to the side of it with what floor space I have. I shout his name. But this is never going to work. The players are so used to ignoring fans on the sides.

Santi has an idea. “Shay, you need to make your way near the player benches. I’ll get his attention.” He pops Nino on his shoulders and makes his way up some of the stairs to higher ground, then lets out the loudest countryboy, cowboy wolf whistle you’ve ever heard. It’s the one he used to blow to bring the dogs back to heel.

---