32. Amelia
THIRTY-TWO
AMELIA
GE
Me
Perfect! I’ll come grab you!
GE
Sweet, thanks!
What’s on the schedule for today?
Me
I figured we could just hang out?
But I am leaving a ticket for you at the box office for tonight’s game!
GE
I refuse to wear Goldminers gear.
Me
I’d never ask you to!
GE
Glad that’s settled!
Me
Have a safe flight. I’ll see you soon!
“To our badass friend who keeps breaking barriers.” Lainey lifts her mimosa in the air. “We are so unbelievably proud of you.”
“Thank you, my angels. But you’re being far too nice to me,” I say.
“We’re not. This is deserved. You’ve put in the work for an opportunity like this, and you’re going to do amazing things as an associate coach,” Sienna tells me.
“You’re making me blush.” I laugh and sip on my orange juice, choosing the nonalcoholic option because of the game tonight. “That’s enough attention on me. Someone else tell me how your day went.”
“Nothing exciting is happening in the NBA. Some days I think we’re the most boring sports league because you can’t tackle or fight anyone, but then I remember baseball exists,” Lainey says.
“Hey. I love baseball,” Sienna interjects.
“No. You love baseball pants,” Lainey counters.
“It’s so funny that all they wear for protective gear is a helmet,” I say. “If NBA players fall, they could hit their head on the hardwood and literally die. Meanwhile you have the NHL guys in layers of gear to keep them safe.”
“Skates are more dangerous than balls,” Lainey says, and I grin.
“That’s debatable. Sometimes balls are the most dangerous thing in the world because the men they’re attached to have the goddamn audacity to be sleaze bags,” I add.
“To vaginas.” Lainey lifts her glass again. “And women in male-dominated fields.”
“Is tonight your first official game in your new role?” Sienna asks after we clink our drinks together, and I nod.
“Yup. We’re not wasting any time.”
“Are you nervous?” Lainey looks at me. “I know you do this every day, but it’s different now, isn’t it?”
“I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some hesitation, but I also know my abilities. The team trusts me.” I dunk a breakfast potato in ketchup and pop it in my mouth. “The players have faith in me, and that’s important.”
“They better have faith in you. You all haven’t had a losing record since you joined the team, and it’s only going to get better from here.”
“Look at you all keeping track of our records. I’m honored.
” I reach for their hands, holding them in my own.
“I know we don’t do the overly emotional stuff, but I need to tell you all how grateful I am to have you by my side.
There have been a lot of ups and downs in my career, and I’m excited to see what happens from here. ”
“We’re always going to support you, sweetie.” Sienna smiles. “We’re your number one fans. Even if your workload increases, we’ll be here cheering you on.”
“The workload is definitely going to increase. Jude is picky about who is on his staff, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we finish the season without someone in my old role,” I say.
“Can I ask a question you don’t have to answer?” When I nod, Sienna continues. “You’ve been in the assistant role for a while now. Do you ever think you’ll apply for a head coaching position?”
“I want to. I’m close to being ready. Nothing in this league is a sure thing, especially coaching gigs with high turnover rates, and I want to make sure I have a real shot at getting the job I go after. Next season might be the right time,” I say.
“I’m going to be sad when you leave us, but you’re a beautiful butterfly, Amelia. You deserve to spread your wings,” Lainey says. “Even if that’s not in Denver.”
“Let’s not worry about things that haven’t happened yet.” I wave them off. “Back to the good things in the present.”
“One good thing is that summer is approaching, and I need to go shopping for a couple of swimsuits this afternoon. Anyone want to come with me?” Sienna asks.
“I will. I’ve been working hard in the gym, and I want something that shows off my ass,” Lainey says.
“I’d love to, but I’m busy until I head to the arena for our game tonight,” I tell them.
“Busy?”
“With what?”
“Do you have another group of friends we don’t know about, Amelia Green?”
“Of course not.” I pause. Using Grant as my orgasm inspiration during All-Star weekend burns in my memory, and I shift in my seat. There wasn’t a goddamn friendly thing about it. “I’m meeting up with someone. That’s all.”
“Is that code for a fuck buddy?” Lainey asks. “You have been more relaxed lately.”
“There’s no fucking. Only casually hanging out. Send me a picture of what you buy so I can be jealous, please.” My phone buzzes. The alert I set up for Grant’s flight lets me know he’ll be landing in thirty minutes. “I need to run. Love you all. Have fun.”
I pay my portion of the bill and head to my car, putting on a Dashboard Confessional playlist for the drive to the airport.
The weather is beautiful, a bright blue sky ahead of me and mountains fading in the rearview mirror.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, wondering if what I’m doing is totally out of control.
Lainey and Sienna would have flown in to celebrate me if they were out of town.
Having Grant here isn’t any different. That’s the justification I give myself because I’m excited.
I’m anxious to see him and figure out if that night in my hotel room was fueled only by alcohol or something else simmering under the surface.
For my sake, I hope it was a gin and tonic too many. Getting swept up in the excitement of a fun weekend is easier to justify than a deeper meaning I’m not ready to confront yet.
I pull into the arrivals lane a short ride later. I sit up in my seat, scanning the passengers waiting for their rides until I see him.
A backward hat on his head. A light blue T-shirt paired with joggers and sneakers. The shadow of stubble on his jaw and a small notebook in his hand.
“Going somewhere?” I ask, rolling down my window.
His chin lifts at the sound of my voice. He slides his sunglasses off his face and grins, shoving the notebook in his pocket.
“Hey! Sweet ride,” he says.
“I’m driving a Volvo, not a Maserati.” I laugh and unlock the doors, hopping out so I can pop the trunk. “How was your flight?”
“Good. I slept most of the way.” He lifts his suitcase—simple, black, carry-on-sized—and slides it in the car. “Airplane eggs freak me out. I’m starving.”
“Powered aviation protein is questionable.” I close the trunk and head for the driver’s seat. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”
“Whatever you want.” Grant hops in the passenger side and adjusts the seat so there’s more room for his legs. “I don’t want to mess up your game day routine.”
“I’m allowed to have a flexible routine one day in my coaching career. Might as well be today.”
“A fucking associate coach.” He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing tight. “I really am so happy for you.”
He’s already said it to me a dozen times between our FaceTime call and texts, but in the quiet of the car, it holds more weight. It’s the last piece of reassurance I was waiting on to know that I’m really that fucking girl doing the goddamn thing, and all is right in the world.
Two minutes with him, and my confidence is through the roof. I can do anything.
“Thank you.” I don’t bother fighting off my beam. It’s pure, unbridled joy, and I sink into it. I savor it when he keeps his hand in place for a beat longer before pulling back. “I ate a light brunch with my friends so I’d have room for more food. Are you good with doing takeout at my place?”
“Sounds perfect. No restrictions on food, by the way. I love to eat.”
“Good answer, because we’re doing a sandwich shop that’s not quite as good as Pete’s, but it fills the void.” I merge into traffic, heading for my apartment. “I’d be disappointed if you had some objections.”
“Want to know my secret of the day?” Grant asks. “I love the concept of brunch and being out with friends and having a mimosa or two, but I hate brunch menus. Am I supposed to order an omelet? Steak? It’s too much pressure, and I can’t handle it.”
“Wow.” I turn the music down. “I’ve always considered brunch an extension of breakfast. It feels wrong to be ordering something other than pancakes at ten in the morning.”
“Is that your pick? Pancakes over French toast and waffles?”
“Yeah. My dad used to make them for me after hockey practice on Saturday mornings. They became my everything meal—what I ate when I was celebrating. When I needed cheering up. When I was up late cramming for finals and couldn’t sleep. There’s comfort in them.”
“Forget the sandwich idea. Take me to your favorite place in the city that does pancakes.”
“It’s lunchtime!”
“And we’re celebrating your accomplishments, Amelia.” He rests his hand on the back of my seat and touches the ends of my hair. “If pancakes make you happy, we’re having pancakes.”