“I gotta run. I’ll see you tonight. Have fun today.” Darren brushes his lips across mine in a very uncharacteristic public display of affection.

I stare after him as he heads for Alex, who throws his hand up in the air. All I catch is “What the fu—” before the doors close and cut him off.

Darren holds up a hand, probably telling him to settle down. He claps him on the back and Alex shakes his head, shoulders rolling as he turns and climbs onto the bus. Darren looks over his shoulder as he brings two fingers to his lips and holds them up in my direction.

I smile until I realize it’s the fingers that were inside me not that long ago—the same ones that did not provide me with an orgasm. As my grin falls, his rises. And then he disappears onto the bus.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I turn to the girls, ready to issue a somewhat insincere apology for holding them up. They’re all staring at me, eyes wide.

“What?” I touch my face and pat my hair, making sure it’s not all messed up.

“What the hell was that?” Violet makes wild hand gestures.

“What was what?” Why are they all looking at me like I’ve grown another head? I look down to make sure I’m not flashing a nipple or have a wet spot on my crotch.

“I didn’t think Darren was big on PDAs,” Violet says.

I shrug. “He usually isn’t.” Until now, I guess.

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Sunny says, rubbing her bump. “Can we get something to eat before we go shopping? I’m starving.”

I’m grateful that she takes the attention off me.

“I second that!” Violet says, and we pour out onto the Toronto street.

We stop at a breakfast place that has vegan options. Violet orders a full breakfast and a side of bacon and devours everything. We stroll down the street, stopping at a candy store, and then of course we find a sex shop, so it’s imperative that we go inside, at least according to Violet and Skye.

Violet’s eyes light up as she rummages through the penis-themed party favors. “Oh! Poppy, we need to start planning your bachelorette party!”

“I don’t think that’s necessary quite yet since we’re not getting married for at least another year, maybe two, depending.”

“Unless Lance knocks you up,” Lily wags her brows.

Poppy rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to knock me up. I’m on the pill.”

Sunny raises her hand. “I was on the pill, and I got knocked up.”

“Yeah, but you were on antibiotics and forgot that makes the pill ineffective,” Lily reminds her.

“Oh, right. Oh well, at least this time around it was planned. Might as well have them all now so they can grow up together.” She pats her tummy.

Lily smiles softly, but there’s a sadness there, too. Her mom got pregnant by an NHL player when she was eighteen. He took zero responsibility and never paid a dime in child support. Randy’s dad, a former NHL player, had a bad habit of sleeping with women who weren’t his wife while he was on the road.

While Lily and Randy seem to have a great relationship, they’re both a little skittish about marriage and kids. She’s still young and not in a rush to start a family of her own, but I think part of her is sad that if she does end up having kids, they’ll be much younger than Sunny’s.

I can relate, I guess—not that I want to get married and have kids. I mean, I guess maybe I would eventually consider the kid part, but marriage seems a lot like a prison sentence from my experience growing up.

On the way back to the hotel, we’re forced to stop again because Sunny needs more food. The game doesn’t start until seven, but we arrive back at the hotel around four in the afternoon. It appears housekeeping has been by to tidy up, and Darren has come and gone. On the bed is huge black box tied with a red ribbon and a small black card with my name written on it in silver ink.

The ache between my legs that finally dulled into something tolerable this afternoon becomes sharp again as I consider the contents of the box.

I’d message Darren, but I don’t like to distract him before games. I pick up the card and flip it open.

I shiver at the memory of what he said this morning when he left me hanging. It’s been a long time since he’s brought me to the edge like that—twice even—and kept me wanting all day. What if it’s some kind of sex toy in there? How the hell am I going to make it through the rest of the night without an orgasm?

I’m still standing at the edge of the bed, staring at the box, when there’s a knock at my door.

I glance through the peephole, thinking maybe he organized room service—which is totally something he would do—except it’s Violet standing in the hall with the rest of the girls.

I flip the lock and open the door. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“We’re getting ready for the game, and you weren’t answering your messages, so we all came to you,” Violet replies.

They file into the room toting bags. Lily has champagne, and Sunny is carrying a bottle of that sparkling grape juice she’s in love with.

All of them are already dressed and ready for the game, wearing their jerseys and leggings.

“Ooooh! You have a present!” Violet picks up the box and shakes it around. It doesn’t make a sound, so clearly there’s nothing metal in it. She thrusts it at me. “Open it!”

“Uhhhh . . .” I look around at their expectant faces.

“Oh, come on, we already know you and Darren aren’t nearly as freaky as you pretend to be. How bad could it be?” Violet reasons.

“Remember you said that if it’s something you don’t expect.” I take the box from her.

“You don’t have to open it in front of us if it makes you uncomfortable,” Poppy says softly.

I wonder if it makes her uncomfortable. She was pretty quiet when we were at Sexapalooza, and she mostly looked at the funny condoms when we were in the sex shop. For as horrible a reputation as Lance had with women, he’s incredibly tender with Poppy. He treats her like she’s a delicate flower, even though I think she’s kind of a badass with the way she handles him.

I take a seat on the end of the bed and pull the red ribbon, then nervously flip open the box. I press my fingers to my lips and suppress a grin. Now the note card makes more sense.

Inside is a brand new jersey to replace the one I’ve had for nearly two years. There’s also a pair of leggings covered in a team logo and WESTINGHOUSE 26 pattern. He even went so far as to get matching socks. But it’s what I find under the jersey and leggings that makes me fight back a thick swell of foreign emotion. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry.

I pick up the small card sitting on top of the bra and panties set and flip it over.

I run my fingers over the pretty pale yellow cheekies, edged in lace and decorated with not only the Chicago logo, but a tiny firefly print. I have a feeling they might be glow in the dark. I flip them over and laugh. They read WESTINGHOUSE on the butt. The bra is the same fabric, minus the text.

“He really is sweet, isn’t he?” Poppy says.

“He is,” I agree.

He’s always been big on gift giving. Mostly it’s been lingerie and sometimes more practical things, like upgrading the alarm system in my house and buying me that reading chair. But these kinds of gifts are new. And I think I like it, even though it scares me. I should be bracing myself for the possibility that he’s going to be traded at the end of the season, not holding on tighter.

“You look like you might need this.” Lily hands me a glass of champagne, which I gladly accept.

I take a small sip at first, then a much larger one since it’s so delicious, and she’s right. I do need it. This whole coming to away games with Darren isn’t new. I’ve been invited plenty of times. It’s how the dynamics have changed that’s freaking me out.

I’ve always come prepared and with a plan. Or Darren has mentioned specific lingerie or toys he’d like me to bring. This time he offered to pack the leggings and shirts he purchased and keeps at his place—in the third drawer he cleared out for me. The first and second contain all the lingerie he or I have purchased over the past two years.

I chug the rest of my champagne and head to the bathroom so I can freshen up a little and change before I start the whole makeup process. The bra and panty set are adorably perfect. If I’d brought my phone in with me I’d consider taking a selfie and sending it to Darren, but that’s not something I’ve done before, and I’m not sure if he’d appreciate it or be put off by it. Besides, I have a feeling it will be more impactful if he sees this on me in person.

When I come out of the bathroom, fully dressed in my brand new, freshly washed outfit—I know this because the clothes smell like Darren’s laundry detergent—Lily hands me another glass of champagne.