Page 81 of One Night with Number Nineteen

He needs to do all those after the game things hockey players do.

But…

Just a little more time.

LAINEY: Well, lucky or not, it sure was pretty.

SAWYER: That I’ll take. Especially from a pretty lady.

I giggle.

SAWYER: Sorry. That was too cheesy. Even from me.

I giggle again, shake my head.

LAINEY: I like cheesy.

And I like you, I almost type.

Okay, so I do type it.

But instead of sending the message, I just stare at the words for a long moment.

Then I delete them.

SAWYER: I need to hit the showers so I don’t make the bus late. Talk with you soon?

LAINEY: Yeah, honey. Talk with you soon.

Heart full in a way it hasn’t been for years, I sit back and stare off into space, enjoying the feeling, the excitement…the possibilities.

Then I pick up my notebook and go back to The Book That Shall Not Be Written.

Twenty-Three

Sawyer

We get into the hotel at almost two, and even though I’m exhausted, I take the time to finish going through the contracts my agent sent over.

One of the collaborations is definitely not going to work out—I highly doubt they’ll accommodate the changes I’ll need to make the contract worth signing.

But that’s all right.

The other two I make my way through only require simple amendments.

At least on my end.

Obviously, the lawyers will need to look everything over.

But I’ve looked at enough of these—of legal documents—over the years to have a general idea of what’s going to work and what won’t.

And if two of the three work out, that’ll be a nice padding for my retirement accounts.

Because the reality is that hockey careers aren’t necessarily long-term.

Sure, there are exceptions—the men who grind out decades at the highest level (Smitty, I’m looking at you)—and I’m not planning on going anywhere, but I’ve learned that backup plans are necessary.

So, I’ll keep making them.