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.

Violet and Sunny are arguing over what color eye shadow will look best on Poppy. Well, not arguing so much as holding up different color palettes and debating what will look more natural. Poppy doesn’t need to wear makeup at all, and neither does Sunny. They have those natural, flawless faces that look best with a hint of lip gloss and maybe a coat of mascara.