“Good. You always remember your first,” she says.

I blink. “I’m not thinking about sleeping with him.”

Scarlett laughs, arching a dubious brow. “Did you hear how high-pitched your voice just went?”

“Because I wanted you to know how I feel.”

“Yes, how do you feel after kissing him?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re trying to trick me.”

She laughs, but it’s a reassuring sound. “Fine, maybe you’re not thinking about it, but I’m thinking about it for you. And I just want you to think things through. Just know the score, Nadia. And go in prepared for . . . anything.”

“I will. I promise,” I say, both to her and to myself, and try not to think of first times with Crosby.

We talk more, and she catches me up on life in Paris with the dashing and charming Englishman she fell in love with recently.

“Things are fantastic with Daniel,” she says. “Since we finished our acquisition of the boutique hotels, we celebrated by going to Amsterdam for the weekend and indulged in dancing, food, and all sorts of decadence.”

“Happy sigh,” I say, as she entertains me with more tales of her European life and love. They checked out the castles, took a boat tour, and savored every second together.

It all sounds too good to be true, except it’s real and she worked hard for her happily ever after. Plus, given how her first husband julienned her heart, she deserves it.

I believe that good people do deserve love.

Scarlett is one of the best people I know, and she’s found true love.

Like my parents had.

Like Brooke has with her husband.

Like Eric seems to have with Mariana.

I love that kind of love. I want that kind . . . someday. The forever kind. The true kind.

But not now. I have too much on my plate, and Crosby isn’t keen on dating, so there’s no reason why two old friends who’ve known each other for a long time shouldn’t enjoy the benefits of our friendship.

I say goodbye to Scarlett, determined to be prepared for anything that comes my way.

That’s all I have to do when I see Crosby again. Just be prepared.

I head to the bathroom to take a shower, checking my phone one last time before I get in. A text from Crosby blinks at me.

Crosby: Just so you know, I slept hard last night. It was an accidental sleep. But it was the best accidental sleep I’ve ever had. In fact, I think last night was full of all sorts of terrific accidents that should be repeated.

I practically squeeze the phone against my chest, shimmy my shoulders, and fox-trot across the tiles before I reply.

Nadia: Is “repeat” a dirty word?

Crosby: Maybe it is. We’ll find out. PS: feel free to send me any pics of what you’re going to wear to the event. You know, for my corsage shopping. Think I’m going to get you a new one.

Nadia: When I decide, I’ll snap a pic.

Crosby: Can’t wait.

I can’t either.

I’m giddy and electrified the rest of the day. I return home to finish organizing my new place, including sorting out my little darlings—though some are quite large, big darlings sounds so gauche. Setting down a satiny piece of fabric in my nightstand drawer, I arrange my favorites, then charge some others in the bathroom.

Another mantra of mine—there’s no excuse for an uncharged vibrator.

I learned that lesson the hard way one night when I was craving some time with my favorite dolphin.

He sputtered, petered out, and then went dead.

Never again, I said.

That night, the dolphin rises to the occasion.

Oh yes, he does.

And I’m giddy all over again, and in a much naughtier way.

But the next morning, I’m all business.

As I head into the executive offices in the Hawks stadium on the edge of the city, I sweep Crosby from my mind.

It’s business time.

I’ve got my purse, my ovaries of steel, my ultimate poker face, and my don’t be afraid to speak up mantra.

That serves me well as I meet with my CEO, general counsel, director of college recruiting, and others. They all relocated here from Vegas, but our general manager did not. In the conference room, I set the agenda and expectations for the year ahead, including hiring a new GM—the most important position when it comes to player contracts and hirings and firings.

Then I add as we wrap up, “There’s only one thing to do going forward. The Super Bowl was played earlier this month. The fact that we weren’t there is all that matters. Next year I want this team to be flying to Miami to win back the Lombardi Trophy,” I tell them.

Once the rest of the execs leave the conference room, my right-hand man, Matthew Harris, leans back in his leather chair, looking like a cat who charmed all the pussycats.

With a do-tell grin, I meet his stare, both of us waiting for the other to break first. It’s our thing. He’s not only the team CEO; he’s also a great friend, and the rare Brit who prefers football played on a gridiron. American football.

I drop my chin in my hand and study him, waiting, waiting.

He whistles, then huffs. “Fine, you win.”

I make a rolling gesture with my hand. “Spill. What’s the tea, as the kids say these days?”

“I might have a solution to the GM situation. I’ve got some leads on a GM. Some nontraditional candidates.”

Color me intrigued. “Keep talking.”

With a satisfied glint in his green eyes, he says, “Word on the street is there’s a certain woman who rose through the ranks in Dallas and might fancy a post here.”

I sit up straight, excitement tripping through me. “Kim Lee?”

“The one and only.”

“She’s one of the highest-ranking female executives in the NFL. Hiring her as GM would be a huge coup. Plus, she’s brilliant.”

“Bloody brilliant, some might say.”

“Yes. Get her,” I say, then press my palms together. “Pretty please.”

“I’ll make a call. She’d be fantastic.”

“I’d tell you you’re my favorite person here, but . . .”

He scoffs, like that’s old hat. “I know that already. You tell me that all the time.”

“It’s true, plus you require compliments,” I say.

Dragging a hand through his dark-blond hair, he smiles in admission. “I do indeed. The lifeblood of anyone who is a sports exec is a thick skin and an obsessive devotion to praise,” he quips, adjusting his tie. The man is the definition of dapper—he wears three-piece suits every day to work, and the vest look is just so spiffy.

“Speaking of compliments, want to order some lunch and work on our plan for Kim?”

“As if I’d want to do anything else.”

We order in, devising a strategy, and the focus energizes me. Matthew too, it seems, which makes me happy, since he moved here even though the woman he was dating in Vegas didn’t want him to. “How’s everything with Phoebe?” I ask.

He heaves a sigh. “Good? Sort of? I think.”

I frown. “What’s wrong, friend? Is she having a hard time with you being here?”