Audrey runs up just then, offering to read to us, only it’s less an offer than an order. And I have no problem with that.
The evening unwinds until it’s just family, and then just Mom and me, and I go back to my hotel room instead of talking late into the night because I have an early flight tomorrow.
What would it be like if I didn’t have to get on a flight tomorrow?
If I could be here longer, or more often, or just more regularly? It would be easier to leave if I knew when I’d be back.
Commuting to Vegas would be ridiculous.
But maybe if I could work remotely every third week.
Or every other week.
Or maybe something truly crazy.
Once the idea takes hold, it won’t let go. Almost as soon as I land in Vegas, I text Matthew and ask him to meet me at The Extravagant poker tables. I don’t tell him why. When he joins me and we sit, the dealer sliding out our cards, he doesn’t push for an explanation. He knows I’ll toss the question out to him when I’m ready.
And I do.
“What would you think if we were to try to move the team to San Francisco?”
He doesn’t laugh and tell me the idea is mad, doesn’t grin and tell me it’ll be easy.
He handles my question as he handles all business questions—thoughtfully.
“We’d have to analyze it. Run the numbers, make sure it makes financial sense. But given the way attendance has been going the last few years, this could be the ideal solution.”
It could. The ideal solution to a lot of things.
6
Nadia
The idea might not have been completely insane, but the past couple of months certainly have been. City officials to convince, NFL execs to persuade, players and staff to inform, all while keeping airtight security until we’re ready to inform the press.
The league ends up helping to expedite the move, or I wouldn’t have been able to do it so quickly. My dad had a lot of goodwill banked with a few key people, and it doesn’t hurt that the projected network revenue is in my favor.
By the time I head to New York for the prestigious Lawson Media World Sports Awards, my dominoes are lined up and I’m ready to tell key people so they don’t learn it from the news. So, feeling a little giddy, I shoot Crosby an oh-so-casual, I-have-bombshell-news-to-share text.
Nadia: Hey, you. At the ceremony in New York, do you think you might be able to steal some time for your favorite childhood friend?
Crosby: What? Your brother’s going to be there?
Nadia: Oh, stop. I know you like me best.
Crosby: Guilty. Just don’t tell Eric.
Nadia: I would never.
Crosby: You’re a better dancer. And you did, after all, get my giraffe socks back for me.
I laugh. In the middle of negotiations for the move, I never expected to be ransoming his lucky socks from the ex-girlfriend who took them hostage. He got his good-luck charm back, and I got the satisfaction of knowing the crazy woman was out of his life . . . and that I was solidly in it. That’s what I wanted. Dates would pass through, but friends stuck around for good.
I send another note.
Nadia: Are you going to wear them with one of your fabulous tuxedos at the Lawson Media World Sports Awards?
Crosby: I thought I might wear a Hawaiian shirt. Do you think I’ll make the best-dressed list?
Nadia: I could wear one too, and we could end up on Who Wore It Better?
Crosby: No, we wouldn’t, because there’s no contest there.
Nadia: You think you’d win?
Crosby: I think it would be a crime against fashion and humanity if you covered all that up with a baggy Hawaiian shirt.
Nadia: All that? Could you be more specific?
Crosby: You don’t need to fish for compliments, Wild Girl. You know you’re gorgeous.
Nadia: But it’s nice to hear that you think so.
Crosby: If you were in doubt, I have been seriously remiss. And also, I should visit Vegas again, because obviously I have a poker face to beat all.
Nadia: Whatever. I like your face just fine.
Crosby: Just fine? You’re killing me, Nadia.
Nadia: Please. You drive women to sock-stealing. You’re like Helen of Troy but for sock-nappers.
Crosby: This is why I need you around more—you don’t let me get away with anything.
Nadia: Well, we’ll both be at Eric’s wedding.
Crosby: You’re going to save a dance for me, right?
Nadia: Of course. I think it’s obligatory for the best man and bridesmaid to dance.
Crosby: If it’s not a rule, I’m making it one. Crosby Cash’s Book of Wedding Party Etiquette.
Nadia: But I’ll see you in New York before that for the awards ceremony.
Crosby: That’ll have to do . . . for now. But seriously, you need to come to San Francisco, and not just for the wedding.
Nadia: Be careful what you wish for, Crosby. You never know what could happen.
I’m thinking about those words as my flight touches down at LaGuardia a day ahead of the event. I’m considering them as my car pulls up at the awards venue and I slide out of the back seat, shimmying my slinky crimson dress into place. I’m simmering with excitement as I make my way toward the venue, watching for Crosby among the honorees and press on the red carpet.
I spot him, and our eyes connect. He gives me that devil-may-care smile, and my heart hammers harder. He watches me weave through the crowd, and my skin sizzles hotter.
More than ever, I wonder if he feels anything like these occasional pangs of attraction, or if this is entirely a one-way street. I wonder idly what he would do if I walked up to him, slid my hand around
