All in on You

Chapter Thirty-One

Well shit. I can get use to meetings like this.

Until recently, 99% of all events I attended that were described as meetings took place in an office, a stuffy classroom, or a board room. Working with the Saints, though, has elevated my concept of meetings. I mean, I've met with Angelo and Keith at the 200-level of the Maille Arena and led sessions in the Saints' locker room. It doesn't get less academic than that.

And yet, as unique as those were, they don't compare to the meeting we're having now. If you can even call this dinner a meeting.

With the Saints players, management, and coaching staff in attendance, we're a large group. We fill the private room in one of downtown Toronto's premier steakhouses quite easily. I'm sitting between Jacob and Adam, who has Robert on the other side. Across from me—the face I see if I look straight ahead—is Angelo.

My phone had buzzed with a text a few moments after we had all settled into our places.

Angelo: I've got the best view.

I had to play off the sound I made as a hiccup, because a few heads had turned my way. The things I do for this guy, eh? Feeling like a teenager hiding her phone under the table, I replied:

Me: Not quite. There are a few others near you that have about the same access to whatever you're seeing, me included.

It was a fun, dangerous game. And I'm not just talking about hockey. Anyone who captured Angelo smirking down at his phone wouldn't have known what was behind his expression, but I did.

Angelo: I meant the view of you on my bed, naked except for my jersey.

I didn't need to pretend that I was choking because that was legit. We were lucky that the waiter had already come around and filled our glasses with ice water. What I really needed was that glass dumped over my head, but taking a small sip was the best I could do. If anyone managed to sneak a glance at either of our phones, we'd have been screwed.

I could have gone without a reminder of what we did last week while I was sandwiched between Jacob and Adam. But honestly, I don't need many reminders; it's always on my mind anyways. Those soft and tender memories are what got me through these past several days when the Saints were on the road.

And that road trip is why we're here on this first evening that the team is back in Toronto.

The Saints' record over the trip was 1-1-1. Translation: They won one game, lost one game in regulation, and lost one game in overtime. That's not great by any means, and it's a letdown from how good the team had been at home over these past few weeks, but it's not terrible. If a trip with this result had occurred back in October or even January, no one would bat an eye. Well, that's not entirely true. I'm sure some athletic reporter or writer would have something to say. They always do. I digress.

But it's not October or January. It's the end of March. The season ends in only a few weeks. More specifically: Playoffs start in only a few weeks. The Saints haven't punched their ticket to the postseason quite just yet.

Because as good as the Saints are, they're not the only good hockey team in the league. A few are better—sad to say, but it's true—and some are just as good. Robert had been explaining it to me the other day, that it has to do with the way the divisions and playoff seedings are organized. For practically the entire season, the Saints have been occupying a playoff spot. And yet, it can't be official because the teams behind them are so close that in the unlikely—but all too possible—scenario that the Saints lose their remaining few games and some of the bad guys win all theirs, it can get ugly.

I could sense the shift in Adam's energy before he stood from his chair. The waiting staff had just finished collecting everyone's orders, so it was as good a time as any to take care of business.