I furrow my brow. “To the West Coast?”
“Yup. You need some chill-out time. You can see your family, hang out with me and the guys, come to the game. A whole forty-eight hours without thinking about this job bullshit.”
I don’t know if that’ll be possible, but I appreciate that he’s trying to help. “I guess I could do that,” I say slowly. “As long as I’m back by Saturday for our Niagara game.”
“We fly back Friday,” Wes assures me. “Now quit wasting time. If you’re not at the airport in the next hour and a half, the jet will leave without you.”
3
Wes
“Errrrannnghhhh. Arrrmmmhhh.”
“Babe? You okay down there?” I call down the crowded table.
“Ohhhhrrrgh,” is Jamie’s answer.
Depending on the context, the noises my husband are making might alarm me. But one look at his blissed-out face tells the whole story. We’re at an Oaxacan restaurant in the center of San Jose, with several of my teammates. Since it’s game day, everyone is eating lightly.
Everyone except Jamie. He’s in pig heaven right now. Literally. He’s eating homemade tortillas spread with pork cracklings and bean puree and fresh guacamole. A pile of calamari is waiting its turn in front of him.
And we’ve only gotten to the appetizers.
“There’s no place like home,” Jamie says through a mouthful. “There’s no place like home.”
“Don’t forget to click your heels together,” Matt Eriksson cracks.
“I don’t have to,” Jamie mumbles, taking a sip of beer. “I’m already here. There’s nothing as good as California Mexican food. Nothing.”
“I’ll bet the people serving Mexican food in Mexico might take issue with that,” Eriksson points out.
Jamie shakes his blond head. “It might be as good. But it can’t be better. Seriously. I’m never eating Mexican in Toronto again. There’s no point.”
“Are you harshing on Canada?” Blake Riley gasps.
“Maybe a little,” Jamie admits. “But come on. California is heaven. I went surfing with my dad at dawn. And now there’s a party in my mouth.”
“This really is the best guacamole I’ve had in my entire adult life,” Lemming agrees, reaching for another chip.
I take a sip of the soda I ordered, because nobody drinks before a game. I’m feeling pretty good about myself tonight, and all because I cheered up my guy. Jamie is like a sturdy plant—happy under most conditions, but occasionally in need of some extra sunshine. A trip to California almost always does the trick.
Also blow jobs.
“Excuse me, miss?” Blake says, stopping a tall waitress in a short dress.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“Possibly. But I have a question. The menu says ‘chapulines’ are sautéed grasshoppers. But what are they really?”
The waitress smirks. “Exactly what it says, big guy. Grasshoppers are crunchy and delicious. We flavor them with garlic and lime. Are you ready to try some?”
“Uh…” My teammate blinks.
Jamie raises his hand into the air. “I will. Even if he won’t. Some of us aren’t scared.”
There’s a rumble of laughter at the table. “So will I,” Eriksson says, throwing down, too. “Blake might not be able to handle it, but I’m game.”
“Dude,” Blake threatens. “Don’t give me that macho bullshit. You’re afraid of heights.”