Evelyn and Sheila share a look, then both look at me. Evelyn slides Fletcher’s card off the table and into her purse. The rest of us stare at her. “Oh, let an old lady get a thrill at telling the world a big hot rugby player personally invited her to a match. I’m demanding a backstage pass too. Or whatever it is in the sports world. I don’t have to like his mustache to take advantage of this situation.”
