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Martin!
It didn't take a genius to realize that coming to this party was really the last thing on Nicole's list of things she wanted to be doing. Just under 38 weeks pregnant, the only priorities she really had in mind included a couch, a bowl of ice cream, and not being forced to dress up, shove her swollen feet into heels, and walk around a large room and pretending to be in a good mood for a bunch of snap-happy photographers littering all corners of the event. But she was doing it, because there were people around, and now more than ever it was important to be seen and be a media spectacle. With practically half of the British and Irish League's team managers lingering around, it was just too much of a chance to pass up.

She couldn't say she had accounted for how worn out it would all make her, though. The second she had been able to slip away from the talkative manager of the Falmouth Falcons, Nick had quickly beelined towards a chair on the far wall, hopefully out of the way enough to not be too noticeable. She hadn't even been there an hour and already she could feel her entire body screaming in defeat as if she had just gone through one of Finn's famous all-day practices. For someone who prided herself on being strong and fit, it had admittedly been quite difficult to accept these feelings of her own body turning against her and really, the past two months had been the most miserable.

Staring out into the room, she discreetly kicked her heels off underneath the cover of her long skirt and sighed in relief. How long did she have to stay before it was considered polite to leave?