by Sarina Bowen
“Thank you, Rog,” she said, panting. “I couldn’t tear myself away from the action.”
He chuckled. “I gotcha covered, boss. Who are we bringing in for interviews?”
“O’Doul.” Then Georgia hesitated. A rookie’s first assist was newsworthy. But it made more sense to bring in Castro for the goal, and let the media forget about Leo for a night. “And Castro.”
“I’ll get ’em.” He turned to leave the room.
“Thank you!” she called after him.
There was the usual commotion in the hallway outside the room. Georgia stuck her head out to try to convince reporters to come into the pressroom instead of waylaying players in the dressing room or the corridor. She needed those soundbites to happen in front of the Bruisers logo rather than a scuffed-up hallway wall. “Let’s go, guys and gals!” she called cheerfully. “We’ll bring you the players.”
A couple of heads turned, but nobody moved. It was the same routine every game night.
When O’Doul and Castro appeared, moving toward the pressroom, the reporters closed in with their microphones, hoping for an exclusive comment. The slow-moving parade of journos followed the players toward the pressroom.
Georgia stepped out of the way, allowing everyone to pass her. When the horde was through, she stuck her head out into the hall, looking for stragglers. But it was the usual crowd of wives and girlfriends with VIP access. The locker room door kept opening and shutting again as players came out to greet family or retreat inside. Then Georgia saw Leo emerge for a split second before he was promptly tackled. This time, the tackle did not come from his shrill girlfriend, but from Leo’s mom.
At the sight of Mrs. Trevi, Georgia’s heart tripped over itself almost as clumsily as it did whenever she saw Leo himself. The look of joy on Marion Trevi’s face was so pure and lovely that Georgia felt a tickle at the back of her throat. And there was Leo’s sister, Violet, grinning beside her. Georgia was startled to see how grown up she looked. When she’d broken up with Leo, Vi was headed for her freshman year of high school, and had a mouth full of braces. As she watched, Leo grabbed his sister and squeezed her, while their dad beamed from a few feet away.
Georgia made herself look away. This was Leo’s moment with his family. She stepped back inside the pressroom, where her own father was taking the podium with his two players. But her heart was still out in the hallway.
There’d been a time when Georgia had considered the Trevi clan to be her family, too. She loved how loud and happy the Trevi household was. Three kids. Three hockey practice schedules (because DJ and Violet played, too). A refrigerator full of leftovers, homemade cookies on the counter. While Georgia and her father had always been close, Leo’s home was lively with affection. She’d spent many a happy Sunday in their den watching football, or on the back patio in the warmer seasons. When she’d cut herself off from Leo, she’d cut herself off from her second home, too.
They were never hers, anyway.
Georgia focused her attention on the podium, and did not look into the hallway again.
EIGHT
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6TH
23 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
TOP TEAM HEADLINES:
Brooklyn Falls to New Jersey in First of 3-Game Road Trip
—NBC Sports
It didn’t matter how old he got—Leo was never going to forget that first game.
The memory fueled him through the rest of a very long week. Coach Worthington’s piercing whistle continued to object to half the plays he made during practice. And then Coach benched him for the game against New Jersey.
The Brusiers lost that game, which left the whole team grumpy.
Not Leo, though. Because he had an assist on the winning goal against Tampa. And nobody was ever taking that away from him. His family had yelled themselves hoarse in the stands that night. Afterward, his mom and sister got a photo with his sweaty jersey, reading T R E V I on the back.
And—most important—he’d gotten to show a coach who didn’t want him that he could be valuable, given the chance.
It was going to take a lot more than some more grumbling from Coach Worthington to bring him down. Every hour he spent as a member of the team cemented his chance to stick around. Leo figured that if there was an easy way for Coach to invalidate his new contract, he would have done it already.
“It looks like you might be stuck with each other,” his agent had said, chuckling.
Thursday night they played their last home game before a three-game road trip across the country and Canada. Leo played that game, against Pittsburgh, because “we’re resting Bayer’s shoulder for the road.”
Whatever, Leo thought to himself as he’d tied his skates. If Coach wanted to make it sound as if Leo was just a stand-in, just let the man try to talk him down. Whether Coach was happy with him or not, he’d play his second NHL game with everything he had.
They battled Pittsburgh to a tie. Leo wasn’t entirely impressed with himself. He missed a few opportunities that he should have capitalized on. And he couldn’t always anticipate his new teammates’ moves the way he’d learned to do with the Muskrats.
If it takes time, it takes time, Leo coached himself. If only he had more of it.
On the morning of the black-tie benefit the team had a morning skate and then a good, heavy workout in the weight room. After grabbing lunch in a deli, he went back to Silas’s apartment—he still didn’t quite think of it as his own—and took a nap. While he was sleeping, his tux was dropped off with the concierge of the apartment building. He’d had to rent one from a formal wear company that had come to the practice rink to fit him. Leo’s own tux was in a box somewhere, packed up by the movers he’d hired to liberate his stuff from his place in Michigan.
Padding around the apartment as the afternoon slid into shadow, he still felt exhausted. It had been exactly eight days since he’d landed in the middle of the team’s regular season play. The Bruisers were finishing up a February slate of twelve games, while March promised an astonishing sixteen matchups. Dropped feetfirst into this brutal schedule, he was supposed to get to know his teammates, contribute to their scoring power, move from a thousand miles away, and develop as a player.
He hadn’t managed to see much of Georgia since that chat they’d had before the Tampa game, either. But he hoped she’d be at the fundraiser tonight. He could hardly believe he had to button himself into a penguin suit and smile for the cameras the night before a weeklong road trip. He hoped this boondoggle was going to raise a cargo-load of money for some worthy cause. Otherwise? Not worth it.
And then there was Amy. She’d texted him about twenty times while he napped, with pictures of the pedicure she’d gotten and the tiny underwear she’d found to go under her dress. His heart dropped when he saw those pics, because it was pretty obvious that her expectations for tonight did not match up to his own.
This night was going to end with Leo in his own bed, alone. The end.
If he was honest, it had become increasingly obvious all week that he should have already called Amy to let her down easy. He should have manned up and disinvited her to the function he’d never really invited her to in the first place. But he was trying to be nice. Amy was a puck bunny of the highest order, and a glitzy night in the company of two dozen professional hockey players would be like her best fantasy come to life. He knew she’d see it as the selfie event of the year with the best bragging rights in town. She’d have a blast, and it didn’t have to mean that they were a couple.
But now, squinting at the sexy selfies she’d sent to his phone, staying quiet seemed like a mistake. After tonight’s function, he needed a good sleep and a clear head for the road trip. What he did not need was further entanglement with Amy.
He’d just have to tell her tonight. Gently.
In an hour, she’d pull up outside his apartment building, and he’d nee
d to be ready. On the advice of one of Becca’s office assistants, he’d sent a limo into Manhattan to pick Amy up. When they’d made that arrangement via text, he’d explained that he needed to pack for a week on the road, and she’d said she understood why he couldn’t pick her up in person.
After this shindig tonight, he’d tuck her back into that car and send her on her way again. And there would be no further misunderstandings.
In the meantime, Leo went into his rented bedroom and pulled out his suitcase. It was time to pack.
* * *
Two hours later, Georgia stood in the middle of the sumptuously decorated ballroom at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, surveying the crowd. So far, the event had gone off without a hitch. The passed hors d’oeuvres were tasty. The bars at either end of the room were plentiful and well-attended, but not overcrowded. And the florists hired to turn the hall into a winter wonderland had gone out of their way to make the place look stunning. There were silver birch branches with tiny strings of lights, and glittering snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.
It was magnificent. Even so, Georgia was perfectly miserable.
“Man, there she goes again.” Becca sidled up to Georgia, giving her a subtle nudge with her elbow.
“I don’t want to look,” Georgia grumbled. She knew Becca was referring to Leo’s date. The two of them were out on the dance floor, sliding through a slow, sultry song together.
This was one of those rare nights when Georgia wished she was more of a drinker. She needed something to numb the burn of that woman’s hands all over Leo’s body. Since alcohol in public wasn’t her style, she’d taken to drowning her sorrows in mini quiches and duck confit en croute.
“She slid her hand right up his thigh, and he removed it.” Becca snickered. “She’s like an octopus in Prada.”
Georgia only growled and shoved a mini empanada in her mouth.
“Don’t be that way,” Becca chided her. “The man is grinding his teeth so hard it’s going to leave permanent damage. He’ll have to order applesauce for supper from Denver to Phoenix. All the smack talk she’s been dishing out is getting to him, too.”
“What smack talk?” Georgia hated herself for asking.
“She told Bayer’s girlfriend that they’d been together ‘since college.’ Which is really funny, because earlier I heard him ask her how she’d been since graduation. And that was more than a year ago, right?”
“Almost two,” Georgia corrected.
Becca grinned. “You just gotta see the humor, George. This too shall pass.”
Georgia cut her eyes toward the girl—Amy was her name. She’d arrived in an entirely glamorous silver dress, her boobs practically popping out everywhere. She was stunning, if Georgia was honest. The girl was both tall and curvy, with smooth, bronze skin, shiny hair, and a rather sleek makeup job of the sort that Georgia had never mastered.
Except . . . Georgia squinted. The girl’s mouth was a little too big. And not just figuratively. It was wide. Like a muppet’s.
Ugh. And now Georgia was picking apart the appearance of a perfect stranger, and all because she was hung up on her high school boyfriend.
Pathetic much? Because while Becca might be right about this girl—that Leo wasn’t really enjoying her company—it didn’t really matter. If it wasn’t Amy then someday soon it would be another girl. Georgia had no claim on Leo. The girls would stick to him like flies in honey. He’d had his picture taken about a hundred times already tonight, by both the charity’s photographers and the ticket-holders. Rich fans who’d paid a thousand dollars a head tonight were interested in the cute rookie.
Especially the female fans.
Sitting in Georgia’s inbox right now was a reminder from Hockey Hotties to set up Leo’s nude photography shoot. She still hadn’t asked him to do it. How she was ever going to have that conversation without blushing like a tomato, she really had no idea.
“I want to see you two fight over him,” Becca teased. “You’d go all third-degree black belt on her ass—she wouldn’t know what hit her.”
Georgia snorted at the image. While it was true that Georgia could, at this point in her training, probably break Amy in half like a board, that wasn’t how a man’s heart was won.
“Incoming,” Becca whispered. “Single, attractive yet egotistical defenseman at nine o’clock.”
“Ladies.” O’Doul stopped in front of Georgia and Becca. “You both look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you,” Becca crowed. “You do that tux some justice, too, mister.”
For her part, Georgia bit back another grumpy remark. O’Doul might be handing out compliments tonight, but she hadn’t forgotten how he’d spoken about her at the press conference, when he thought she was out of earshot.
“He has a big crush on you,” Becca said after he’d slipped away again.
“No way!” Georgia yelped. “You’re high.”
“You are the most clueless human alive, you know that? Half these guys are in love with you. O’Doul especially. And he asked you out for dinner last month when we were in Vancouver.”
“Oh.” Georgia frowned. “I think he meant, like, a group thing. There’s some restaurant he really likes there.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “It was a romantic seafood place on the waterfront, and he was asking you out on a date. I overheard the whole thing. Buddy, you are seriously out of practice at this whole boy/girl thing. We need to find you a dojo where they teach male/female interaction.”
Georgia snorted. “Can you imagine the drills? How to flip your hair.”
“How to lean in for the kiss.” Her roommate snickered. “The boob brush that’s so subtle it looks like an accident.”
They both giggled. “Maybe I do need lessons.”
“Just don’t take them from her.” Becca pointed with her drink.
Leo’s date was shimmying on the dance floor, pancaked against his body.
“Damn you! You made me look.” Georgia yanked her eyes away from the happy couple, spotting a uniformed waiter exiting the kitchen, his tray freshly filled with tiny shrimp pot stickers. Come to mama, Georgia coached. I need a fix.
“Girl,” Becca said, nudging her elbow. “Step away from the passed hors d’oeuvres. Why don’t you ask Silas to dance? He looks a little bored.”
Georgia spotted the goalie across the room, leaning against the wall, a drink in his hand. He did, in fact, look a little bored. “His date bailed at the last minute. That happens to him a lot. It’s weird.” And the players were obligated to attend these functions a few times a year, whether they wanted to or not.
“See?” Becca prodded. “He needs you. And what would it hurt?”
“I don’t ask the players to dance.”
“But there’s no law against it, right?”
“Why don’t you do it?” Georgia challenged. “And, omigod, are we fourteen? I’m pretty sure the last time I had this conversation I was in ninth grade. And Green Day was playing in the gym. ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’”
“Good song. But you know hockey players aren’t my type,” Becca insisted. “I like ’em thin and artsy. And don’t go trying to tell me they’re not your type. Because I’m calling bullshit on that.”
Georgia didn’t try to argue the point. “Silas would faint from shock if I asked him to dance.”
“He’ll know you don’t mean anything by it. Just do this, okay? I’ll clean the inside of our refrigerator if you do.”
“Really? Even the fruit drawer?” Georgia had been dreading that task. The overripe mango was still in there, seeping slowly into its own swampy ooze.
“Even the fruit drawer.” Becca gave her a shove. “Go. Before I change my mind.”
Georgia walked in the general direction of Silas, taking her time. Asking him to dance was probably something she wouldn’t really have the finesse to do. She
was technically working right now, and practically everyone she knew was in this room. Too many eyeballs, too much pressure. It was different when she was a teenager. Dancing with Leo had always been fun. But in the past six years, she’d only danced at the occasional wedding. And only with relatives.
Yikes, she thought as she made her way around various clots of partygoers. Six years was a long time to be a homebody. That’s how a habit became a rut, wasn’t it?
That wasn’t a fun realization.
In college, Georgia had played it safe. She’d kept to herself the first year, staying away from strangers and crowds while rebuilding her confidence. Her tennis teammates became good friends, and since they knew the difficult history of her last year of high school, they’d been understanding. Nobody ever made Georgia feel like a loser for staying in on Fridays and Saturdays. And during tennis season, she’d had plenty of company. They all worked too hard to party much.
As the years passed, she stopped being afraid. Georgia felt strong—happy, even. But solitude was habit-forming. Parties now seemed too loud and overwrought. She preferred dinners out with small groups of friends.
Sometimes there were dates, and sometimes more than once with the same guy. But nobody she’d met after Leo really clicked, or she held herself aloof. One or the other. In either case, she hadn’t had a boyfriend since Leo. Funny how she’d never stopped to do the math until he turned up, either. Almost six years she’d been single now. And it hadn’t seemed pathetic until tonight.
“Hi, Silas,” she said, stopping beside him.
“Hey, Georgia. Is there somewhere I’m supposed to be?”
“Nope,” she said, smiling to put him at ease. Geez, was she really as frosty as that? She said hello, and he assumed he’d done something wrong? “There’s no place I’m supposed to be, either. So I decided to hold up this section of the wall beside yours. Just in case you needed help.”
“Ah,” he said, touching his drink to her water glass. “I’m just tired. And the next week is going to be nutty.”
