by Sarina Bowen
He sighed, then set the paper down on the table, which was now rattling as they went airborne. “Tell you what. We both know my agent would spank me for signing anything without getting his eyes on it first. But we don’t need this piece of paper.”
“We don’t?”
Leo shook his head. “If Coach gives me a fair shake, treats me like the rest of his players, and doesn’t trade my ass, then this conversation is moot.”
The GM gave a slow blink. “Are you blackmailing Coach Worthington? If he trades you, then you’ll sue?”
“No,” Leo argued. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I don’t want lawyers, I want to skate. And I want the same shot as every other guy on the plane. It’s not that complicated.”
Hugh surprised him by smiling suddenly. “Good answer, kid.”
Coach Karl said nothing.
Leo shouldered his duffel bag. Then he took the pastry bag and the Starbucks cup. Because good coffee was good coffee, even if assholes gave it to you. “We’re done here, right?” He looked at his coach, who only stared back at him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Thank you.” Leo got up and slid the door open with his index finger, ducking carefully out of the little room. The jet was still gaining altitude, so he held the ceiling with his pastry bag hand and carefully eased down the aisle. When he got to the row where Georgia sat, the seat beside her was still empty. Feeling the eyes of nearby teammates on him, he slid into it and fastened his seatbelt. Beside him, Georgia looked with a steadfast gaze out the window at the hazy white sky.
He opened the bakery bag and pulled out the pastry. He hadn’t had one of these for years. His mouth watered just looking at the flaky thing on the sheet of waxed paper. “Georgia,” he whispered.
“What?” she whispered back.
“Any idea why your father gave me a punch in the face and then an apple turnover?”
“Nope.”
“Was this supposed to be for you?” he asked. “You always liked filled things.”
“What?” She finally turned her heart-shaped face toward his. It was hard to be angry when those clear eyes were looking at him.
“Filled things,” he repeated. “Turnovers. Samosas. Dumplings.”
She swallowed. “You’re killing me right now.”
He grinned, nudging the pastry. “Halfsies?”
Slowly, Georgia nodded.
Leo folded the waxed paper carefully around the pastry then tugged it in half. He picked up one of the pieces himself, then placed the other on the white bakery bag and slid it onto Georgia’s tray table.
They ate in absolute silence. Chewing was uncomfortable for Leo, as it made his jaw ache. But the pastry made it worthwhile. Reinwald’s was a bakery about a mile from their high school. It opened at six thirty in the morning, so a guy could get a donut even before an early practice. After Georgia had been attacked, he’d gone there every day after school on his way to Georgia’s. He’d choose whatever cupcake or cookie had the best chance of making her smile.
Those were grim days, before she was ready to go back to school. Before the cuts on her face had healed. She wouldn’t talk about it, either. A couple of times he’d tried to get her to open up about her attack, but she’d only change the subject.
So he brought her a cupcake every day for two weeks until she complained that she was going to get fat. That was such an unGeorgialike thing to worry about that it felt like a slap in the face.
But Leo didn’t give up on her. Not ever. Instead of treats, he’d switched to bringing her funny videos on his phone. That hadn’t worked so well, either. But he’d tried.
He would have waited forever to see her smile at him again, but she didn’t give him the chance.
Leo looked down to find that he’d balled up the empty white bag and was squeezing it so hard that his knuckles were white. Funny thing—he hadn’t realized that after all this time he was still angry. What was the point of that? It was a long time ago. And he knew Georgia had had her reasons. He’d known it even then, but he’d still been mad.
“Does it hurt?” Georgia asked suddenly.
Hell yes, he nearly answered. But then he realized she was referring to his face, not his heart. “It’s fine. Looks worse than it is.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He turned to look at her, forcing her to do the same. Georgia’s sweet eyes were so tentative. He hated that. They never used to be uncomfortable with each other. Not Georgia and Leo. That’s not how it was supposed to be. “I’m sorry, too,” he said finally. “I’ll bet you wish your father would hurry up and trade my ass.”
For a moment, she didn’t say anything. “I want you to get your shot, Leo. You deserve it.”
“Guess I shouldn’t kiss the boss’s daughter, then.”
She gave him a small, secret smile. “I guess you’d better not.”
There it was. The rejection. Ouch. Kissing her like that had been a loopy thing to do, though. Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way—he was lucky Georgia hadn’t hit him herself. Just like his gaffe at the press conference, it was a dumb-ass, hotheaded thing to do. “Lesson learned,” he said, keeping his tone ten times lighter than he really felt.
Georgia turned to look out the window again. As she did, he could swear she looked a little disappointed. But that was probably only wishful thinking.
ELEVEN
A six-day road trip with Leo aboard? Pure torture.
Even worse—they’d been assigned adjacent rooms at the first hotel in Denver. After a noon skate, the team went back to the hotel to rest. Georgia spotted Leo from the end of the hallway, letting himself into what turned out to be room 614. But the time she passed his door, it was already closed.
But she was hyper aware of him during her short stay in room 615. Georgia used the hour of downtime to return some e-mail. Sitting against the headboard, her computer in her lap, she couldn’t stop listening to the stillness of the room beside hers, wondering if he was stretched out on the bed . . .
Gah. An overactive imagination was not what she needed right now.
But it was all too easy to imagine Leo on a hotel bed. The fall of their senior year in high school, Leo had been so bold as to reserve a room for the two of them on homecoming night. They couldn’t sleep there, of course. Neither her dad nor Leo’s parents would have allowed it. But they left the dance early, sneaking out the side door of the gym so that their friends wouldn’t complain that they’d ditched. That had given them three unforgettable hours before curfew.
They’d barely made it inside the room at the Motor Inn before they were all over each other. Leo had pushed her up against the door, his hard body demanding her attention, his mouth all over her. Maybe it was the unaccustomed privacy. Maybe it was their eighteen-year-old hormones. But the two of them had been wild that night. She’d removed his tie with feverish fingers, and he’d unzipped her dress as if it was on fire.
Stumbling out of their clothes, they’d barely made it onto the bed before Leo was inside her. When he’d pinned her hands to the bedspread, she’d moaned loudly enough to be heard across the Long Island Sound. There was no shyness between them—only loud, encouraging gasps.
Looking back, it was astonishing how utterly unselfconscious Georgia had been in her foolish youth. After a couple of minutes of eager thrusting, he’d rolled the two of them over, leaving her on top. “I’ll last longer,” he’d panted. “Ride me.”
She had, while he watched with a sexy gleam in his eyes, his hands cupping her breasts, his full lips muttering dirty, encouraging words. Then he’d skimmed a hand down her belly, lowering his fingertips right to . . .
Arrrrrgh. Georgia stared, unseeing, at the same paragraph she’d been trying to write for ten minutes. She wasn’t getting any work done. So she gave up and went to take a shower, instead.
* * *
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That night, the team doctor benched Leo just as a precaution. Georgia watched his face fall when the doctor delivered the verdict. “We can’t have you take a hit tonight and develop symptoms of concussion,” he’d stressed. “One night of caution is crucial.”
Leo watched the game from a seat behind the penalty box, his jaw set tightly. Georgia could see his displeasure all the way from the press box. The team won 2–1 with a lucky breakaway in the third period, which Denver couldn’t answer in the remaining two minutes of the game.
Afterward, while Georgia was handling the reporters who had waited to get a few minutes with O’Doul, Leo slipped away with some teammates, probably to a bar.
That night Georgia lay awake in her hotel room bed. Sleep wouldn’t come to her because Leo hadn’t returned to the hotel yet. It was past midnight. Where was he? She pictured him in a club somewhere, dancing with a female fan. Maybe the girl invited him over . . .
She rolled over, annoyed. Torturing herself was not healthy, damn it. And maybe he’d snuck in and gone to sleep next door. Maybe she was killing herself for nothing.
Finally she heard the click of his hotel room lock and the closing of the door again. Feeling like the worst kind of snoop, Georgia held her breath, listening. To her immense relief, there were no voices. Leo had come back alone. And after some plumbing sounds, she heard the television. She fell asleep to the voice of a late night comedian.
* * *
The next morning, the team decamped for Phoenix.
After a full practice at the arena, they checked into another hotel. This one lay on sprawling grounds and boasted several swimming pools. It was forty degrees warmer here than in Brooklyn.
But again she and Leo had adjoining rooms. There were two differences. This time, they were on the eleventh floor. And this time Leo noticed. “Hi, neighbor,” he said mildly as they opened their side-by-side doors.
“Hey there.” She swiped her key card and pushed into her hotel room, her heart dancing the cha-cha. The universe was clearly out to make her crazy.
Or maybe it wasn’t the universe’s fault.
Georgia dropped her rolling duffel. Grabbing her phone, she tossed her handbag on the bed. Then she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Her roommate answered on the first ring. “George! Are you enjoying your hotel stays so far?”
“Becca!” she hissed. “Do you monkey with the hotel room reservations after the travel team makes them?”
“I put my hand in from time to time.” She giggled.
“Make it stop! You’re killing me.”
Becca got quiet. “Why, sweetie? I just wanted to give you an opportunity to talk to him. I think you need to.”
After checking to make sure that the lid was down, Georgia sat down on the toilet. “Bec, I could talk to him without even opening the door. It’s weird to listen to him on the other side of the wall. Last night I was worried he’d bring a puck bunny home and I’d have to listen.”
“Ugh,” Becca said. “I didn’t think of that. Is he the type?”
“Like I’d know? People change, Bec. It’s been six years.”
“Yeah? So how have you changed in six years?”
Georgia snorted. “My jokes are better now.”
“Really? They must have been pretty scary before.”
“I set that one right up for you, didn’t I?”
“Yup. And I appreciate it.”
There was a comfortable silence for a moment before Becca spoke again. “Before, when it was easy to talk to Leo, what was your currency?”
“Our what?”
“Your currency. The little things you shared. You and I have a currency—it’s trash TV and dumplings on the coffee table. What did you have with Leo?”
“A whole lot of sex,” Georgia said immediately.
Becca let out a dreamy sigh. “While that does sound amazing, it couldn’t have been the only thing. The day is long.”
“I’ll have to think about it. I’ve spent a long time trying not to remember all the little things.”
“Why?”
She was going to make Georgia say it out loud. “Because I have always regretted it, okay? Breaking up with him was something I did because I had to. Not because I didn’t love him.”
“Oh, man,” Becca said, and Georgia could picture her shaking her head. “You still love him, don’t you?”
“I don’t know about that.” Liar.
“When you got on the jet and saw his face, how did you feel?”
“Lousy,” she said immediately. “Is it awful that I just don’t even want to be friends? That sounds childish, but it’s so hard to look at him and not remember so many things. He was there when I was the happiest I’ve ever been. And then he was there for the aftermath of the worst days of my life.”
“That’s a pretty potent combination. No wonder you’ve been acting a little cray cray.”
“Have not.”
“Have so. I watched you put six pairs of shoes and four dresses into your suitcase. I didn’t think you owned six pairs of shoes.”
Georgia only grunted. Her roommate was entirely too observant.
“Go hit some balls, babe. The hotel you’re staying in right now is next door to a tennis club. Lessons are only thirty bucks. I picked that hotel for you.”
“Omigod.” Georgia laughed. “So you can be helpful.”
“You have no idea. Now go burn off some of the Thai food the team is having for dinner later. I picked that for you, too. There are four different dumplings on the menu.”
“I take back all the nasty things I said about you.”
“Go already.”
Georgia did as she was told. She made an appointment with a tennis pro for half an hour later. Then she took out her computer and tried to catch up on those e-mails.
TWELVE
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 8TH
21 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
PHOENIX, ARIZONA
TOP TEAM HEADLINES:
Scrappy Brooklyn Team Breaks Our Spree. Meanies.
—Denver Sports Network
Leo lay on the bed in his hotel room and tried to rest. But there were several things on his mind that were making it impossible.
The doctor had finally cleared him to play tomorrow night. Yet Coach Karl had not weighed in yet. He knew that bastard wouldn’t, either. Not until Leo had suffered through the next twenty-four hours, wondering what would happen. He just knew he’d be made to wait.
So that was fun.
The other bramble in his side was the fact that Georgia was right next door. And that was just weird. There was a wall between them. A fucking metaphor if there ever was one.
He picked up his phone, which had a new text from his brother DJ. Did Karl seriously punch you? Please tell me Twitter is wrong.
Leo tapped his brother’s name and then hit Call. When his brother picked up, he said, “It’s actually true. I have a bruise the size of Montana on my jaw.”
“Chicks dig that,” DJ joked.
“Hope you’re right.”
“But, Jesus. What did you do to make him so mad?”
Leo was thoroughly sick of this question. “Big picture? No idea. But that night was a shit show. First I told Amy that we weren’t getting back together. She made a big scene. Go ahead. You can say I told you so. I won’t even get mad.”
DJ just laughed. “I’m going to take the high road here, but only because you finally manned up and sent her packing.”
Leo grunted unhappily. “So that was fun. And then Georgia started in on me for making a scene. She got all fiesty . . .” Leo could still picture that fiery look in her eye. Hell. He’d kiss her again right now for it. Some lessons just couldn’t be learned, even with a punch to the face. “And then I . . .”
“What?” DJ a
sked.
“I . . . I kissed her. Planted one right on her to shut her up.”
His brother erupted with laughter. “Smooth, slick.”
“Right? And that’s when Coach tried to take my head off in front of three hundred people.”
“Man, I miss all the good shit,” DJ complained. “I’m coming to a home game in a couple weeks. Make sure it’s eventful.”
“No can do,” Leo grumbled. “I’m done making waves. Gonna keep my head down and score some goals from now on. Lesson learned.”
“Nah,” DJ argued. “You haven’t learned shit. If you go back to dating Teflon girls, I’m going to punch you in the jaw, too.”
“Dating . . . what?”
“The Amys of the world, moron. I call them your Teflon girls—they’re tough as nails and completely heartless. You’ll never love one of ’em, but they can’t really hurt you, either.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Leo sputtered. “What, like you know everything about relationships now? You find the rare, perfect girlfriend, and suddenly you’re an expert? Maybe Amy wasn’t right for me. But it wasn’t a fucking trend.”
“Uh-huh. Remember Lori? She had an ego bigger than that bruise on your face. Thought she was God’s gift because she was in charge of that a cappella group. And before her there was Emily, and also Stacia your sophomore year. Every one of those girls was an ice queen. And I’m not talking about the hockey kind of ice.”
Leo cringed. “So what? They were kind of frosty. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Just a big coincidence, then,” DJ scoffed. “Your taste changed after high school, right? You just happened to start liking women who never smile, except into the mirror.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, D.” Leo was tired of being psychoanalyzed.
“That’s probably true. But I’m your pain in the ass. Stop dating bitchy women already. I’m begging here.”
“I’m not dating anybody.” Ever again, probably. “Too much on my plate, anyway.”
