Chapter 10

10

“Going on vacation?”

Georgia looked up to see Tara Fitzpatrick standing at her open door. The woman was a goddess. With her marriage to Hale Fitzpatrick, the Rebels’ GM, her lovely daughter, Esme, and her thriving hair stylist business, she really had her shit together.

Georgia closed a suitcase and put it standing beside four others.

“I’ve been summoned by my husband.”

“That’s quite the turn up, I have to say. Are you okay?”

It was the first time anyone had asked her and an urge to be honest for once gripped her.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t exactly planned, and it really should have been resolved by now, but … Banks asked me to stay married.”

So, not completely honest.

Tara considered that. “Is that something you’re open to?”

“Yes. I have my own reasons. I just wish he was a bit more forthright about his.” She closed the final case and stood upright. Cheddar sniffed at the closest one before giving her the bum view and flouncing off. He wasn’t good with change.

Tara’s mouth curved in sympathy. “If you need a friendly ear, we could always go for coffee or something stronger. No need to wait until your next appointment.”

That pleased Georgia more than it should have. “I appreciate that. So, do you know …?”

“Dylan?”

Dylan. She’d introduced him as such to her parents, but she couldn’t imagine calling him that in regular conversation. It sounded so … personal.

“Not well. I’ve cut his hair three times and he’s not the chattiest I’ve had in my chair.” She chuckled. “But you two must have hit it off.”

“Alcohol is responsible for so much nonsense.”

Tara looked skeptical. “But you must have seen something in each other. And the marriage clerk isn’t going to hand out licenses to people who look like they’re trashed, are they?”

True. Georgia remembered far more about that night than was safe for her mental health.

I just want something, someone, who’s mine.

I can do that for you, Georgia. Let me be that person.

Had he said that or was this just a figment of her foolishly romantic imagination?

“Maybe they were having an off day. The clerk, that is.” It was easier to blame some anonymous bureaucrat than the actual dummies who promised to have and to hold.

“Hmm, maybe!” Tara sounded cheerful. “So, have you seen Dex by chance?”

“Not today. Is everything okay?”

“He’s fallen out with Ashley.”

“Oh, I thought they were having a fling.”

Tara scoffed. “That’s what they thought as well, but no. Now they need to figure it out. I’m just here to nose my way in and guide them to the true path like their fairy godmother. Plus Dex has his court case tomorrow, and I wanted to see how he’s handling it.”

Dex was lucky to have Tara as a friend. Georgia had her girls, but they were only interested in the tabloid-tawdry details. Skye hadn’t even thanked her for the cash she’d sent to fix her car and Oliver was still sulking.

“Could we get together soon for a coffee or an adult beverage?”

“Of course! And Georgia? Don’t let Banks push you around, okay?”

“Okay.”

Banks picked her up dressed like an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog model complete with gray marled sweater, dark wash jeans, and sexy scowl. She had explained that her Mini Cooper didn’t have the space for her luggage, so he’d stopped by and stacked them in his trunk with ease. No signs of the injury from the other night.

“What’s that?” He looked down at the cat carrier.

“Cheddar.”

“You never said anything about a cat.”

“You never asked.”

More waves of scorn, as if this was the straw that broke the cat’s back, as it were. She placed the carrier in the back seat of the Mini.

“I’ll follow you.”

Another disgusted look at the cat, and then they were on their way. The man with all the charm for her parents was no longer in the building.

They took Willow Road east and turned left onto Sheridan, a familiar route for Georgia whose family lived in Lake Forest, a few miles north. A couple of minutes later, he took a right into a driveway. Georgia’s research on the topic of “hockey player living arrangements” told her that newer acquisitions usually had bachelor pads for their first year in a new city because they needed time to get the lay of the land. No one was buying property or setting down roots, which suited her just fine. She didn’t need to establish roots with Banks—she just had to project the perception of such.

So, color her surprised when their marital home turned out to be a gorgeous townhouse in Winnetka, just two towns over from Riverbrook, home of the Rebels. The house was Nantucket style with blue cedar shake shingles, trimmed in white. It wasn’t the biggest house on the shore—Georgia knew this neighborhood well—but its setting was perfect, fronting Lake Michigan and overlooking Maple Street Beach.

Banks was already unloading her luggage when she stepped out of her car.

“Do you own this place?”

“Leased.”

“Why do you need a house so big?”

“My family will be visiting, so it’s easier to set up something with room.”

His family. Another hurdle to overcome.

With relative ease, he picked up the two biggest suitcases—the ones with wheels, but let’s not use them for their intended purpose because apparently it was necessary to prove something—and headed into the house.

Dragging two of the cases and Cheddar, she followed.

Praise be, Nancy Meyers Beachcore!

The main living room area spread out before her with a couple of gorgeous black-and-white gingham sofas and blue tufted coffee tables. The fireplace was bricked and painted white with a huge flatscreen TV over the mantel. And the view. Huge picture windows overlooked a terrace with perfect vistas that would showcase gorgeous sunrises and even more spectacular sunsets. The outdoor furniture was covered in tarps, which made sense. Her parents didn’t open their Cape Cod summer house until late May.

What surprised her most was that it looked lived in. As far as she knew Banks had moved in less than two months ago, not long after Vegas. But he had already personalized it with tons of framed photos on the mantel and sideboards.

His family. Three sisters, his mom, his grandmother, and several little girls. Probably nieces. There was one of a man in a military uniform with a teenage Banks, who had clearly mastered the art of glowering at an early age. Even a dog, which was probably female because it looked like Banks was the fox in the henhouse. Could be good because he understood women or not so good because all these women would be incredibly protective of him.

What had Banks told them about her?

His sisters were dark-haired like him. They smiled a lot, though Banks didn’t. Stoic with the people he loved, not just her. But she could tell he was happy. An air of contentment permeated these frames that did not exist in his real life, the one he was supposedly building with her.

Because it’s not real. He can’t be happy with the woman who trapped him.

Good thing it was only a business arrangement. A marriage of convenience. It might have started out as a mistake but now they would make the most of it.

She returned to the foyer and was grabbing the last case just as Banks descended the stairs and reached for the handle. Their hands brushed, and he pulled away like the touch burned.

This was going to be a long couple of months.

“I’ve put you in one of the guest rooms. It has an en suite and overlooks the lake.” He moved a hand over his mouth and rubbed at his beard. “You can move to one of the other rooms if you prefer.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She gestured to the cat carrier. “Is it okay if I let him out?”

Another dark look. “Sure. Make yourselves at home.”

She unlatched the door. One orange paw emerged, then retreated.

“Come on, baby. It’s okay.”

Another foray with the paw, then a second followed by a stretch. Finally, a cute little head popped out for a recce. Georgia looked at Banks, who was watching Cheddar with a mix of disgust and apprehension.

“Not a cat person, then?”

“Not an anything person.”

How was it possible she felt enough of an affinity with this person to get so far as the altar? Because now, they had no chemistry at all. They had anti-chemistry.

Cheddar didn’t have the decency to feel the same way, however. The little traitor beelined for Banks’s boots and placed a paw on the toe. When he wasn’t rebuffed, he went further with a head-rub along the man’s ankle. Georgia waited for Banks to shoo him away—after all he wasn’t an “anything person,” whatever that meant. But he stood patiently, waiting. Maybe for Cheddar to get bored.

It could happen. But not today. Cheddar was enjoying himself far too much.

“He likes you. He doesn’t usually like anyone.”

“No accounting for taste.”

Banks remained still. He could have walked away, but he seemed to want to test himself with Cheddar’s presence.

“You should pick him up.”

“Why?” Banks stared at her, then at Cheddar, as if his opinion mattered.

“Because he’d like it.”

Instead, he picked up the remaining suitcase and went ahead of her up the stairs, which gave her a nice view of his ass. Was that what attracted her to him in the first place? A hockey butt? In that bar, she’d seen his strong back and broad shoulders tapering to trim hips. But mostly she’d liked his voice, that laconic way he spoke to his mom on the phone.

She’d never really been an ass-girl, but looking at Banks’s very nice behind, she wondered if that was about to change. Hopefully not. This place seemed big enough that she wouldn’t have to concern herself with Banks and his excellent butt musculature.

He dropped the suitcase inside the door of one of the rooms. Bright and airy, it was painted a light mauve color and had fresh flowers on the cream-colored dresser.

“Oh, this is lovely!”

Banks sniffed. “Cleaner comes in on Fridays. Food delivery twice a week, just add what you want to the list on the fridge.”

“Sounds good. I’ll pay for rent and groceries.” She moved the cat carrier to the closet.

“No need. You’re a guest.”

She might be broke, but she had enough to pay her own way. One look at Banks told her making this argument wouldn’t get her very far.

“How about I make lunch?”

His expression was pained. “I’d planned to head to the gym after this. And I have a five-day road trip starting tomorrow.”

He’d be gone for five days? She should be glad of the space. All the benefits of married life without having to spend time with your mistake of a husband.

So it was a surprise when the next words tumbled out of her mouth. “Come back for dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”

And even more of a surprise when he agreed.

But he didn’t sound happy about it.