Chapter 16

16

After a decent showing in Dallas and a not so sparkling performance in LA, the Rebels have to be asking themselves if the addition of veteran center Dylan Bankowski is worth the money. He might be good at taking a team to the playoffs, but he’s never been all that reliable in the home stretch. Despite these misgivings, Banks, one of the game’s perennial bridesmaids, has played adequately for his new team considering he must be distracted by his abruptly more interesting home life. A young bride who craves so much attention has to be a tough proposition for a player past his prime. Let’s hope, for the Rebels’ sake, that the new Mrs. Bankowski lets her husband get his rest as the business end of the season wraps up.

– Curtis Deacon, Chicago Tribune

Banks turned the heat down on the stove and checked the team’s text thread, which could usually be relied upon to conduct a thorough analysis of the hockey media’s latest hot take.

Kershaw

That Deacon fucker. Bast should have laid him out properly when he had a chance.

Baby Durand

Ignore him. It’s just click-bait.

Kaz

Still, Banks, make sure you get plenty of naps over the next few days.

Kershaw

Hey, let the guy enjoy his honeymoon.

Durand Senior

They got married months ago. The honeymoon has to be over by now. Right, Banks?

O’Malley

Is this what we do on the text thread? Trash talk a fellow player?

Banks grunted. Don’t need your defense, kid.

Bond

O’Malley, Banks is a big boy and your participation in this group text is probationary. Read the room before you try moving the furniture.

That made Banks smile.

Banks

Are we still on for cards at Hunt’s place tomorrow?

The Swede

Someone is trying to change the subject. I’m making kroppkakor right now. I can bring it over for cards.

Kershaw

Sounds like shit, but we’ll give it a go.

“What’s cooking?”

Georgia appeared at the entrance to the kitchen in those sleep shorts from this morning, the neckline of her sweatshirt slipping to reveal a creamy-skinned shoulder. The one Banks had been dreaming about since she tried to remove his shirt and give it back.

He needed that shoulder covered, preferably with one of his jerseys. His flannel would do in a pinch.

“Tacos. Plenty for two.” Cheddar brushed against his leg and Banks dropped a tiny morsel of cooked ground turkey to the floor, where the little guy lapped it up. “Or three. Sorry, should’ve asked if it’s okay to feed him.”

“It’s fine.” Georgia moved closer, bringing her shoulder of temptation. “You make them with turkey?”

“This surprises you?”

“I’d have thought you need to eat tons of high calorie foods to keep up your energy levels.”

“I do. But I also have a specific diet to follow that’s mostly healthy.”

It looked like she was filing that away.

“I don’t want to take your taco meat away from you.” She made a funny face. “That sounded weird, didn’t it?”

He turned away to hide his smile. “Just a touch. And like I said, I’m making plenty for everyone. Even the stupid cat.”

“He’s not stupid.”

On cue the orange-striped dummy bumped into a cupboard door, then jumped back like the door had done it on purpose.

Georgia shook her head. “He’s just a little challenged. I thought you didn’t like him, yet here you are feeding him.”

“He keeps giving me the sad eyes and the meow-meow. Can’t ignore it.” He turned away, this time not to smile but to sneeze into his elbow.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.” Washing his hands, he saw that Georgia had knelt to give the cat a quick pet. The move made her sweatshirt dip and reveal the valley between her breasts. She peered up, catching him in the act.

“You’re not getting a cold, are you?”

“Just allergies. Pollen.”

After their little dust-up this morning—which was down to him because he was a moody fucker—and that moment in his bedroom when she apologized for how she’d handled the annulment, he’d like to have said it eased any tension between them.

But that would be a bare-faced lie.

On the surface, they were easy as could be, so damn friendly that she could joke about Banks liking her. That’s what she thought—ha, ha, very funny—so he needed to go with that.

She had spent the day out of the house, though he’d watched out his window as she placed a couple of gift bags in the trunk of her clown car, then lifted her fancy dress as she climbed into the driver’s seat. He’d been living off that flash of gorgeous thigh all day.

“You want to help?”

“Me?”

“The cat’s useless so you’re on deck.”

She swallowed, a nervy little move that made her slender throat bulge. “Where should I start?”

“I was thinking along the lines of taco fixings.”

“You mean shred some cheese or something like that?” She sounded excited at the prospect, like this matched her skillset exactly.

“There’s cheddar and mozzarella in the fridge. Usually, I mix them for tacos. You could also cut up some red onion and limes.”

“Definitely!” She got busy pulling the raw ingredients out of the fridge while he directed her on the location of a cutting board and the box grater.

“And we could do margaritas! But maybe you don’t do alcohol during the season, except on your wedding night, of course.” The saucy wench winked at that. Look at them, joking about their big mistake in Vegas.

“I can do a margarita. Work on the cheese first.”

“Si, se?or!” She gave him a jaunty salute.

He continued browning the ground turkey, then added the taco seasoning and some water.

“You okay with cilantro?”

“Love it.”

“My sister April is one of those weirdos who thinks it tastes like soap.”

“Oh, Dani was like that too. I used to think she was faking it until I read an article about it. They can’t help being weird. It’s genetic.”

He scoffed. “April can. She’s weird about everything. Won’t let her food touch on the plate. Won’t share a bottle. The cilantro thing is definitely on brand for her.”

“There’s one in every family.”

He waited a moment, letting the silence settle. It felt nice working side by side.

“How do you get along with yours?”

He felt her stiffen. Georgia hadn’t mentioned her parents much except to say continuing this was needed to impress them. Maybe that said it all. The vibe at that gala was definitely off.

“Oh, not too bad. I’m a bit of a strange duck as far as they’re concerned.”

“How so?”

“They have certain expectations for me. Contributing to the family, upholding the name. I don’t really fit into their plans.”

“And what are their plans?”

“Have me become the face of one of their many companies. Or chair of a charity foundation they approve of. Failing that, marry someone in their circle.”

Like that Oliver douche. “Well, that last one’s off the list.”

He was supposed to add for now to that, but he didn’t have it in him.

“I know it seems kind of frivolous not to be more … useful.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She smiled. “You didn’t have to. It’s okay. A life like mine is always going to look suspect to someone who works so hard.”

“How do you know I work hard?”

“I looked it up online. Theo Kershaw has a huge Insta following, and he’s always talking about his diet and his exercise regimen and all the skating practices. If you’re doing half of that, then yeah, you’re working your ass off.”

At his age, he was working twice as hard as Kershaw. But did she have to look at Superglutes’s videos to learn this?

“The playoffs start soon. Assuming we qualify, you can come to a game. If you want.”

“Fantastic! Maybe I’ll ask Tara if I can sit with her.”

“She’s married to the GM, so she usually sits in the owner’s box.” That would be more Georgia’s speed. Barely watching the game, surrounded by luxury.

She blinked. “Okay. And that way you can keep your tickets for your family.”

Like he wouldn’t find one for his wife?

They carried on in silence until he declared the taco filling ready. She whipped up the margaritas in a martini shaker. After heating tortillas, he filled a couple with lettuce, taco meat, tomatoes, onions, cheese, and sour cream. “Hot sauce here, if you need it.”

“Definitely. I’m betting those tacos are white-guy mild.”

“Maybe try it first.”

Ignoring his advice, she added hot sauce to the filling and lifted the entire taco to her mouth. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

She chewed. Turned red. Reached for her margarita and downed it in one go.

“Easy there.”

“This … is … hot!”

“I told you to try it first before adding more sauce.”

“I thought you were exaggerating! I have a high tolerance, but this is outrageous.”

“Just a couple of chopped chilis. Nothing I can’t handle.” He added more hot sauce to prove it, then took a bite. The flavors danced on his tongue, gave a burn, numbed him up, then tripped merrily on their way. “Perfect.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. That would be childish.”

Grabbing the hot sauce, she held it aloft and dabbed a few drops on her taco.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmured.

“That’s what the second margarita is for.” While she took a bite, he poured the drink for her and passed it over. Panting, she downed a huge gulp and grinned like she’d won a prize. “Good. Tacos.”

This was the girl he met in Vegas. The fearless woman who saw nothing as an obstacle, not even a grouchy asshole like him.

“Ease up there, princess.”

“You think that’s funny, don’t ya?”

“Just calling it how I see it.”

“Privileged, pampered, spoiled.”

He blew out a sigh. “You have a trust fund, Georgia. You throw parties for a living. And you asked me not to divorce you so you could keep the cash flowing.”

She snatched a quick breath and waved a hand casually. “So you have my number, Big Guy.”

He’d hurt her feelings. Yet he couldn’t come up with a way to apologize that didn’t sound like he was accepting of her life strategy.

They continued eating with Georgia sipping on her margarita. Once she’d finished her second taco, she hopped up with the plate.

“That was great. Thanks for cooking.” She took the plate to the sink and started to run the water.

“Georgia, you don’t have to do this.”

“Why? Because a spoiled princess like me couldn’t possibly know how? So tell me, what does this do?” She held up the dish soap. “Or this?” Next, a wave of the scrubbing brush.

“Georgia.”

“What? You were only telling the truth as you see it.”

“And this would be your turn to tell me the truth as you see it.”

“Ah, so you need me to justify why I live my life this way.” She shook her head, almost pitying. “I don’t owe you an explanation for a thing. We both have our reasons for why we’re staying married. At least I’m honest about mine. You say you’re doing it to save face; only you don’t seem like the kind of guy who cares what anyone thinks.”

He brought his plate to the sink. “You really care that much about my motives?”

“Nope.”

“Liar. You’re furious because I won’t spill my guts.”

She scoffed. “Well, it is like pulling teeth. You weren’t like this in Vegas. You were much chattier then.”

“Hardly.”

“You must have been because there’s no way I would have married … this!”

He moved in closer. “We both know why you married me.”

“Please spill.”

“Because no one had ever kissed you as good as I did. No one had ever held you as tightly as I did. And no one had ever made you feel like the only girl in my world.”

She gasped, the perfect audible cue to the heart beating in his chest.

Why the fuck did I say that?

Why the fuck did I even think that?

He was just goading her, trying to get her to admit that there was a reason she said yes. They’d connected that night. Something crazy and magical had happened, and for it to have meant nothing at all … that just didn’t fly with him.