Chapter 3

3

It’s just a door.

Georgia stood opposite a hunk of oak with two hockey sticks crossed like cutlasses above the entrance, telling herself this obvious thing about the barrier before her. A piece of wood. The entry to a place of business.

Just a door.

He might not be here. After all, he hadn’t been here last night or the night before. Then she’d figured out that the team’s schedule was public information and that the Chicago Rebels, one of the city’s two pro hockey franchises, had been playing away for the last few days.

But not tonight. No game on the calendar, and a little bird had confirmed the players would be hanging at their usual haunt, the Empty Net. Not that Tara Fitzpatrick knew the value of the information she was sharing. Georgia’s hair stylist also happened to be married to the team’s general manager, and while Georgia hadn’t gone to get her usual balayage done two weeks earlier than usual with information-seeking in mind, she was happy to encourage Tara to chat about “her boys,” how psyched they were after their win in New York, and how they would be celebrating at the Net, as she called it.

Georgia had nodded abstractly, acting as if this precious intel wasn’t exactly what she needed to hear.

A couple overtook her, the bar their destination. The man, built and strong, placed the hand not circling his companion’s waist on the door just as the woman turned to Georgia. Almost as tall as her date, she had an athletic build and amazing cheekbones.

“You okay?” the woman asked, a compassion in her expression that felt surprisingly welcome this minute.

“Me? Oh, fine.”

The woman gave Georgia a subtle once-over, taking in her pink Rebecca Vallance cocktail dress and Jimmy Choo Bee pumps (Jimmy had claimed he was inspired by her— you are always buzzing away, Georgia! —of course she had to wear them). It was early April and a touch chilly, so a woman in an off the shoulder sequined gown standing outside a bar typically frequented by hockey players and their fandom might understandably look a tad out of place.

“If you’re sure …”

Georgia smiled, which was usually enough to assure the world she was whatever she needed them to think.

“Just waiting on someone.”

The man gave a brief tug on the woman’s waist. She subtly resisted.

“Warmer inside,” she said, apparently not buying what Georgia was selling.

Georgia doubted that. She had a feeling it was about to get chilly awfully quick.

“I’ll be in soon. Thanks.”

Not quite satisfied, the woman nodded and headed inside with her companion. After a count of five, Georgia followed her.

The Empty Net was, as the kids would say, hopping. A quick scan told her all she needed to know. Sports people, not her demo at all, but she could spot a groupie and hanger-on at twenty paces. Plenty of those here in team gear, though she doubted trashy crop tops emblazoned with R for Rebels were official merchandise. After a quick study of the battlefield, she finally fixed her gaze on the bar and the one person she recognized. Dex O’Malley was a hockey player and her next-door neighbor and had no idea what was about to go down.

She could have asked Dex if her target was around, just knocked on his door and politely enquired where a particular teammate lived or if she could get his number, like one of these rabid fan girls. But then she’d have to explain herself, and there was no guarantee that he’d want to see her. Not after how she’d behaved.

Instead, she was here, planning an ambush because that was a much better idea.

Dex must have spotted her approach because he was half-smiling in surprise by the time she arrived.

“Hey, Dex.”

“Georgia. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing.” She cast her gaze around, seeking out a set of broad shoulders, a dark warrior, a man alone. Nothing jumped out above the heads of the crowd.

Back to her neighbor. “So this is what this bar looks like. I’ve always wondered.”

A bit of a himbo, Dex also happened to be a complete sweetheart and was once a frequent guest at her notorious parties. Not anymore. The guy was trying to be a very good boy after his arrest following a fight with another player. (A volunteer gig at an animal shelter was his penance.) She’d been keeping an eye on him during this tricky time, but Dex was not her mission tonight.

“So most of your teammates drink here?”

“Sure, like Hudson. I think you might have met once.”

The cute guy standing beside Dex nodded at her, halfway to a full blush. “Hello.”

Hudson Grey, she thought his name was, and he was absolutely adorable. She was about to return a light and witty comment when something prescient had her turning to the bar’s corner.

She knew those shoulders would set him apart.

He stood, stance wide, one thick, muscle-corded arm raised as he focused on the dartboard. He’d had a light stubble when she met him before, but now he was fully bearded. No matter, she would know him anywhere.

“Hi—oh, there you are!”

Dex asked, “Georgia, you okay?”

“I will be.” Fisting her hips, she pondered how to play it.

March over there and tap him on one broad shoulder?

March over there and … say “hi, Banks, remember me?”

March over there and …

She didn’t have time to think of a third option because the energy in the bar sparked electric. Banks turned. Faced her. The hand holding the dart dropped to his side with a jerk.

Then he moved toward her, plowing through the crowd, eyes blazing like supernovas.

Did the sight of her annoy him that much? It had been over two months since she last saw him. Back then, in the early dawn, she’d stolen a moment to watch as he slept, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the sooty eyelashes like dark half-moons feathering over his cheeks, those firm lips that had promised so much …

Conked out and dead to the world, he hadn’t awoken to see her off. She was glad. Cowards did their best work unseen.

“Georgia,” Banks said on arrival, her name uttered with a disdain that didn’t surprise her even if a small part of her had hoped this reunion might run smoother.

“Banks.”

Then silence.

Neither of them filled it. Someone should because Georgia wouldn’t want people to think she was transfixed by the man before her, rapt in her regard for his wide shoulders and broad chest, barely contained in a gray tee. (Why did it have to be gray and why was gray the best of the T-shirt colors?)

Still nothing from him, and words refused to come from her end.

Dex was forced to step in to mediate. “You guys know each other?”

Banks’s cold gaze slipped to her dress, offering an even chillier disapproval. Like he thought it inappropriate for this bar or the time of year or the reunion of a hastily married couple.

“I need to talk to you,” Georgia finally said.

Without taking his eyes off her, Banks said, “O’Malley, how do you know Georgia?”

“She’s my neighbor at Castle Apartments.”

“Come down in the world, have you?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she managed, though that kind of snark on his lips seemed out of place. Like he knew things about her. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

“We have nothing to discuss.”

“Ah, but we do.”

Banks snorted. “No army of lawyers this time?”

At the mention of lawyers, she could feel his teammates’ interest pique.

“This would be better done in private.”

“Don’t think so, princess. Have a nice life.”

Princess? Where did he get off calling her that? He knew nothing about her. So perhaps that was the image she cultivated: a spoiled trust fund baby, but when they last met, it was as equals. Just a girl and a guy who hit it off. Evidently, he’d done his research since, read all the headlines, and come to the same conclusion as everyone else.

Georgia Goodwin, poor little rich girl.

Her irritation was morphing into something stormy. Dangerous. She wouldn’t be typecast by him or anyone else. She opened her mouth to say so, but he had already turned away, having clearly decided this conversation was no longer worthy of his interest.

She hadn’t braved this stupid bar for nothing.

“We’re still married.”

Oh, that got the big guy’s attention.

“Fuck, no,” Dex muttered.

When her husband—ha!—turned, his face was alive with anger. No more cold disdain. This she could work with.

“What did you say?”

“I think you heard me.” She waved a hand, suspecting it would piss him off. Energy thrummed through her.

“What the hell is this?” Banks’s mouth had a cruel twist to it, so unlike that last time when it had looked kissable and pliant while he slept. “It was a done deal.”

“There was a paperwork error. The divorce didn’t go through.” She examined her nails, relishing the burst of power barreling through her veins. His scorn. Her fuel. “So much for the army of lawyers.”

There it was, the glare that would have stopped her heart if it wasn’t already dead. For a moment she thought he would turn away again. She held her breath, waiting for him to walk. It would have been what she deserved.

So when he didn’t do that, when instead he turned to his teammates and said, “You heard nothing,” then placed a hand on her elbow, she felt, not exactly victorious but, a part of something bigger. Impossible to ignore. Which was absurd because no one ever missed Georgia with her bubblegum pink finery and head-turning looks.

That night, two months ago, he’d worn a distinctly un Vegas green flannel shirt and dark denim, looking like a lumberjack whose pickup had broken down on his way to the Rockies. In his mid-thirties, he was older than her twenty-four years, and while she’d dated older men before, Banks had given off a different vibe. Not leering or pervy, but almost gentlemanly. He hadn’t tried to look down her dress. He hadn’t tried to move closer or even touch her. Not until later. When she’d rescued him from the overzealous bride and curled her pinkie around his, she felt closer to him than she had felt to anyone in the longest time.

But not now. Now all she felt was an aching loneliness. Had she really thought that reconnecting with him would solve her problems? So foolish, Georgia.

As he led her away, she turned to look at his profile. Harsh. Unyielding. Sexy?

A small shiver shuddered through her body, the answer to that question a resounding yes .

But then he spoke and ruined it.

“You’re going to explain to me what happened, Georgia, and so help me God, if I’m not happy with the answer, you’ll wish you’d never walked in here.”