Chapter 32

32

“What are you doing here?”

Banks put his bag down inside the hotel room at the Hyatt Regency in Boston and stared at the goober on the bed closest to the window.

O’Malley grinned. “I switched with Kaz. He wanted to be closer to the elevator. For emergencies.”

“In emergencies, you’re not supposed to use the elevator.”

“Tell it to Kaz. So I figured you’d want the bed nearest to the bathroom, what with your aging prostate and all.”

“Generous.” He unzipped his hold-all and took out his underwear, aiming to pop it in the closet’s drawer. He jerked in surprise—fuck.

“Jesus! Is that … a snake?” O’Malley sat up, visibly recoiled, and was now peering at Banks’s hands.

“A fake snake.”

“Didn’t think it was real.” He twitched his nose. “A good luck charm or something?”

“Or something.” He put it back in his bag and moved the whole lot to the closet. He’d unpack later. Right now, he wanted to find a quiet spot and call Georgia. Make sure she was okay.

“You need the john?”

O’Malley smirked, like that joke about his aging prostate had finally landed. Banks stepped into the bathroom, knowing it wouldn’t give him the privacy he needed.

He shot off a text.

Did you think I’d screech like a little girl?

Peaches

Say you did. Just for me.

Banks

Not a chance. O’Malley let out a yelp, though.

He’d arrived fifteen minutes late to the bus for the airport, and then spent the entire trip trying not to think about how his wife had commanded him to come all over her sweet little tits.

For a brief, crazy moment, he had considered telling the medical team about his injury. Calling it quits so he could stay home and look after Georgia.

April was right. He was obsessed, and it was affecting his focus. Like a complete sap, he needed to hear her voice. Maybe a quick chat, just to put his mind at ease.

He hit the call button and was much too gratified when she picked up on the first ring.

“So you’re sharing a room with Dex? Those huge salaries and you have to bunk up with another adult?”

“It’s for team building. And to make sure everyone obeys curfew.”

She gasped. “You mean your roomie would rat you out if you play at Cinderella?”

“Depends. But you don’t want them holding anything over you. The org knows what they’re doing with the room assignments.”

“Sounds like they think you can be a good friend to Dex.”

“Actually, O’Malley pulled a roommate switch.”

“He wants your mentorship. I told you!”

Hardly. Just because he’d been in this business longer than this kid was alive didn’t mean he had any useful advice. He’d never won the Cup. Had a solid but uneventful career. He had kept his head down and invested well because this gig could end at any moment, though the thought of giving it up killed him.

He sucked in a breath, wondering how the next stage would play out. Kids maybe. Yard work. Buy a share in a restaurant or a bar. Try to keep useful.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t see Georgia in that future movie playing in his mind. Sure she was a woman of leisure, but why the hell would a life with a past-his-prime ex-athlete interest her? Just as he was thinking about settling, she’d be looking for her next fix. Another party. A more exciting boyfriend.

Not him.

Yet here he was, obsessing, barely able to think straight. Time to get a grip.

“I’ve got to go. Heading for dinner.”

“Okay. Be nice to Dex!”

“Oh wow! You have done well for yourself, girl!”

Skye dropped her Hermes bag on the foyer table, the one where Banks had fucked her—was that only three days ago?—and twirled around.

“Not bad, G. Not bad.” Skye was acting as if luxury was unusual for Georgia, but she probably meant this was a hundred times better than her old place in Castle Apartments. She held up a bottle of Dom. “Got any glasses for these?”

Georgia had been sorely neglecting her friends since she moved in with Banks, and while she had an invite to Mia Wallace’s house for the Chicago-Boston Game 4 with the other WAGs—the poor guys had lost Game 3—she thought it would be nice to have a watch party with the girls and Oliver. A way to integrate her worlds, which seemed necessary after Banks had told her to tell the truth and take what she wanted.

What if she wanted … her husband?

Paris and Skye walked into the kitchen while Oliver lingered behind. He looked around, made a face, and frowned at her.

“If I thought all you needed was a better crib, I would have offered to have you move in with me.”

Ah, ruffled feathers needed smoothing. “That wasn’t why I moved in. It needs to look good for my parents.”

But now it’s looking good for me …

“Hmm.” He moved in closer. “Is that the only reason?”

“What else would there be?”

Oliver huffed out a dark laugh. “Yeah, Georgia and the jock. That’d be something.” He touched a finger under her chin. “And you can’t even go to a game without getting hurt.”

“Banks felt awful about it. Like it was his fault.”

“Well, it is! This world, G …” He booped her nose. “It’s not for you.”

Now whose feathers were ruffled? Georgia mentally squirmed, not enjoying her friend’s snap judgment or condescension. But maybe he was right. Gorgeous lakeside mansions aside, she and Banks came from vastly different worlds.

“Guess you’re not interested in watching my husband play hockey, then.”

Oliver didn’t like the mention of the H word, either of them. He’d always been possessive when she dated someone, and this whole situation clearly bothered him.

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

A carefully curated collection of snacks from Trader Joe’s Game Night section was laid out on the coffee table: mini quiches, jalapeno and cream cheese wontons, garlic and asiago cheese dip, and three types of popcorn. With one eye and ear on the game, Georgia caught up with her friends. Paris was dating a DJ—her third in as many months—while Skye had landed a PR assistant job in her dad’s company and lost it a day later. (“They expected me to show up at 8:30 in the freakin’ a.m. and now Mom’s furious with me.”) In the same breath, she complained of her poor financials, the connection completely lost on her. That Hermes purse was this season, and Georgia suspected she’d be asked to float her friend before the night was through.

The fissure between them had expanded to a gorge. She wanted to think it was because she was here, married, suddenly in a different stage of her life—or on the cusp of it. But it had been happening for longer than that. Since Dani had died.

She had credited pulling away from her friends to grief, but losing her sister had changed her more fundamentally. Put her on a different path, though the destination was still a mystery.

“How’s Savannah doing?” she asked Oliver.

“We broke up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was just casual.”

She felt his eyes on her, especially when her focus turned to the game. Watching Banks play with such skill and effort gave her a thrill she had a tough time hiding. That was her husband on the ice! He had held her hand when she was hurt. Made her tea to soothe her. Come inside her.

Her body heated at the memory, and she grasped a glass of iced water to cool down. The game continued along with her friends’ chatter, and ninety minutes later it was over. The Rebels lost which meant the series was back on even standing at 2-2.

She sent a text to Banks:

Sorry, Big Guy.

He didn’t answer, probably because he was getting ready to come home. She wanted to call him, hear his voice, and let him know she was in his corner. She would always be here for him.

More than anything, she wanted her friends to leave. The shallow gossip and catty commentary no longer appealed to her. Over the next forty minutes, she stretched and yawned, praying it would be contagious.

The doorbell chimed. She looked at her friends. “Kind of late for someone to be stopping by.”

Skye laughed. “Listen to the old married woman! That’ll be Callie and Fortnum.”

“And JoJo and his boy.” Paris held her phone aloft and headed to the door. “It’s been ages since we had a Georgia party, girl.”

A party? Before she could object, Paris opened the door and a steady stream of people started to trickle in.