Chapter 34

34

“Darling, this is Georgia.” Tara winked at Georgia and grinned at the handsome man at her side. “But then you probably know that. Or your legal team does. Georgia, this is my husband, Hale.”

Hale Fitzpatrick, or Fitz as he was better known, shook her hand. “Georgia, it’s great to meet you at last. I sure hope you’re feeling better.” He had a Southern accent, super sexy.

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“And thanks for accepting our invite to watch the game in the box.”

“Thanks for letting me hang with you guys.”

Tara took her by the arm. “Something good should come out of the Incident , as they’re calling it around here. Come sit with me and let’s chat.” She raised an eyebrow at her husband. “Don’t worry, I’ll deny, deny, deny!”

With an amiable eye roll, Fitz turned to someone who had just handed him a phone, a very boss move.

Tara chuckled. “They get so worried when I speak my truth.”

They sat in a couple of seats near the glass, a lovely, safe way to watch the game. But something about it was a touch sanitized. Georgia had enjoyed being in the crowd, feeling the pulse of the fans. An executive box should be more her speed—luxury, distance, away from the hoi polloi—but apparently, she was becoming a woman of the people.

“Champagne?”

“Just ginger ale, thanks.” Someone scurried off to get drinks, though the box’s bar was barely three feet away.

Tara took her hand. “How are you? Really?”

“Absolutely fine. Everyone’s being so attentive you’d swear I intercepted that puck on purpose.”

Tara narrowed her eyes. “There I was thinking you’re enjoying being back in the news.”

“I don’t want to be in the news because of something so silly.” Or for any reason. She was starting to realize that she’d never enjoyed the attention all that much. “Banks is watching me like a hawk. All his focus is on me when it should be on the playoffs.”

Tara squeezed her hand. “You’d be surprised how many of these athletes can walk and chew gum, or in your case, play hockey and be good husbands.”

But he’s not my husband. Though he is a good one.

“I don’t want him to worry about me. Not at such an important time.”

“Then it’s a good thing you have lots of people who care about you and can take some of the load off Banks’s all-hockey-all-the-time brain.”

Georgia laughed. “You’re really nice, you know that? Even if your assignment is to stop me from calling in the lawyers.”

“It’s much more than that. I’m here to continue your hockey education. Oh, hold on a sec.” Up popped a photo of Esme, blonde and cherub faced, with a smudge of tomato sauce on her chin. What a cutie. “The nanny likes to send me a few pics before she puts her down.”

“Sure, blame the nanny.”

Tara’s husband seemed to instinctually know pictures of his daughter were doing the rounds. “That’s my girl.” He handed the phone off to his wife, adding a passionate kiss that had Georgia blushing.

“Still in your honeymoon phase, I see,” Georgia said, once Fitz had walked away.

“Hale’s never been afraid to show his feelings. I’m the reserved one. What’s your dynamic with Banks?”

Did they have one? She could feel her cheeks heating. The last few days had been perfect, just the two of them cuddling, cooking, and christening all the furniture. But it wasn’t all orgasms, all the time. They also found time to talk, mostly about his career dreams and her charity hopes, though they were still indistinct and unformed.

Tara’s green eyes went wide. “Ah, so things have developed.”

“Sort of. It’s just … stress relief.”

“Keeping your man in tip-top shape for the playoffs?”

“Exactly.”

Tara smiled. “The franchise salutes you.”

Georgia rolled her eyes and tried not to let the “your man” moniker get her any more excited than she already was. This was Game 5, which was all the excitement she needed.

The Rebels won, which put them 3-2 ahead in the series, with Banks contributing one goal and one assist. The atmosphere in the arena and the box was electric, the celebration so loud she barely heard the buzz of her phone. Outside the owner’s box, she found a relatively quiet spot and checked the message from her mother.

Mom

Come for dinner this weekend. Bring Dylan.

She had already explained that Banks had a big assignment at work. Couching it in corporate speak was the best way to communicate that.

Georgia

He’ll be out of town for a game, but maybe next week?

Mom

Just let us know. We need to talk about Dani’s Heart.

Georgia touched her throat. Before she could query that, another message came in.

Mom

That’s what we’re calling the new foundation. Stephen has the papers drawn up, waiting for your signature.

Georgia

We should discuss it first.

Mom

Of course! You’ve been very quiet lately. Dylan must be a good influence!

Right, because Georgia couldn’t get there by herself.

She also had messages from her friends. Oliver had sent her a text of apology, then left several voicemails when she didn’t respond. Skye and Paris had picked sides, likely because Oliver had spun it in a way that made him look like the victim. They hadn’t appreciated how Banks had cut the party short.

“Georgia!”

She looked up into the smiling face of Mia Wallace. “Hey!”

Mia bent over to hug her. Damn, this girl was as tall as a Wookie. “We won!”

“Yes, we did!”

Mia threw an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go see our boys.”

Five minutes later, they found themselves outside the locker room.

“Are you sure it’s okay to go in? Aren’t they getting dressed?” Georgia didn’t like the idea of anyone being able to see a half-naked or better Banks. That should be her privilege alone.

“This is the one they use for press. You won’t see anything interesting, except your husband being tongue-tied with the reporters.”

“Really?”

“He’s on press duty for this game, but he never gives them anything. You wouldn’t believe how much they’ve been trying to poke him since they found out he’s married.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be here?”

“Not at all. Come on.”

Mia pushed open the door and walked in, taking up a spot behind a few people who looked like they might be team organization staff. Georgia recognized a couple of them from her time in the exam room after the puck hit.

Mia waved at her husband, Cal Foreman, who was talking to the press and stopped to give her a big grin. No sign of Banks.

She turned and walked right into the wall that was her husband. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello there.” Sexy lip twitch.

“Great game.”

“Thanks.”

She leaned in close. “Listen, I’m sorry for showing up unannounced like this. I thought it was the regular locker room.”

“Disappointed you didn’t get to see me naked?”

She waggled her eyebrows lasciviously. “Crushed.”

That earned her a humorous bark, which simultaneously had a magnetic effect on the reporters. Dylan Bankowski in shock laughter eruption. Suddenly they were surrounded.

“Banks, you had a good game tonight,” one of the media wags offered. “Married life must suit you.”

Banks sniffed. “Is there a question in there?”

She tried to shuffle back a few steps, give him the space he needed to do his job, but she didn’t get far. Someone blocked her from behind and soon several microphones were shoved in her face.

“Georgia, how’s the injury?”

“Georgia, are you proud of your husband’s play tonight?”

“Georgia, we haven’t seen you at the clubs lately. Is marriage cramping your style?”

She stared at the questioner of that last one. That didn’t sound like a legitimate query for a sports reporter.

Claustrophobia was setting in. Before she could freak out, a strong arm wrapped around her shoulder as Banks pulled her into the shelter of his body.

“How about giving my wife some space?”

“Georgia, you spent the game in the owner’s box. Are you worried about another puck to the head?”

What a stupid question. She sent a sidelong glance at Banks, who obviously agreed.

“I think that’s enough,” he said, drawing her away.

“No, it’s fine.” She turned to the reporter who asked that last question. “I’m no statistics expert, but I’m guessing the probability of getting hit twice by a puck at a hockey game is probably in the region of a gazillion to one. However, neither am I the kind of girl who’s willing to tempt fate. For now, I’m happy to watch from a glass-enclosed, puck-proof box with easy access to top-shelf alcohol.”

The press corps laughed, and another journalist jumped in.

“So, were you a hockey fan before your marriage, Georgia?”

“Can’t say I was. But I’m learning. Still not sure about the offside rule, but I’ve figured out most of the penalties. And I think the Cougars’ Nilsson should have been penalized for holding in that third period.”

A couple of the reporters nodded, likely placating the dumb blonde with the sports opinions. She snuck another look at Banks, worried she’d gone too far, and found him gazing at her indulgently.

“You heard it from my wife. The ref shit the bed on that one.” He squeezed her tighter. “Now, I think we have some celebrating to do.”

Taking her by the hand, he escorted her out into the corridor, through a back entrance that led to an underground car park.

“I messed up, didn’t I? Back there with the press?” This man loved his life on the down low. Her presence in it had brought unwanted attention, and she hated to make him uncomfortable.

“Nope. You were perfect.”

“Banks, I sounded like an idiot.”

He opened the passenger door and helped her up into the seat. She didn’t need it, but she loved when he was a gentleman.

And when he wasn’t.

He put on her seatbelt and brushed his lips over hers. “You were charming and made me look like a genius for marrying you.”

“Well, as long as you look good.” She curled a hand around his jaw and ran her thumb over his bottom lip. How strange that touching another person brought such comfort.

“I love watching you play.”

“I love knowing you’re watching me.”

They stared, neither of them willing to break away. She wanted to say more, but it already felt like too much. That whiskey-warm gaze heated her through.

“Are we heading to the Empty Net?”

“Not tonight.” His eyes glowed with the desire. Oh boy. It looked like they’d be celebrating the win in their own way.