“Yeah. Lianne told me about that. She caught it on Gawker. See—I wasn’t even going to bring that up. You called her the love of your life?” DJ chuckled.
Leo winced. “Uh, well, anyway. Amy found out I was in town, and she came to the open practice. And when I was trying to talk to Georgia, she sort of attacked.”
DJ laughed again. Apparently Leo’s life was fricking hilarious. “I’ve seen Amy’s attack. And yet for a year, when we all said, ‘What do you see in her?’ you didn’t acknowledge the problem.”
It was definitely time to change the subject. “Georgia didn’t look happy to see me, anyway. Apparently the Worthington clan would prefer if I just crawled off back to the minors.”
“Try again,” his brother said immediately. “I really think you and Georgia need to talk. She’s in a bind right now, trying to hold on to the top job in PR. Can’t imagine that your hot mic moment made her job any easier.”
Well, fuck. “I didn’t know that.”
“No kidding. That’s why you need to . . .”
“Talk to her. Got it. I’ll try again.”
“You do that, bro.”
SEVEN
Georgia hadn’t meant to be a few minutes late to the rink on game night. But she’d gone to the dojang for a class and then done a little shopping.
By the time the cab had dropped her off at her apartment building, she had very little time to shower and change. And then none of her game-night outfits seemed satisfying.
“Does this look sleek and mature, or just boring?” she asked Becca, spinning around in a pencil skirt and a drapey silk blouse.
Her friend’s eyebrows shot up. “I wonder why you’re suddenly so deep into fashion crisis mode. It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain rookie player, would it?”
Damn it. It did. “Becca, friends don’t try to headshrink friends when they’re late for work.”
Becca set down the handbag she’d been sorting for her own adventures tonight and came to stand in front of Georgia. She reached up, unbuttoning two of the buttons on Georgia’s blouse, exposing a bit of cleavage. “It’s perfect now.”
“Thanks, I think. Are you ready to go? We can split a cab.”
* * *
An hour later, Georgia was in the owners’ box, trying not to speed-eat the Brazilian cheese puffs a food-service worker had just dropped off. But she was both hungry and nervous—a dangerous combination.
Fifty yards away in the press box, reporters were waiting for the starting lineups to be announced. And it was taking longer than usual tonight. They were getting grumbly, and fast.
And they weren’t the only ones. Nate paced like a lion, watching his phone for updates. He didn’t say anything, but Georgia could feel his impatience with her father. The big boss was chugging imported water, his drink of choice. That was something she and Nathan had in common—neither of them liked to drink at games.
“Honey?” Becca said as Georgia grabbed her seventeenth cheese puff. “Sorry to interrupt one of your regular feedings. But the reporters in the box are getting antsy for the starting lineup. The guy from the Post just asked me if there was some kind of problem.”
“Ugh.” Georgia drained her water glass. “It doesn’t help that I’ve been ducking them all night. Excuse me.” She skittered out of the room, down the hall, and then stuck her head into the press room. A dozen heads swiveled around to see whether anyone important had appeared. Usually those heads would swivel right back again. It wasn’t that Georgia wasn’t often useful to them. It’s just that she wasn’t newsworthy.
Unfortunately, the reporters’ glances lingered tonight. “Is there any word on whether the rookie will play tonight?” a guy from ESPN called out. “All the women on my staff are asking about him.”
She held back her groan. “The new coach is settling in,” she said. “He’s taking his time speaking with the players tonight, making sure everyone knows he isn’t going to run in and start knocking heads together. I’ll get you the lineup as soon as I have it.”
The answer satisfied no one, not even her. The men who came out to cover games were hard-core sports writers—not gossip columnists. But she hated the feeling of being sized up for newsworthiness. That’s why she’d been avoiding the press box all evening.
When the PR chief had to duck the press, it was always a bad sign. But she didn’t know how else to play it until her name and face dropped out of circulation.
Standing around in here was uncomfortable, though. It would be fine when the game started, and the press had something to watch. But for now, she was going to bail out again. She pulled the door open again and took a step outside. But she didn’t get far, because a big wall wearing a purple tie was suddenly in the way. And she walked right into it.
“Oof,” Georgia said.
“God, I’m sorry.” The rough timbre of the voice in her ear made her neck tingle.
Georgia leapt backward, removing herself from Leo Trevi’s chest. “Sorry,” she echoed, her voice a squeak. “Didn’t, uh, watch where I was going.”
Leo grinned at her, his smile spreading slowly across that handsome face. “I was just looking for you.”
At close range, it was hard not to notice how broad his shoulders were now, and how massive his arms looked inside the sleeves of his suit jacket. She was staring. “Um, what?”
His smile became a chuckle. “I was looking for you. We really should talk.”
“Talk?” Apparently she was only capable of speaking in one-word sentences.
“Yeah, Gigi. Talk—for once in six years. I suggested coffee. But you wanted to have a publicity meeting, right? Well here I am.”
Here indeed, sucking up all the available oxygen with his smile and all that muscle. Pull it together, Georgia. “Um, sure. Where shall we talk?”
He lifted those massive shoulders in a shrug. “I’m the new guy. You’re supposed to know these things.”
Right.
Georgia glanced around herself. Privacy was at a premium in the stadium, even on the VIP level where they were now. There was a very posh bar just down the corridor, but anyone might be in there. Instead, Georgia led him several yards down the giant, curving corridor and over to an upholstered bench along the wall. She sat down and crossed her legs self-consciously.
The bench shifted slightly under Leo’s weight when he sat down. It was a roomy enough place to sit, but still it felt unbearably intimate. Even from this distance his scent was distinctive—clean shirts and a woodsy aftershave.
She put her damp palms on her knee, over the hem of her skirt. “So.” Where to begin?
“So,” he echoed, his voice warm. “This is your meeting. What does the queen of PR do to break in the rookie?”
Was it her imagination, or was the question meant to sound so . . . suggestive? Gah. “Well, um. There are some events you’ll be asked to do. There’s the, um, benefit I mentioned the other day. Those black-tie events don’t come up that often, though. It’s usually a hospital visit, or skate with the team to raise money for cancer research . . .”
“That doesn’t sound too hard,” he said, his hand landing on the cushion between them.
Georgia lifted her chin so she wouldn’t have to think about all the marvelous ways that hand used to touch her. But that was a mistake, because it meant she was now looking right into his beautiful brown eyes. There was heat in them, too, or was she crazy?
Yep. Definitely losing her mind. And her train of thought.
Damn it. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “There’s a spiel I give everyone about being in the public eye. I’m sure you’ve heard this all before, but the stakes are higher now, because people will pay more attention.” She relaxed a little bit now because she’d delivered this speech many times before, and it was a comfortable topic. “Whether you like it or not, you’re representing the team at a
ll times. So when you’re in a public place, always assume that someone may photograph you. Anything you say online will be scrutinized. I always follow players’ social accounts just to make sure there aren’t any red flags.”
Leo stopped her with an elbow nudge and a grin. “But you unfriended me on Facebook, Gigi.”
And, crap. She had. After she’d said good-bye to Leo, he hadn’t changed their relationship status. So every time she logged in, it made her heart hurt. For some reason, she just couldn’t click that box to make it say “single” again.
Then, during their freshman year of college, her feed began to fill with pictures of Leo surrounded by new faces. Teammates she’d never meet. Girls. Those photos made her crazy. That’s when she’d done it. She’d unfriended him completely so she wouldn’t have to see that he’d moved on.
She swallowed hard. “Well, uh, I meant Instagram, Twitter if you use it . . .”
Leo snorted. “Not a fan.”
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“Look, I won’t be your problem child. I’m easy. So long as your father doesn’t ship me back to the minors, I’ll be a good boy.”
“He won’t,” she said automatically. Even though she hadn’t been ready to see him again, she wasn’t ready for him to disappear, either. Leo’s eyes widened, and she realized too late that she’d made it sound as if she had inside information. “I meant, I hope he won’t. Or, uh, I think he won’t. Just, uh, speculating.”
Leo nodded, his eyes boring into hers. When he looked at her like that, the years just fell away. They’d been so close for so long. Even if this was all very complicated, Georgia felt herself lean toward him by a few degrees. The connection between them was still there. Like the fishing line her father used when he took the boat out on the Sound. Invisible, yet strong.
Someone cleared a throat, and Georgia sprang up off the bench, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Sorry to startle you,” Becca said quickly. “But Coach is looking for Leo. He needs you to suit up.”
Now Leo leapt to his feet, too. “Really? Why?”
“Bayer isn’t going to play tonight. They want to give his shoulder one more night’s rest.”
“Wow. Okay.” Leo held Georgia’s eyes, and there was so much warmth and happiness in that gaze that Georgia could barely breathe. “Guess I’d better go then.”
“Get on down there,” she whispered. His whole life he’d been working toward this moment. Skating in the NHL. How amazing that it was finally happening, and she was actually going to witness it.
Leo gave her one more smile, and it was so full of joy that her heart skipped a beat. Then he turned around and strode off, his long legs eating up the distance toward the elevator bank around the bend.
“Come back to me, George,” Becca said. “Don’t go toward the light.”
“What?”
“Exactly.” Becca snapped her fingers. “Stay with me, babe. Don’t let the hottie who stole your virginity send you into zombieland.”
“Becca!” Georgia shout-whispered. “Lower your voice!”
Becca gave her a Cheshire cat smile. “He did, didn’t he? Aw! You guys are so cute.”
“Shhhh!” Georgia chided. All she needed was a reporter overhearing this fun little conversation. “Stop.”
“Only if you give me juicy details at home later. Because memories are all the action that you or I are getting lately.”
“Sad but true.”
“So, you have to promise not to freak out, but there’s a cover-up at work here.”
“What?” Georgia asked, trying to shake the Leo-fog out of her head.
“The doctors cleared Bayer’s shoulder. But they think he sprained a toe during the soccer warm-up.”
“Oh, hell,” Georgia swore. “That can’t get out, or we’ll look like idiots. Big Strong Hockey Player Kicks Soccer Ball Too Hard, Misses Game.”
“Be that as it may,” Becca said with a grin, “your ex is having his big-league debut, in spite of the fact that your father hates him.” She put her hand on Georgia’s arm and tugged her toward the owner’s box. “Why is that, anyway? Is it because Leo popped your cherry?”
Yikes. “Not really. You’d never believe it now, but they used to be pretty close. Dad used to give Leo one-on-one sessions at the rink, just for fun. I think Dad kind of looked the other way, you know? Plausible deniability.”
Becca laughed. “I guess if you were a dad, you’d have to.”
“Right. But then after I was raped, I think Dad just couldn’t deal with the idea that I wasn’t a little girl he could protect anymore. The blinders came off. And since Leo was a man . . .”
“Leo was dangerous, or something.”
“Or something,” Georgia said. “And it wasn’t just Leo that Dad treated differently. You know how he calls me Princess now?”
“Yes, and I’m thinking of calling you that, too.”
Georgia poked her in the ribs. “Not if you want to live. Well, he never called me that when I was little. I was Killer to him.”
Becca barked out a laugh. “Oh my god. I have to say—Killer suits you better than Princess. I like that nickname for you.”
“I’d prefer to have no nickname at all. But apparently that’s not an option.”
Becca clapped her hands. “Can I tell Page Six that your nickname is Killer?”
“No!”
She giggled. “Ah well. I would have liked to see that in print.”
“We can’t have everything we want,” Georgia grumbled. “But we can have cheese puffs.”
“You can. Some of us gain weight when we eat things.”
“So I’ve heard. Hell. Now I’m nervous about this game. Leo in the NHL! How am I going to watch?”
“Aw. You’ve got it bad, girl.”
“Do not.”
“Do so.”
Georgia gave Becca a little shove.
“Easy, Killer,” Becca said. Then they both burst out laughing.
* * *
When game time came, though, Georgia retreated from polite company.
She watched the Tampa game alone, from the back corner of the press box. The isolation was exactly what she needed, since no game had ever made her so horrifically nervous before in her life. She watched the game with her seventeen-year-old self, heart in her mouth, fists clenched. Every time Leo took to the ice with the third line she stopped breathing.
Supersized Leo was a sight to behold on a pair of skates. He skated with the same ease he’d always enjoyed, but now it was fueled by even more impressive power and speed. There were years of estrangement between them now, but it was clear that he’d spent most of those years at the rink. He was nimble, even with Tampa’s most aggressive defenseman bearing down on him. Time after time Georgia bit her lip as one enemy or another tore after him only to see Leo escape with the puck, creating opportunities where none had seemed to exist.
It was breathtaking. Georgia said another little prayer of thanks for the privacy of the darkened corner where she stood, because her face was plainly crisscrossed with emotion as often as hockey sticks crossed on the ice. She couldn’t have hid her interest for all the dumplings in Brooklyn. The first two periods passed in a blur. The game was hard fought, and deep into the third period the score was tied 1–1.
Watching him was both amazing and painful. She wanted this for him so badly it hurt. Right in the center of her chest, like a tightness that couldn’t be soothed. The trouble, though, was that wanting was contagious. Wanting him to succeed felt a lot like wanting him. And that wasn’t on the table. It’s just nostalgia, she told herself.
She’d had him all to herself once, and it was wonderful. But then, when he’d stopped looking at her with passion in his eyes, it had hurt with a fire so bright that she’d never wanted to experience that again.
&
nbsp; Never.
Never ever.
Leo vaulted over the boards to take another shift, and Georgia filled her lungs with a shaky breath. Come on, baby. This is for all the marbles.
His teammate passed the puck to him, and Leo took a run toward the net. But Tampa swarmed and he just barely got the pass off to Castro, who then got into trouble, coughing up the puck to Tampa’s defense.
The clock ticked down, and Georgia wasn’t sure she could stand the pressure as Leo gave chase. The other team closed ranks, and retrieving the puck looked impossible. But when Tampa passed to avoid the other winger again, Leo pounced, making off with the puck and crossing into the attack zone, then passing it to Castro.
Who shot. And scored.
The hometown crowd surged to its feet as the lamp signaling a goal lit up. Georgia’s smile was so wide she thought her face might crack. Leo had his first big league assist. It wasn’t a goal, but it was pretty damned impressive. How many of his high school games had she watched, wondering what the future held? A hundred? Dozens, at least.
A little voice whispered in Georgia’s head. Sometimes people do get their heart’s desire.
Not often, though. She was living proof.
The game ended without another goal, and the Bruisers had beaten Tampa. It was a notch in their belt that the team absolutely needed.
Feeling jubilant, Georgia sped out of the press box ahead of the reporters, taking the private elevator downstairs to organize the happy chaos of a postgame press conference. Usually, she’d set up ahead of time, watching the final moments of the game from a monitor downstairs. Tonight she was late to her own party.
But her minion Roger had seen to their little basement pressroom. She skidded to a halt in front of the podium. The wall behind it was already lit with Bruisers footage. (The team had the snazziest press conference setup of any team in the NHL, thanks to Nate’s obsession with technology.)