Page 10 of Hockey Wife

Her elbow felt soft.

It should be rough or bony. In fact, he shouldn’t be able to feel bare skin at all because it was early April in Chicago, which was basically mid-fucking-winter, and this tiny Tinkerbell should be bundled up in a puffer jacket or a heavy coat or a trench. Maybe one of those sexy ones with a simple tie-off that you just unfurl to reveal?—

Nope. He dropped her elbow.

The alcove on the other side of the bar should give them some privacy. Damage control would be needed after Georgia blabbed in front of O’Malley and Grey, but first he had to deal with the rubble in front of him.

“Go on.”

Her raised eyebrow was like a smirk on her forehead. “Go on what?”

“Provide an explanation for why this—” He waved between them. “Is still a thing?”

“Some t wasn’t crossed, an i wasn’t dotted. Like I said, a paperwork flub.”

The blasé attitude was really pissing him off. “So I need to talk to my lawyer because apparently yours screwed up.”

“That’s an option.”

His Spidey senses went nuts. Or maybe he should call them Georgia senses.

“What else is there to happen here? We got drunk, tied the knot, and then you skipped out like Cinderella at midnight.” Instead of a glass slipper, she had left the ring. As clear a message as any. “And when I tracked you down with a DM on Instagram, you refused to speak to me. Just sent the divorce papers over with a fucking courier. Which I signed, as fast as I could.”

She flinched. Why the hell should that recitation of the facts bother her? Barely had he time to analyze that and she was on her tiptoes, her finger jammed into his chest.

“Poor little Banks. Were you sad because I didn’t show up with the papers in person? Did you feel ignored?”

“Just seems like common decency to talk to your big mistake, but then I’m getting that’s the way people like you do business. You delegate.”

In searching for his runaway bride after Vegas, he had discovered plenty about the woman he married. Most civilians had little to no Internet footprint beyond social media. Not Georgia. She was well-known in the Chicago society pages with a reputation as a wild child. Parties, premieres, nightclubs, all the hot places were her stomping grounds, and Georgia’s “activities” kept the paps and Page Six busy.

Gorgeous Georgia hangs with friends at Viper Chicago opening.

Society princess Georgia Goodwin unveils new bikini at Cabo resort.

Bison guitarist Keaton Biles breaks up with narcissist Georgia. Calls her a “nightmare.”

In all his research, he hadn’t learned that she was his teammate’s neighbor. That would have been good information to have.

This media darling version didn’t square with the woman he’d met in Vegas. That girl was fun and fearless, sure, but she had also been sweet and considerate. That night, he hadn’t gone too deep into his career woes, but he’d shared a little about how his life was changing. She was going through something as well—which he now suspected was related to her sister, who had died from a heart condition a couple of years ago—and while she hadn’t divulged, he was there for her. They had connected in a way he hadn’t with anyone before or since.

But now she was here, waltzing in like some society diva, shouting to the rooftops about the big mistake she’d made. Nothing like the Georgia he thought he knew.

“It seemed easier to let the suits take over,” she said. “It’s not like you wanted to ever see me again.”

Mind reader, was she? She didn’t have the decency to ask.

He got them back on track. “So now we fix it. Properly.”

“Right.”

Neither of them had a comeback for that. Something about the finality of it, separate from words on paper, left them silent and stewing. Until he recalled something she said earlier.

“Hold up,” Banks started. “You said talking to my lawyer was an option. As if there were other options. What did that mean?”

“Well …” Before she could explain, someone pushed her from behind and she fell against his body. All soft, absurd-in-pink curves that burned through his T-shirt.

“Hey,” he yelled at the asshole behind her with no sense of spatial awareness. “Watch where you’re standing.”

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