Page 20 of Hockey Wife

“Is he here?” Skye looked over her shoulder.

“Who?”

“Your husband, girl! Everyone’s dying to see the two of you together. I can’t believe you kept this to yourself.”

A familiar panic rose within her. “It was all a big mistake. You know me, love a bit of drama!”

“I’ve seen pics. That guy can flood my basement anytime.” Paris fanned herself, the thirsty bitch. Georgia and Banks might mean nothing to each other, but the man was technically still her husband. Her friends should not be drooling over him like he was on the Bridgerton marriage mart.

“He’s kind of old, though, isn’t he?” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Our girl’s daddy issues are showing. You gonna pull a Britney and get it annulled?”

Paris squealed. “Can’t get it annulled if they did the nasty.”

Not true, according to her lawyer. “Working on it now.”

“So this happened when we took our girls’ trip?” Paris cocked her head. “I know you disappeared there for a while?—”

“Because you met that tatted DJ”—Skye pointed at Paris—“and then we went to his suite so you could lick his ink. You weren’t paying attention to anyone after that.”

Paris scowled. “Neither were you! I thought you were going to hang with our girl here and look at the trouble she got into.”

Before they could get any deeper into the dirt of who was responsible for leaving Georgia alone long enough to get herself legally embroiled in the life of a professional athlete, she held up a hand.

“It was no one’s fault but mine. I just wanted some alone time.”

Paris smirked. “Look how far that took you. I only fucked the guy I met. You took it to the next level!”

Sex would have been so much simpler. As it was, she didn’t even get an orgasm out of it. But there were kisses. Stubble-jawed rubs against her throat, firm lips taking control …

“Oh, G, I need a word.” Skye took the moment that Paris was distracted while answering a text to pull Georgia aside. “So you’re never going to guess what happened. My car broke down, just crapped out on Halsted!”

“Oh no!”

“Right? And the mechanic, who was really hot by the way, not that I’d be interested, but just an observation, he says it’s going to cost me three grand to fix the transmission. Can you believe that? Fucking inflation! I have maybe thirteen hundred and I hate to ask, but it’s either that or I sell myself to the hot mechanic.”

Georgia squeezed her friend’s arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll Venmo you the difference.”

“You would? Oh, you’re a star! Could you round up to two grand?” Her phone buzzed and she quickly scanned the screen. “That’s my sister. She’s such a leech!”

Georgia rolled in her lips. Skye was a good friend, but she always had money issues, which were easier to support when Georgia didn’t have plans for her own funds. In the old days, she was happy to treat her girls with Sephora sprees here and trips to Santorini there. At one time, she had more money than she could possibly spend, so why not spread the wealth around?

Now her cash wasn’t as fluid, but she couldn’t turn down a friend in need.

Skye gave a dirty grin. “Don’t think I don’t want to know everything about this hockey player husband of yours. You’re not getting away with keeping that to yourself.”

The doorbell rang, saving her from launching into the details.

“Go get yourself a cocktail. I’ll catch you up later.”

Smile in place. Hand on doorknob. The game begins again.

Georgia could barely hear her voice, never mind her thoughts, above the din of the party. This was usually how she liked it. Blocking out the negative with loud music and lively chatter was her go-to. The best way to center herself and keep the boogeyman of grief away.

Only tonight, she couldn’t ignore as well as usual. Part of the reason was sitting beside her, sulking.

“I’m kind of hurt, G.”

She turned to Oliver, one of her closest friends, and the guy she usually relied on in times of crisis. They’d known each other since first grade, when she gave him a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich from her lunchbox, and he promptly threw it up.

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