Page 4 of Hockey Wife

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope. You?”

A shadow crossed her face and the green in her blue eyes took on a shade of melancholy. “Oh, you don’t want to go there, Big Guy.”

But he did. He wanted to know why this girl was all alone with her mouth made for sin and her eyes tinged with sadness.

He eyed her glass. “Another?”

She looked up at the bachelorette party, and back at him, wondering if a lug like him was worthy of her time. He wasn’t, but man, he wanted to be. Stay a while …

A quick dart of her pink tongue over her lips sent another tug of desire to his groin. “I suppose we have to keep the illusion alive.”

“Otherwise, it’d look like we lied.”

“Can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t.”

He should have gone with his first instinct.

2

Two months later

April

Georgia Goodwin peeked out from her eye mask at her ringing phone. It was past ten in Chicago which meant it was 5 a.m. in Hawaii, an hour past when her parents rose and shone with the morning sun. If she ignored it, they’d know she’d been sleeping, so she did her quickie AM (usually PM) routine: mask off, finger-rake through her bedhead, rush to the kitchen, bottle of juice from the fridge. Positioning her phone so the detritus from last night’s party was out of frame, she answered the redial that came in twenty seconds later as she sat at the breakfast island.

“Hey there! Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”

Penny Goodwin stared at her with that imperious look that said she wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Darling, are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone.” I’m always alone even when there are a million people here.

“Not recovering from one of your parties?”

“I had a quiet night in,” she lied. “Just me and Cheddar.” She held her cat up for inspection, whereupon the moody orange tabby gave a puny meow and froze, his striped body stock-still until release. “How’s Kauai?”

Stupid question. Kauai was always perfect. Georgia would be there now if only the island was big enough for her and her parents.

“Wonderful. So your father and I need to have a word. Marcus? Georgia’s on the phone.” She sipped her coffee, a small-batch artisanal Kona blend that cost more per pound than Georgia’s rent. “Your father just came back from his run.”

“Hey, GiGi!” Marcus Goodwin took a seat beside her mom on the white sofa and sat back, his arm over the back. His T-shirt bore a V-shaped patch of sweat and his forehead looked clammy.

“So, darling,” her mother said. “We had a chat with Michael Whyte last night and he said the strangest thing.”

Georgia’s pulse picked up. Michael Whyte was one of her parents’ lawyers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Is there something you want to tell us?”

Already? It was inevitable that they would find out, though she’d hoped she could keep it under the radar for a little longer. Yesterday afternoon, she’d heard from Mr. Lyons, the lawyer she’d hired to take care of her problem.

Her accidentally-married-in-Vegas problem.

---