Page 112 of Hockey Wife

“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?”

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