Page 31 of Hockey Wife

“Dylan?”

Dylan. She’d introduced him as such to her parents, but she couldn’t imagine calling him that in regular conversation. It sounded so … personal.

“Not well. I’ve cut his hair three times and he’s not the chattiest I’ve had in my chair.” She chuckled. “But you two must have hit it off.”

“Alcohol is responsible for so much nonsense.”

Tara looked skeptical. “But you must have seen something in each other. And the marriage clerk isn’t going to hand out licenses to people who look like they’re trashed, are they?”

True. Georgia remembered far more about that night than was safe for her mental health.

I just want something, someone, who’s mine.

I can do that for you, Georgia. Let me be that person.

Had he said that or was this just a figment of her foolishly romantic imagination?

“Maybe they were having an off day. The clerk, that is.” It was easier to blame some anonymous bureaucrat than the actual dummies who promised to have and to hold.

“Hmm, maybe!” Tara sounded cheerful. “So, have you seen Dex by chance?”

“Not today. Is everything okay?”

“He’s fallen out with Ashley.”

“Oh, I thought they were having a fling.”

Tara scoffed. “That’s what they thought as well, but no. Now they need to figure it out. I’m just here to nose my way in and guide them to the true path like their fairy godmother. Plus Dex has his court case tomorrow, and I wanted to see how he’s handling it.”

Dex was lucky to have Tara as a friend. Georgia had her girls, but they were only interested in the tabloid-tawdry details. Skye hadn’t even thanked her for the cash she’d sent to fix her car and Oliver was still sulking.

“Could we get together soon for a coffee or an adult beverage?”

“Of course! And Georgia? Don’t let Banks push you around, okay?”

“Okay.”

Banks picked her up dressed like an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog model complete with gray marled sweater, dark wash jeans, and sexy scowl. She had explained that her Mini Cooper didn’t have the space for her luggage, so he’d stopped by and stacked them in his trunk with ease. No signs of the injury from the other night.

“What’s that?” He looked down at the cat carrier.

“Cheddar.”

“You never said anything about a cat.”

“You never asked.”

More waves of scorn, as if this was the straw that broke the cat’s back, as it were. She placed the carrier in the back seat of the Mini.

“I’ll follow you.”

Another disgusted look at the cat, and then they were on their way. The man with all the charm for her parents was no longer in the building.

They took Willow Road east and turned left onto Sheridan, a familiar route for Georgia whose family lived in Lake Forest, a few miles north. A couple of minutes later, he took a right into a driveway. Georgia’s research on the topic of “hockey player living arrangements” told her that newer acquisitions usually had bachelor pads for their first year in a new city because they needed time to get the lay of the land. No one was buying property or setting down roots, which suited her just fine. She didn’t need to establish roots with Banks—she just had to project the perception of such.

So, color her surprised when their marital home turned out to be a gorgeous townhouse in Winnetka, just two towns over from Riverbrook, home of the Rebels. The house was Nantucket style with blue cedar shake shingles, trimmed in white. It wasn’t the biggest house on the shore—Georgia knew this neighborhood well—but its setting was perfect, fronting Lake Michigan and overlooking Maple Street Beach.

Banks was already unloading her luggage when she stepped out of her car.

---