Page 3 of Hockey Wife

She’d heard that? Sitting behind him, in this booth, he supposed it was possible.

“What else did you hear about your new boyfriend?”

“Something about you not being husband material, which is good because I’m nowhere near ready for that kind of commitment. I assume Mom told you to get over yourself.”

He repressed a smile. “She did. But then she’s duty-bound to say nice things to me.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What made you say that?”

“Just a hunch I have.”

“So you don’t want to go deep. I get it. I’m only your fake fiancée after all.”

Graduated from girlfriend mighty quick, but damn, he enjoyed her directness.

“I’ve been told by previous real girlfriends that I’m not suited to marriage. Which is fine because I don’t want to get married.”

“Let me guess.” She raised a finger to her chin in thought. “You’re obsessed with your career or some manly hobby and any girl in your life always comes off as second best.”

“Not any girl.”

“Ah, your momma.”

“She’s the only one who understands me.”

“Poor misunderstood …” She raised her glass, something clear in a lowball.

“Banks. People call me Banks.”

“Even your mom?”

“She calls me other things. All of them deserved.”

Another smile, and his cock stirred. Not broken, after all.

“You sound close.”

“We are. What should I call you?”

“Georgia.”

Princess Peach, a Georgia peach … the universe was trying to tell him something.

“Not from Georgia, I’m guessing.”

“No. Chicago.”

Ding ding ding, signs all over the place.

“I live in Nashville.” Best to keep his upcoming living arrangements to himself. The last thing he needed was some bunny chasing him down in his new city, though a closer look told him that would be wishful thinking. No way would this girl be interested in him beyond a drink and a smile. Christ, he was old enough to be her … older brother.

He should be moving on, or at the very least, encouraging her to. She’d evidently wandered through a portal from a world of sunshine and sweetness. This dank place was not for her, and with his dark mood, neither was he.

He took another long look, readying for it to be his last. Christ, she was a tiny thing, practically swallowed by the booth’s worn leather. He would offer to walk her back to her hotel because he didn’t trust this bar or the streets or anyone in this town, who would take one look at this girl and try to take a bite.

That sinful mouth curved. “You okay?”

“Not really.”

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