Page 78 of Hockey Wife

“This Stacy chick. I read about her online.” She tapped his chest with her fingers. “What happened between you two?”

“We broke up. It happens.”

“Yes, but why?”

“We didn’t have much in common. Once the initial attraction faded there wasn’t much to bind us together.” It was too easy to say it was about what he could give her: money, fame, a life of luxury that really appealed to her. She wanted those things, but she figured out quickly that she could get them elsewhere. That he wasn’t the kind of man to make her happy.

“You broke up with her?”

He barked a laugh. “That’s kind of you, Georgia, but no. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t have the self-respect to end it.” He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Once this thing with Georgia was finished, he would ensure the separation was clean with no strings remaining to connect them.

“Sometimes we know something doesn’t feel right but we want to believe so much. That our instincts can’t be so off.”

He turned his head to her. Is that what she thought … about them?

“What do you want to believe in?”

“That maybe I’ll get it right one day. That I won’t keep making the same mistakes.”

Yet this felt right. Holding her, inhaling lungfuls of that sweet floral scent in her hair, this quiet talking before the rest of the house came awake.

Even his painful dick felt right.

But maybe that was because he should ache around her. Georgia was a woman worth yearning for.

“You’re not quite the disaster you think you are, you know that?”

She hummed, the sound reverberating against his chest, and Christ, he loved the feeling. This closeness.

“I’m poisoning you with my food and my cat, disturbing your sleep patterns, and whining about my life.” She peeked up at him. “You’re not denying any of this.”

“It’s all true.”

“Banks!” She pushed up on her elbow, sending her camisole off her shoulder and his dick into a tailspin. “You’re supposed to soothe me. Tell me that I’ve done none of those things.”

“Told you I was poor husband material.”

“Awful.” But she grinned, and his heart went ka-boom. Her leg was still draped over his, her knee so close—and there it was again. That brush against his cock. He shifted and she noticed.

“Oh God, I’m sorry.” She lifted the cover and peeked. “Is that my fault?”

“You’re not to blame for everything, despite your preference for martyrdom.”

“Hey!” She picked up her pillow and thumped him with it.

He quickly returned the favor, and soon Georgia was grappling with him to try to steal his pillow (after she’d lost control of hers and it landed on the floor on his side of the bed). The struggle ended with Banks holding her upper arms to keep her at length. His shoulder ached but nothing compared to his dick.

“Weakling.”

“I am not!”

“Puny as a petal.”

“How dare?—”

She rolled over on top of him, smashing her breasts into his chest as she vainly tried for his pillow again. Angling for leverage, she straddled his hips while he lay back and refused to budge, his head keeping the pillow trapped.

“I’ve got you now,” she panted.

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