Page 88 of Hockey Wife

“Tired, but punchy.”

“I could punch someone. Fucking McMillan.”

“Was that the player who?—”

“Lost his shit because we scored.”

Thankfully, the team had gone on to win, 3-1. Georgia would never have forgiven herself if Banks’s absence had resulted in a loss on top of everything else.

“Next time, I’ll duck.”

He rubbed his mouth. “I’d understand if there wasn’t a next time. You’ve done your duty.”

“Are you kidding? I barely got a chance to show off my skills.”

“Your skills?”

She walked into the kitchen and picked up the electric kettle, only to have Banks take it from her, set it down, then set her down on one of the kitchen island stools.

He filled the kettle and flicked the power switch. “The raspberry one?”

“No, lemon ginger.”

He nodded. “What was that about your skills?”

“I learned all about hockey today. The rules, the playoffs, the stats.” What a big deal you are. “And I was just about to drop some knowledge when that puck dropped me instead.”

Through his beard she could discern the Banks smirk. “Drop it on me.”

Suddenly every single factoid she had learned vanished from her brain (puck to the head, remember?). Probably for the best. How silly would it be to tell him the rules?

Maybe something about his career instead.

“You won the Hart Memorial award ten years ago. The Art Ross one, too.”

“That was the year before.”

“For scoring the most points.”

He tore open the packet for the tea bag and put it in the mug. “Awards are a thing of the past for me now.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Hockey’s a young man’s game. I’ve got a couple more years left in me, but I won’t be scaling those heights again.”

His chances at the Cup were running out, yet another reason for her to be mad at herself. She was distracting him at this most important time.

The water finished its boil and Banks filled the mug. Placing it on the counter, he took a seat beside her. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head, resigned defeat overwhelming her.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the game. That was so important to you, and you were playing so well, scoring a goal, and then I go and screw it up. Again. All night you’ve been nothing but kind and?—”

He kissed her.

Not soft, not hard, just perfect. Maybe to shut her up?

Definitely to shut her up.

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