by Sarina Bowen
Becca was silent for a moment. “Well, Nate left for Midtown about an hour and a half after the press conference. So he doesn’t know that I had to cover your phones all day. Not unless Hugh mentions it to him.”
The general manager wasn’t the type to micromanage Becca, so Georgia’s freak-out had probably gone unnoticed. “Thank you, by the way,” Georgia said to their antique plaster ceiling. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t screened for me.” Once it became obvious that she’d receive press inquiries about the hot mic incident, she’d forwarded her line to Becca’s desk, hoping to stay out of the story. “This is so bad, though. Will you help me strategize?”
“Sure,” Becca said, her voice cheery. “First. Remove all your clothes, and then borrow my trench coat. If a hottie like Leo Trevi called me the love of his life, I wouldn’t be eating takeout on the living room floor with my roommate. At least one of us should be having sex with someone who doesn’t require batteries.”
Georgia didn’t rise to the bait. Leo was crazy to have said such a thing today. It didn’t mean anything. They didn’t even know each other anymore. More years had passed since she’d said good-bye than they’d even been together. “I just need to keep my job, Bec. How do I keep the media focused on the Bruisers without focusing them on Leo and me?”
“This story just has to wear itself out.” Becca gestured grandly with her wine glass. “In the meantime, you can send your man Leo out on the town. He can do some interviews about how much fun it is to be a rookie. Did you see that some blog wants a photo shoot with Leo?”
Georgia had spotted it on Becca’s lengthy call sheets. A widely read fan blog called Pucker Up wanted Leo for a spread entitled Hockey Hotties. “Sure, I can make Leo out to be Mr. Eligible Bachelor, even if he isn’t one. I can send out his head shots like seeds in the wind. But that won’t change the fact that news of the new coach just isn’t as interesting as a scuffle between the captain and a hot young rookie. This is going to be a Page Six shit storm. Rookie Bruiser Threatens Captain. Film at eleven.” Or worse—Arrogant Rookie Bruiser Declares His Love For Mystery Girl. That one would show up on the fan sites, with links to Leo’s Instagram feed, if he had one.
And here she’d thought she could get a lot of coverage for the team’s new direction in coaching.
“My office received Leo’s scanned HR forms this afternoon,” Becca said. “He listed his parents as his emergency contacts. No girlfriend.”
Georgia’s heart did an inappropriate twerk. Not that she’d admit it. “Tell me this story will blow over soon.”
“If by ‘soon’ you mean next month,” Becca mused, “Because nobody believed me today when I fed ’em your line about O’Doul and Trevi arguing over a pop song. They all saw you run out of there like your panty hose were on fire. You won’t be able to convince anyone that there’s no story there. But what you can do is serve up Leo on a platter. Send him to a movie premiere with an A-list date. Make him do the Pucker Up thing, and then maybe one of those beefcake calendars. And bring home a couple copies, okay?” She nudged Georgia with her toe.
“Not funny,” Georgia grumbled. “God, we need a few wins. Is it too much to ask?”
“Ask Daddy for it as a birthday present,” Becca teased.
“Sure. Coach Karl can change the narrative for me. He can rescue his foolish daughter from the gossip columns’ clutches.” At least she hoped he could. “But even if he does, I’m drowning in work. The team missed out on two publicity opportunities last week because I couldn’t be in three places at once. I need help, but I’m not willing to ask for it. If they’d just confirm me as the permanent PR director, I wouldn’t have to tiptoe around the issue.”
Becca clicked her tongue sympathetically. “I know you don’t want them hiring anyone new. Can you shift any of it onto the interns? Can you get a temp?”
She shook her head. “Writing press releases and setting up interviews isn’t something I can delegate. Even when I ask them to blast out a bunch of stuff on social media, I have to spend an hour on it first, so the message is right. And then there’s the charity stuff. It’s actually my favorite part of the job, but I don’t have enough time to plan for it now.”
“You mean like the benefit next week?”
Georgia rolled her head, trying to get the knots out of her neck. “Yeah. Thank god for party planners. I’d like to do more with charities but I don’t know how to stop spinning my wheels. It’s hard to think big when you’re always putting out fires.”
“Poor baby.” Above her, Becca leaned over the coffee table, gathering the empty cartons. She put the last dumplings on Georgia’s plate, because her appetite was legendary. “You need anything?”
“I’m good,” Georgia insisted, sitting up. “And you don’t have to clean up. You’ve already done enough of my work for one day.”
“So I answered a few extra phone calls. Big effing deal.” Becca disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a new bottle of wine. “I’m topping up our glasses,” she announced.
“Why? Tomorrow is open practice.” And goddamn, what lousy timing. She didn’t want to face fans on a Saturday morning.
“I need to get you drunk so you’ll tell me whether the new rookie is any good in the sack.”
“We are not discussing that.” Reminiscing was exactly what she did not need right now. A girl could get really distracted remembering those hot nights in the back of Leo’s car. And it was startling to remember just how reckless she’d once been. When she and Leo were teenagers, things had escalated in a big hot hurry. He’d been eager to please her and she’d been eager to let him try.
Nnnngh. They’d had so, so much sex. And it had been glorious.
Becca giggled. “He was, wasn’t he? Hell. Teenage boys aren’t known for their sexual prowess. But you should see your face right now.”
Georgia bit her lip and fought for a more neutral expression. “I really don’t need to be thinking about that tonight.”
“Pity.” Becca twisted off the top of the bottle and angled it toward Georgia’s glass. “Whether you want to think about you and Leo together or not, both your faces are going to be on all the puck bunny blogs tomorrow.”
“God, I hope not. And I hope the top brass won’t notice how much thunder it’s stolen from their big announcement. Crap. Nate probably has some kind of ninja web alarm that sends every mention of the team straight to his Katt Phone.”
“You’re not going to lose your job,” Becca murmured. “But maybe we should hold off another month on buying the new sofa.”
“The universe does not want to show us any job security, Bec. Why is that?”
“I wish I knew.” Becca had a good job running the Bruisers C-suite. But she used to be Nate’s personal assistant at his skyscraper in midtown. When he bought the team, he shipped her out of the thirtieth floor office tower to work in Brooklyn. That’s how she and Georgia had met, almost two years ago. Even now, Becca still wasn’t sure why Nate made the switch. He said he needed a trusted employee in Brooklyn, because he didn’t make it to the Bruisers’ office every day. But Georgia knew she often fretted that he’d been dissatisfied with her work.
“That movie you wanted to see tonight starts at nine,” Georgia said from her position on the floor. “But we’re not really in the mood to go out, are we?”
“Nope,” Becca agreed. “Why spend the money when we can drink wine and watch Netflix?”
“Truth.”
“So get over here. The world’s ugliest couch is calling your name.”
* * *
Two hours and one chick flick later, Georgia climbed into her bed and shut off the light. She tucked the comforter around herself to keep out the chill. Theirs was a small, drafty apartment in an old building which had changed purposes so many times that it was difficult to say whether her little bedroom had once been someone’s office or their ser
vants’ quarters. Her double bed barely fit into the space. But she wouldn’t trade it for a high-rise in a less interesting neighborhood. Dumbo was pricey but scenic. And the short walking commute to work was something every New Yorker dreamed of.
She lay there in the dark, waiting for sleep to come. But the difficult day still held her in its stressful clutches. Leo’s handsome face drifted through her consciousness for the first time in years. There was an ocean of time between them now—four years of college plus two more afterward.
Georgia never let herself think about him—it was too painful. She’d lost so much during her senior year of high school. Her peace of mind. Her fearlessness. And the love of the boy she’d always cherished. In order to bury those bad memories, she’d had to pack away the fun times with Leo, too. But today it had all come rushing at her like an avalanching closet. All the good, the bad, and the handsome, chiseled chin. The warm brown eyes . . .
Yikes.
Leo was going to be difficult to ignore—all two hundred glorious muscular pounds of him. Just the idea that he could pass by her office door at any moment was distracting. If she saw him almost every day, that tide of memories would not be held back.
At least there’d be a lot of good mixed in with the sad and the scary. They’d had so much fun together. Looking back on it with a few years’ distance, Georgia realized they’d probably been one of those couples that lonely people hated. Whenever they were in the same room together, they were always touching. His hand on her knee under the table at the diner. Her fingers ruffling the hair at the back of his head.
And the stolen kisses . . .
Georgia squirmed in her bed. The memory of Leo’s hands on her body was potent, even after all this time. Whenever they’d found a moment’s privacy, they’d always attacked each other. The combination of natural chemistry and teenage enthusiasm had been practically combustible.
In hindsight, it was a miracle they’d never had a pregnancy scare. By the time Georgia turned eighteen and promptly snuck off to get an IUD without her father’s knowledge, they’d been fooling around for many months already. The generous bench seat of Leo’s old truck was their favorite place in the world. It was there that they’d kissed for hours on end, their hands wandering and exploring as far as they dared in a parked vehicle.
But the first time they had any real privacy was in Georgia’s bed, on a night when her dad was out of town at one of his away games. Georgia had sworn to him that Leo would not come over while she was home alone. And yet the minute his car had backed down the driveway, she’d called Leo to tell him the coast was clear.
After hanging up, she’d removed all her clothes and climbed into bed. She’d laid there, the sheets silky against her heated skin, listening. Ten minutes later she heard the sound of Leo’s truck engine. Then the slam of his door as he got out.
Georgia had clutched the sheet to her chest, where her heart did the mambo—not out of fear, but expectation. She heard the muted sounds of Leo moving through the house, looking for her.
When he finally appeared in the doorway to her bedroom, the look in his eye was hot enough to melt her everywhere. He kicked off his shoes and stalked over to the bed. Without a word, he tossed his hockey jacket aside and climbed onto the bed, pressing her down into the mattress with his hips, his mouth landing on her neck.
She gasped, pulling him closer with both her bare arms. His warm mouth did marvelous things to her throat while she fumbled with the hem of his T-shirt. “Off. Now,” she’d demanded.
“Me or the shirt?” he’d rumbled in her ear.
“The shirt! And the jeans. All of it.” She said what she wanted, and she was not embarrassed. That’s how it was between them. Easy. “You’re the only one here who’s wearing any clothes.”
Leo’s eyes had widened, then he’d shot up to his knees and yanked off his T-shirt, revealing the lean, muscular chest she’d always admired. Then his fingers had gone to his fly, and he caught on to the fact that she was watching. Maybe another boy would have gotten shy. But his eyes had locked on hers, his expression blistering. When he’d shoved down his jeans and boxers, his erection had bounced free, slapping him in the stomach.
Georgia’s stomach shimmied. Then she’d reached out slowly and wrapped her hand around him. He’d been impossibly hot and hard in her hand.
Leo dropped his head back and gasped with happiness. So she’d moved her hand slowly up his shaft, her thumb making an exploratory sweep across the tip of him. Leo had made a helpless, guttural sound, so she did it again.
After a moment, his hand had closed around hers. “I’m about thirty seconds away from making a big mess,” he’d panted.
“I don’t care,” she’d whispered. Making Leo lose his mind was the best thing ever.
“Not yet,” he’d returned, gently removing her hand from his body. He’d shucked off his jeans and socks. Then Georgia made the bold move of tossing her sheet completely aside.
Leo’s eyes had practically bugged out of his head, then. For a moment he forgot how to speak, and Georgia didn’t breathe. Then Leo exhaled all of a sudden. “Goddamn, I love your body,” he said. He’d dropped a hand onto her flat stomach, and paused, as if he couldn’t decide what to touch first.
“Then come here,” she’d whispered, moving over to make room in her twin bed.
“Right.” He’d slipped into the bed beside her, his eyes laughing. “This is already the best night of my life,” he whispered.
Georgia couldn’t wait any longer. She’d reached for his face with both hands and kissed him.
He’d gasped, deepening the kiss. Then he’d rolled, spreading himself out on top of her. And finally, they were skin to skin. Everywhere. He’d pushed his tongue into her mouth and she’d felt herself absolutely flood with desire . . .
Unnng. Georgia rolled over, alone in her cold Brooklyn bed. She was never going to get to sleep if she kept thinking about that. Now she was sleepless for two reasons—the Rough Day Blues, and her libido had shaken itself awake for the first time in years.
Thanks, Leo Trevi. Thanks a ton.
FOUR
SATURDAY, JANUARY 30
30 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
TOP TEAM HEADLINES:
Can a New Coach Save the Bruisers?
Or Is it Too Little Too Late?
—ESPN
WATCH as Hot-Headed Bruisers Rookie Tangles with Surly Captain
—Puckrakers Blog
“Again!” Coach Karl barked from the sidelines.
Leo looked up into O’Doul’s snarling face for the tenth time in as many minutes. They were doing a three-on-two drill, designed to practice those crucial minutes when the team was engaged in penalty killing. He was partnered with Jason Castro, another young forward. All the two needed to do was get the puck past O’Doul and two of his ornery, iceberg-sized henchmen.
They’d managed it a few times already, but not as many as Leo would have liked. And unfortunately, his partner had just flaked as one of their practice competitors bore down on him at top speed. He got the pass off, but it was a weak shot. Leo lunged, caught it with the tip of his stick and flicked it away again.
The puck almost sailed between O’Doul’s legs. But in the last hair’s breadth of a second, he’d closed the gap and nabbed it.
Fuck.
“Nice try, college boy.” O’Doul chuckled.
After some sprints an associate coach asked the forwards for a final sprinting drill. So Leo bore down and turned on all the burners. His thighs were screaming and his lungs burned as he wove past the cones set out on the ice. But he welcomed the challenge. Hockey was an orderly world. Sure, any game or practice had a million possible results. But there were rules, and those who didn’t follow them got ejected. For sixty minutes of timed play, Leo always knew what to expect. Hard hits. Exhaustion. He a
lways got out of it whatever he put in.
Not like real life.
When Georgia had left him, the betrayal had astonished him. He’d loved her as hard and as thoroughly as a boy could. He’d put everything he’d had into it. Then he’d been shoved aside.
But hockey didn’t work that way. If you were the best man on that sheet of ice, you’d eventually prevail. And a good teammate was always valued.
Off the ice, a guy could have his heart broken. On the ice, you lost a game, it sucked. You won a game, it was great. And there was always another game somewhere, even if it wasn’t in the league you’d hoped.
This right here was pure living.
The final whistle blew, and Leo’s first practice with the Bruisers came to a close.
There was sweat dripping into Leo’s eyes as he took a couple of cooldown laps. Leo had skated like a wild man that morning. Not only did he need to prove himself to Coach and the team, but it helped to sweat away some of his frustration. His body was heavy with hard-won exhaustion. And nobody could say that he hadn’t put in a hundred percent.
It wasn’t easy being the new guy. Every time he made a jump in his hockey career, the bottom rung of the ladder was still a shock. In high school he’d thought he was hot shit. Then he got to Harkness College and learned a valuable lesson while getting his ass handed to him at every practice for an entire season, before pulling it together sophomore year. Things went well after that, and he’d worked harder than he ever had in his life. The reward was an excellent run in the NCAA championships his junior and senior years. They won the Frozen Four five weeks before graduation.
Achievement unlocked.
But then he’d signed on to the minor league team, and the process began again. Bottom rung. Big adjustments. He had to prove himself on an entirely new level. Last year had gone well, though. Instead of taking a year to make a real contribution to the Muskrats, it had taken him two months.