Page 105 of Hockey Wife
“It’s for team building. And to make sure everyone obeys curfew.”
She gasped. “You mean your roomie would rat you out if you play at Cinderella?”
“Depends. But you don’t want them holding anything over you. The org knows what they’re doing with the room assignments.”
“Sounds like they think you can be a good friend to Dex.”
“Actually, O’Malley pulled a roommate switch.”
“He wants your mentorship. I told you!”
Hardly. Just because he’d been in this business longer than this kid was alive didn’t mean he had any useful advice. He’d never won the Cup. Had a solid but uneventful career. He had kept his head down and invested well because this gig could end at any moment, though the thought of giving it up killed him.
He sucked in a breath, wondering how the next stage would play out. Kids maybe. Yard work. Buy a share in a restaurant or a bar. Try to keep useful.
No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t see Georgia in that future movie playing in his mind. Sure she was a woman of leisure, but why the hell would a life with a past-his-prime ex-athlete interest her? Just as he was thinking about settling, she’d be looking for her next fix. Another party. A more exciting boyfriend.
Not him.
Yet here he was, obsessing, barely able to think straight. Time to get a grip.
“I’ve got to go. Heading for dinner.”
“Okay. Be nice to Dex!”
“Oh wow! You have done well for yourself, girl!”
Skye dropped her Hermes bag on the foyer table, the one where Banks had fucked her—was that only three days ago?—and twirled around.
“Not bad, G. Not bad.” Skye was acting as if luxury was unusual for Georgia, but she probably meant this was a hundred times better than her old place in Castle Apartments. She held up a bottle of Dom. “Got any glasses for these?”
Georgia had been sorely neglecting her friends since she moved in with Banks, and while she had an invite to Mia Wallace’s house for the Chicago-Boston Game 4 with the other WAGs—the poor guys had lost Game 3—she thought it would be nice to have a watch party with the girls and Oliver. A way to integrate her worlds, which seemed necessary after Banks had told her to tell the truth and take what she wanted.
What if she wanted … her husband?
Paris and Skye walked into the kitchen while Oliver lingered behind. He looked around, made a face, and frowned at her.
“If I thought all you needed was a better crib, I would have offered to have you move in with me.”
Ah, ruffled feathers needed smoothing. “That wasn’t why I moved in. It needs to look good for my parents.”
But now it’s looking good for me …
“Hmm.” He moved in closer. “Is that the only reason?”
“What else would there be?”
Oliver huffed out a dark laugh. “Yeah, Georgia and the jock. That’d be something.” He touched a finger under her chin. “And you can’t even go to a game without getting hurt.”
“Banks felt awful about it. Like it was his fault.”
“Well, it is! This world, G …” He booped her nose. “It’s not for you.”
Now whose feathers were ruffled? Georgia mentally squirmed, not enjoying her friend’s snap judgment or condescension. But maybe he was right. Gorgeous lakeside mansions aside, she and Banks came from vastly different worlds.
“Guess you’re not interested in watching my husband play hockey, then.”
Oliver didn’t like the mention of the H word, either of them. He’d always been possessive when she dated someone, and this whole situation clearly bothered him.