“When’s the earliest that I can sneak out of here without getting in trouble?” Silas asked.
Georgia peeked at her watch. It was only nine o’clock. “After the president of the charity speaks. But that should happen in thirty minutes.”
“Awesome,” Silas said, grinning at her. “If anyone stops me, I’m going to say you told me I could go.”
“Do you want me to write out a hall pass, like in high school?” The question seemed appropriate since apparently high school was the last time she’d had a life.
“Sure,” he teased.
Georgia found herself smiling back at him. She still wasn’t reckless enough to ask him to dance. Becca was probably chewing off her fingernails across the room, wondering what she was waiting for. It was sort of fun to torture her pushy roommate this way. But even if she didn’t fulfill their bet, chatting with Silas got her mind off Leo for a few minutes. And that had been the point, anyway.
“How shall we pass thirty minutes, then?” he asked.
“We’re very busy holding up this wall,” she pointed out.
He extended his drink, indicating the band playing in the corner. “I like this song. We could hold down the dance floor instead.”
“Okay,” Georgia said quickly. Becca wouldn’t even know she’d chickened out and she’d have to scrub rotten mango juice out of the fruit drawer anyway. Georgia bit back a smile at this little deception as Silas removed the water glass from her hand.
Guiding her toward the dance floor, Silas put a hand at the center of her back. She didn’t mind the warm pressure of his palm. It was steadying. There was something cheerful and open about Silas that she’d always appreciated. He didn’t have the intensity of Leo, but he was approachable. Dancing with a player under the scrutiny of the whole entire world just didn’t seem as weird as it should have. Because this was Silas, with his scruffy beard and easy hazel eyes.
She put her hand lightly on the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket as he stepped closer. With a quick grin, he adjusted their dancing stance and turned her easily to the left.
“You’re a good dancer,” she heard herself blurt out.
He laughed. “You were expecting me to suck?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Never mind me. I don’t dance much.”
“Maybe you should dance more,” he suggested. His tone was light, and his smile easy.
Holy crap, I’m actually having fun, she thought as he guided her around to the beat. And Becca has to clean the fridge. Winning!
“What’s so funny?” Silas asked.
“Not a thing. Did you take dance lessons?” she asked, just to turn the conversation away from herself.
But Silas didn’t answer, so she studied his face. “Can I trust you?”
“Sure. I’m a vault,” she promised.
“My mother made me take six years of dance lessons. Seventh through twelfth grades.”
“What?” she yelped. “Why?”
“Because she’s from the South,” he said, as if that explained it. “Cotillion. Everyone had to.”
“That is bizarre.”
“Not where she’s from.”
“That’s what I mean . . .” She had to pause because Silas lifted her hand above her head, and Georgia knew she was supposed to turn. “What’s bizarre is that a southern gentleman like you became a hockey player.”
“True,” he said. “But my mama likes dancing and white gloves, and my daddy likes violence. So it’s all there.”
Georgia smiled at him again, and was happy for the distraction, however brief.
NINE
“So tell me,” Amy said to Bayer’s girlfriend. “How does the wives and girlfriends’ club work?”
The low hum of a headache that had troubled Leo since they stepped into the room rose in pitch to a dull throb. It had been a mistake to invite Amy. She’d been busy trying to worm her way into his life—and his pants—since the moment he and Silas had joined her in the limo.
Silas was clearly the smarter of the two residents of apartment 407. He hadn’t brought a date. (“I don’t date,” he’d said with a shrug when Leo had asked.) And now? The young goalie was dancing with Georgia. Leo knew he shouldn’t watch, and he shouldn’t care. But his eyes kept drifting over to the two of them. They both looked about a hundred times more relaxed than he felt right now.
And since his attention had drifted, Amy was getting her hooks in, absorbing all of the other women’s attention and advice. “Meet us for cocktails on the road!” one of them was saying. “We’re good at sneaking into the hotel after curfew. It’s a blast.”
That’s it. He couldn’t let this go on. “Amy?” He took her hand. “Let’s dance. I want to talk to you.”
She sort of slithered into his arms, smiling up at him. “I’m all yours.”
Oh hell.
He led her a short distance away, where they could chat privately. Then he took her hand and met her eyes. “I’m really glad you could come out tonight. This event is pretty crazy, and I thought you’d find it fun.”
“It’s amazing,” she agreed. “I got a picture with O’Doul and his cute little date.” She slid her free hand into his jacket and over his abs. “And I got to reacquaint myself with you. Almost.” She grinned. “When can we go home?”
He caught her wandering hand. “Amy, we’re not going home together tonight. I told you that.”
“I know you need your sleep.” She took a step forward until her tits met his chest. “But it’s early. We could get started now.”
Leo held back his sigh. He’d said it nicely a dozen times already, but Amy had selective hearing. So now he was going to have to be a little less subtle. “We’re not going home together. Not tonight, and not another time. We were finished after college, Amy. That was your choice, anyway.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes. “But you moved to the Midwest. And even so, it was a bad decision. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
Ever since last Friday, she probably meant.
“I’ve moved on,” he said as gently as possible.
“Really?” She took a half step backward. “Where is your invisible girlfriend, then?”
“I just mean . . .” Fuck. “We’re over. It was good while it lasted, but we’re not getting back together. I’m sorry. There’s too much going on in my life.”