Was she? It hadn’t always been true, but being a rape survivor at eighteen could do that to a girl. “I hate this. I hate that he’s making me think about everything that happened in the past. Two weeks ago I didn’t have to look at his ridiculously handsome face and wonder if he was attracted to me. And then wonder why he stopped being attracted to me.”
“You’re right, there’s no cure for that kind of torture. Oh wait. What if you asked him?”
No can do. “I’ll take it under advisement.” But seriously—she and Leo were never having that conversation. It was ten times worse than asking a man, Do I look fat in these jeans? Before her attack they’d had sex constantly. Afterward he’d taken to giving her dry pecks on the cheek. As if he couldn’t retreat fast enough. Sure, he’d hold her on the couch when she was sad, which was all the time. But if she ran her hand down his chest and left it tauntingly on his inner thigh, he’d pick it up and move it elsewhere.
His body language said, Yuck. And she’d died a little inside every time he’d pulled away from her.
“I don’t know what to tell you, sweetie.” Becca sighed. “At least one of us shouldn’t be lonely.”
“But we’re not!” Georgia insisted. “So what if we don’t have a guy? We have a great roommate. We have great jobs . . .”
“. . . Decent jobs, which we’re both in danger of losing.”
“Okay, decent jobs. Fine. And an apartment in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the world.”
“There’s a mouse in the kitchen again.”
“Damn it! You’re not making this whole pep talk thing easy.”
Becca laughed. “It isn’t, though. Because I want a guy in my life. I want a partner, and kids. I’d go gay for you, hon, but adoption is expensive. And then there’s the matter of your not having a dick.”
“It’s always something with you.” Georgia wished she could just fly home now and sit on the ugly couch with Bec. Where things were easy.
“Did Nate make it to yoga? He was worried about flight delays out of Teterboro.”
“He made it. Looking Zen as ever.”
“In his I-am-not-afraid-to-wear-tight-shorts shorts?”
“Yep.” Georgia hesitated. “Do you think he has the technology to hear everything we say on these things? Maybe he monitors us.”
“Maybe. Did I tell you that I plan on working an extra twelve hours today? And I’m skipping lunch just to get some extra work done.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Love you, George. I have to go get some actual work done.”
“You’re very convincing. Bye!”
* * *
Georgia waited in the hotel lobby for her calendar boys. The blog had asked for Castro as well as Leo for their au naturel pictures.
Castro was the first to arrive. “Hey, Killer,” he said with a smile. Castro had quite a nice smile, actually. He was a winger who’d been Nate’s first trade after he’d acquired the team. He had the most unusual coloring Georgia had ever seen on a man—flawless brown skin and unexpectedly pale hazel eyes. No wonder Hockey Hotties wanted to photograph him. If he left hockey, he had a future in modeling.
“Hey, Castro. I guess that nickname is going to stick around.”
“Seems so.” He grinned.
Thanks, Dad. She surveyed the busy lobby, and her vision snagged on a tall, dark, sharply dressed man coming toward her.
Leo.
You’d think after a couple of weeks she’d be used to the sight of him. But no such luck. He wore his game-night suit and cocky smile, and her heart did a slutty shimmy just at the sight of him. She was thoroughly confused about what it meant to have him back in her life, but her subconscious wasn’t confused at all. Whenever he appeared, all her senses leapt to attention. And now she knew what that muscle felt like under her hands when they kissed . . .
“Hi, gorgeous,” he said, looking as dashing as ever.
Yowza. It was going to be a long afternoon. “Hey there. Are you ready to play tonight?”
His smile faded. “We’ll see.”
“How was practice?”
“Epically bad.”
Noooo. “Did something happen?” She didn’t know how much more drama she could take.
He gave his head a slow shake. “Nope. Just not my day. And I can’t afford to have days like that. Not even one.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. No matter how confusing it was to have Leo around, she wanted him to have his chance.
“Where are we headed, anyway?” He held the hotel’s front door open for both her and Castro. “Some photography studio?”
“Nope. The rink. These are going to be action shots.”
Leo scratched his chin, which was sporting a delectable amount of scruff. “Like, in the locker room?”
“Probably,” Georgia hedged. She didn’t really know what the photographer had in mind, but they were about to find out.
The three of them got into the waiting limo. “There’s only twelve months in the year,” Castro pointed out. “And thirty NHL teams. Are they seriously going to use two of us? Or am I going to get cut in favor of pretty boy here.”
“Better to be cut from a beefcake calendar than from the team,” Leo pointed out.
“True.” Castro chuckled.
“That’s probably why there’s two of us,” he grumbled. “In case one of us gets sent down before this thing goes to print.”
“That’s the spirit,” Georgia said, poking him in the knee. His muscular knee . . . Focus, Georgia. But it was hard to mentally keep her distance when they were in the same vehicle together.
It was a short limo ride, thankfully. They showed their Bruisers IDs to the security guard at the stadium door, and a staff member led them through the bowels of the arena to the visitors’ dressing room, where the photographer and her two assistants waited.
“I’m Gloria,” the photographer said. She was a stocky woman with a beautiful face, a dozen earrings, and a militant flattop. “You must be Georgia. Thank you for bringing me these two healthy hunks of man meat.”
“Um . . .” Georgia sputtered.
“I’m Castro,” the player said, holding out his hand. “How do you want this to work?”
The photographer sized him up from head to toe and up again. “Nice,” she said. Then she turned to Leo and did the same. “Okay, let’s start on the ice itself. You’ve got your skates, right? Follow me.” She pushed through to the chute door and led them down to the visitors’ bench. “I’m going to set up, and then Gracie here will help you prep. I’ve got someone standing by to change the lighting.” She waved a hand vaguely toward the mezzanine level. “So who’s first?”