After she’d thanked everyone in the room for coming out on a Monday afternoon just to say congratulations, she ended up in front of Nate Kattenberger, who’d come in late. He was catching up on his own glass of champagne and some of the exquisite passed appetizers that continued to circulate. “Number Three!” he crowed, holding up his glass. “Congratulations. I wish you all the best.”
Georgia thanked him, wondering not for the first time if he’d ever find anyone. How did an overworked billionaire find a date? And if a woman was interested in him, would he ever trust it?
Note to self. Some people’s romantic troubles were probably thornier than her own.
“Do you feel good about the roster?” she asked. “I have to say I’m a lot more relaxed about planning my wedding now that the trade deadline is passed.”
He made a wry face. “I wouldn’t sign off on a trade of Leo Trevi. He just got here.”
“Oh,” Georgia said slowly. “Well, never say never.” Surely every player had a price. Nate was a businessman. He knew that.
But the magnate shrugged. “While never is a long time, he’s a fabulous player, and I brought him to Brooklyn for a reason.”
“And what was that?” Georgia hadn’t quite cracked the code of why Nate did the things he did. She loved hearing any little insights into the famous Nate Brain.
Her young, genius, billionaire boss actually rolled his icy blue eyes. “The Bruisers aren’t just a team, Number Three. They’re a family. Remember that.”
While Georgia stared, he squeezed her elbow then crossed the room for another bit of salmon tartare on a wasabi rice cracker. After he shoved it into his mouth, he went over to Leo to shake his hand.
Her man smiled broadly, his sexy, scruffy jaw widening with humor at whatever the big boss said to him, the muscles in his forearm jumping as he pumped Nate’s hand. She could watch him forever.
“Wow, you’ve got it bad.” Becca nudged her, making Georgia realize she’d been staring at Leo with a swoony expression on her face. Her roommate offered Georgia one of the spicy homemade potato chips she held on a little appetizer plate. “These are amazing. It’s a good thing we can’t afford this place. Well—maybe you can now.”
“Oh, sure. I’m marrying Leo so I can run up his credit card.”
“You want to run up something.” Becca wiggled her eyebrows. “But not his credit card, I guess. Do you really have a naked picture of him on your computer?”
“Did everyone hear that?” Georgia’s face began to burn again.
“Only everyone here.” Becca giggled. “And that’s everyone you know. Oh well.”
Georgia groaned. “It’s a publicity photo. Swear to God. That eligible bachelor shoot for the charity calendar? They sent me the proofs.”
“Ooh.” Becca sighed. “Does that mean you have a shot of Castro’s booty, too? I might have to swing by your office and help you approve it. You know . . .” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Leo isn’t an eligible bachelor anymore. You should let the blog know. They might not use his picture.”
“Omigod! You’re a genius.” Georgia hugged her roommate. “I’m doing that the second I get home. That picture is mine.”
“Speaking of home. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Do you think we should finally replace the Beast?”
Becca shook her head slowly. “Nope. My family—god love ’em—is onto its next crisis. It’s my sister and my baby nephew this time. Now that you’re getting married, could I give them your room? I mean—not until you’re ready.” She fidgeted. “She lost her apartment again. And she can’t even afford half our rent, but I figure I’ll just suck it up.”
“Aw, crap. I’m sorry. And yeah—you guys can have my room whenever you need it. Let me just talk with Leo and see if he has any reservations about me moving in soon.”
Becca snorted. “Are you kidding? He’d move you in tonight if he could. You practically live there already.”
She practically did. “Okay. I’ll ask him tonight.”
“You’re the best.”
“No, you are.”
“No, you.”
“Wait, not me?” Leo asked, swooping in for a kiss.
Georgia forgot to argue as he claimed her mouth. There were catcalls in the background, and Georgia heard her father make an ornery noise. She gave his chest a gentle shove. “Later,” she whispered, self-conscious. “Everyone is watching.”
“They’re taking notes,” he said against her lips. “They want to see how it’s done.”
Georgia drew back. “Arrogant!” She smiled at him.
“You love it,” he argued.
She did. She really, truly did.
Keep reading for a preview of Sarina Bowen’s next Brooklyn Bruisers novel
HARD HITTER
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
THURSDAY, MARCH 10TH
Standings:
3rd place in the Metropolitan Division
17 Regular Season Games to Go
It was four more days until Ari got O’Doul onto her therapy schedule. At first he’d agreed to see her at the rink in Toronto during the pregame warm-ups. But then “something came up,” and he rescheduled. Again.
Now the team was back home in Brooklyn. Ari waited for him in her treatment room at the practice facility. She was perched on the countertop, wondering if he’d show. He was five minutes late already.
A girl could start to take this personally. She’d held this job for almost two years without ever having the captain on her massage table. Before now she’d chalked up his absence to his exceptionally good health and flexibility. The wrist injury he’d had earlier in the season was not the kind of thing that sent a man off to the massage room, either. But now that he was in such obvious need of her help, it was odd that he wouldn’t seek it. Many of the other players would book a massage twice a day if her schedule allowed it.
Not O’Doul.
She’d asked him once in casual conversation whether he saw a private massage therapist. There were a few players who were so into massage that they paid up to have a private masseuse visit them at home in the mornings. As a veteran, O’Doul would have plenty of money to hire a staff of thousands if he wished.
When she’d asked, though, he’d just shaken his head.
Ari had a theory about O’Doul, though. He didn’t seem to like to be touched. During yoga class, she never corrected him with her hands, because she’d noticed early on that his postures got worse instead of better when she tried to adjust him. At first she’d assumed that it embarrassed him to be corrected by a woman.