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He smiled fondly as his affection for her swelled in his chest. “We’ll make sure it is.”
Her usual grin returned, erasing all evidence of something not quite right. “Nothing’s gonna stop us. We will KILL it!” She perused the table for photos. “And if any more ideas pop into my head while I’m waiting tables, I’ll jot them down and bring ’em tonight.”
“Tonight?”
Georgie nodded. “To McNally’s.”
Dammit. Oliver’s pulse spiked. “Or we could meet tomorrow at the Golden Griddle?”
Georgie’s shoulders deflated. “I can’t. I’m training four new hires and won’t get a break. The game should finish before eleven, so why don’t you come fifteen minutes before that?” Her gaze strayed to the navy blue, herringbone-patterned coat hanging from the back of his chair, its collar hugged by his forest green scarf. “Beat the line-up to get in.”
Oliver squinted. “Where will I find you?”
“Oh, it’s easy peasy. Our table is in the back of the bar on the left.”
“You have a table?”
“Yup!” said Georgie. “It’s always reserved for us, but don’t worry. If you don’t spot us straight away, you’ll definitely bump into us.”
Oliver swallowed hard. If he didn’t bump into Will first.
TEN
GEORGIE
A few hours later
Stood shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow fans during the first intermission (score: Toronto 2, Chicago 2), Georgie munched M&M-sprinkled popcorn in the noisy concourse and watched a TV monitor broadcasting Hockey Night in Canada’s Coach’s Corner. Don Cherry, its popular host and a former head coach of the Boston Bruins and Colorado Rockies, went off on one of his famous rants as Leesa and Kaitlin chatted beside her.
“…you go, Georgie!”
Vaguely hearing her name, she pulled away from the television. “What’d I do?”
“Gi, we’d just like to say, we fully approve of this thing with Oliver,” said Kaitlin.
Georgie’s gaze darted between her two friends. “I’ve known him for two weeks. There is no thing.”
“Well, if there isn’t yet, you want there to be!” Kaitlin’s comment provoked a headshake from Georgie.
“Don’t play little miss innocent with us!” said Leesa. “We saw you this morning! Drooling over Oliver’s forearms.”
Toned with subtle veins. A smattering of hair. Yeah. Oliver’s forearms were, quite simply, a work of art. Their surprise appearance had made her wonder: what else was hiding underneath that snuggly reindeer sweater? Toned abs? Tattoos?
Hmm. What would it be like to have him above me? She aimlessly sifted through her popcorn. To clutch onto those strong forearms like my life depended on it?
But Georgie couldn’t disclose those flirty thoughts. Hell no. Voicing them aloud would make them real and up for discussion, which was counterintuitive to her ongoing efforts to submerge any and all amorous feelings until they drowned a quick and hopefully painless death. She already had her hands full with Eden, who, during Georgie’s return call the night prior, relentlessly pressed for details on how “sexy and in command Oliver must’ve looked in his office”.
For the record, Eden wasn’t wrong. In the dim light with stacks of research papers on his desk and sepia-tinged maps of Cairo and Luxor adorning the walls, Oliver resembled a hotter, fedora-free version of Indiana Jones, but that was beside the point. On the phone to Eden, Georgie admitted nothing, a defensive tactic she was implementing against Leesa and Kaitlin, too.
Afterall, she didn’t need to add any more singers to Eden’s noisy chorus. Like the skilled goalie she was, she’d deflect, block, and quash all rebounds as if her life depended on it.
Georgie shook her head again. “I wasn’t drooling—”
“Oh, come on! I was”—Kaitlin held her thumb and index finger a few centimetres apart—“this close to tossing you a serviette.” She patted Georgie’s shoulder. “Is there something you’d like to confess, Gi?”
“Yes. My friends are delusional as fuck.”
Kaitlin rolled her eyes. “Look in the mirror, missy!”
