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It wasn’t a lie.
* * *
Quinn
Morning skate isrough as hell. And it has nothing to do with how hard I got slammed into the boards last night and everything to do with George and Mexico and a girl I’d resigned myself to never being able to make it right with seven years ago.
A girl I most likely still won’t be able to make it right with based on George’s text at two a.m.
Her friend appreciated understanding what happened back then but still wasn’t interested in letting me apologize in person.
I don’t know how I feel about it. Guilty, I guess, because hearing that my actions were affecting her after all this time should’ve been the only thing on my mind. But I can’t get Georgie out of my head.
I don’t know where we stand but I hope to hell it’ssomewhere.
I have lunch with the team and meet with the assistant coach to talk about tonight. I’m usually raring to go. I like away games. I like changing things up. Meeting different people and eating different food. Seeing a different skyline. Whatever.
But today I’m hating that I’m leaving when nothing is resolved.
When I get home, I leave my gear by the door and start to pack before getting a nap in.
I check my phone like the thirteen-year-old girl I’ve become, looking to see if maybe she messaged me back. If maybe I somehow cleared the notification by accident. But there’s nothing after my message asking her if I could stop by to see her today, and no answer meansno.
An hour and a half later I’m ready to go, waiting on my ride from Vassar to the airport.
A knock at the door sounds, and I grab my bag. “Dude, I would have come down—Georgie,” I cough out, shaking my head like I’m not sure she’s really there.
But then I pull my shit together, because she’s totally there.
“You gave me clearance downstairs?”
She isn’t quite making eye contact, instead looking in the neighborhood of my shoulder.
“Wishful thinking, I guess.”
What is she doing here?
“Kind of casual with your security,” she says, offering a slight shrug, her eyes inching to my chin. “Vaughn would be disappointed. I mean, you know how some fans get.”
She’s joking with me, and it’s so completely foreign that for a minute I don’t even know how to respond. Except then it clicks—George is here, standing in my hall, trying to make a joke.
She’shere.
And that’s about a million times better than her being anywhere else.
Propping a shoulder against the door, I cross my arms—fine, and flex some too. Hell, I know she likes my body and I’m not above working it to my advantage. Especially when I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to get to see her again at all.
“You in the mood to use me, Georgie?” I’ve only got about seven minutes before Vassar shows up. But I’m a guy who knows how to deliver. In fact, I might even be able to get her off twice.
Only then she’s not justnot quitelooking at me anymore. She’s looking at her feet and down the hall to the elevator.
Like maybe she’s counting the seconds until she’s able to leave.
What if this is goodbye? What if the only reason she came over here at all was to tell me we were over?
Shit, shit, shit.
“Georgie,” I choke out, reaching for her hand. Stroking my thumb over the soft skin when she doesn’t pull back. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
