Page 26 of Rookie Move
DJ had always hated his college girlfriends. Particularly Amy. In fairness to DJ, Amy had never given him the timeof day, because DJ wasn’t a hockey star. “I didn’t call her,” Leo pointed out, feeling defensive. “She showed up at open practice. There was this press conference...”
“Yeah. Lianne told me about that. She caught it on Gawker. See—I wasn’t even going to bring that up. You called her the love of your life?” DJ chuckled.
Leo winced. “Uh, well, anyway. Amy found out I was in town, and she came to the open practice. And when I was trying to talk to Georgia, she sort of attacked.”
DJ laughed again. Apparently Leo’s life was fricking hilarious. “I’veseenAmy’s attack. And yet for a year, when we all said, ‘What do you see in her?’ you didn’t acknowledge the problem.”
It was definitely time to change the subject. “Georgia didn’t look happy to see me, anyway. Apparently the Worthington clan would prefer if I just crawled off back to the minors.”
“Try again,” his brother said immediately. “I really think you and Georgia need to talk. She’s in a bind right now, trying to hold on to the top job in PR. Can’t imagine that your hot mic moment made her job any easier.”
Well, fuck. “I didn’t know that.”
“No kidding. That’s why you need to...”
“Talk to her. Got it. I’ll try again.”
“You do that, bro.”
SEVEN
Georgia hadn’t meant to be a few minutes late to the rink on game night. But she’d gone to the dojang for a class and then done a little shopping.
By the time the cab had dropped her off at her apartment building, she had very little time to shower and change. And then none of her game-night outfits seemed satisfying.
“Does this look sleek and mature, or just boring?” she asked Becca, spinning around in a pencil skirt and a drapey silk blouse.
Her friend’s eyebrows shot up. “I wonder why you’re suddenly so deep into fashion crisis mode. It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain rookie player, would it?”
Damn it. It did. “Becca, friends don’t try to headshrink friends when they’re late for work.”
Becca set down the handbag she’d been sorting for her own adventures tonight and came to stand in front of Georgia. She reached up, unbuttoning two of the buttons on Georgia’s blouse, exposing a bit of cleavage. “It’s perfect now.”
“Thanks, I think. Are you ready to go? We can split a cab.”
***
An hour later, Georgia was in the owners’ box, trying not to speed-eat the Brazilian cheese puffs a food-service worker had just dropped off. But she was both hungry and nervous—a dangerous combination.
Fifty yards away in the press box, reporters were waiting for the starting lineups to be announced. And it was taking longer than usual tonight. They were getting grumbly, and fast.
And they weren’t the only ones. Nate paced like a lion, watching his phone for updates. He didn’t say anything, but Georgia could feel his impatience with her father. The big boss was chugging imported water, his drink of choice. That was something she and Nathan had in common—neither of them liked to drink at games.
“Honey?” Becca said as Georgia grabbed her seventeenth cheese puff. “Sorry to interrupt one of your regular feedings. But the reporters in the box are getting antsy for the starting lineup. The guy from thePostjust asked me if there was some kind of problem.”
“Ugh.” Georgia drained her water glass. “It doesn’t help that I’ve been ducking them all night. Excuse me.” She skittered out of the room, down the hall, and then stuck her head into the press room. A dozen heads swiveled around to see whether anyone important had appeared. Usually those heads would swivel right back again. It wasn’t that Georgia wasn’t often useful to them. It’s just that she wasn’t newsworthy.
Unfortunately, the reporters’ glances lingered tonight. “Is there any word on whether the rookie will play tonight?” a guy from ESPN called out. “All the women on my staff are asking about him.”
She held back her groan. “The new coach is settling in,” she said. “He’s taking his time speaking with the players tonight, making sure everyone knows he isn’t going to run in and start knocking heads together. I’ll get you the lineup as soon as I have it.”
The answer satisfied no one, not even her. The men who came out to cover games were hard-core sports writers—not gossip columnists. But she hated the feeling of being sized up for newsworthiness. That’s why she’d been avoiding the press box all evening.
When the PR chief had to duck the press, it was always a bad sign. But she didn’t know how else to play it until her name and face dropped out of circulation.
Standing around in here was uncomfortable, though. It would be fine when the game started, and the press had something to watch. But for now, she was going to bail out again. She pulled the door open again and took a step outside. But she didn’t get far, because a big wall wearing a purple tie was suddenly in the way. And she walked right into it.
“Oof,” Georgia said.
