Page 32 of Rookie Move
“Incoming,” Becca whispered. “Single, attractive yet egotistical defenseman at nine o’clock.”
“Ladies.” O’Doul stopped in front of Georgia and Becca. “You both look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you,” Becca crowed. “You do that tux some justice, too, mister.”
For her part, Georgia bit back another grumpy remark. O’Doul might be handing out compliments tonight, but she hadn’t forgotten how he’d spoken about her at the press conference, when he thought she was out of earshot.
“He has a big crush on you,” Becca said after he’d slipped away again.
“No way!” Georgia yelped. “You’re high.”
“You are the most clueless human alive, you know that? Half these guys are in love with you. O’Doul especially. And he asked you out for dinner last month when we were in Vancouver.”
“Oh.” Georgia frowned. “I think he meant, like, a group thing. There’s some restaurant he really likes there.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “It was a romantic seafood place on the waterfront, and he was asking you out on adate. I overheard the whole thing. Buddy, you are seriously out of practice at this whole boy/girl thing. We need to find you a dojo where they teach male/female interaction.”
Georgia snorted. “Can you imagine the drills? How to flip your hair.”
“How to lean in for the kiss.” Her roommate snickered. “The boob brush that’s so subtle it looks like an accident.”
They both giggled. “Maybe I do need lessons.”
“Just don’t take them fromher.” Becca pointed with her drink.
Leo’s date was shimmying on the dance floor, pancaked against his body.
“Damn you! You made me look.” Georgia yanked her eyes away from the happy couple, spotting a uniformed waiter exiting the kitchen, his tray freshly filled with tiny shrimp pot stickers.Come to mama, Georgia coached.I need a fix.
“Girl,” Becca said, nudging her elbow. “Step away from the passed hors d’oeuvres. Why don’t you ask Silas to dance? He looks a little bored.”
Georgia spotted the goalie across the room, leaning against the wall, a drink in his hand. He did, in fact, look a little bored. “His date bailed at the last minute. That happens to him a lot. It’s weird.” And the players were obligated to attend these functions a few times a year, whether they wanted to or not.
“See?” Becca prodded. “He needs you. And what would it hurt?”
“I don’t ask the players to dance.”
“But there’s no law against it, right?”
“Why don’t you do it?” Georgia challenged. “And, omigod, are we fourteen? I’m pretty sure the last time I had this conversation I was in ninth grade. And Green Day was playing in the gym. ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’”
“Good song. But you know hockey players aren’t my type,” Becca insisted. “I like ’em thin and artsy. And don’t go trying to tell me they’re not your type. Because I’m calling bullshit on that.”
Georgia didn’t try to argue the point. “Silas would faint from shock if I asked him to dance.”
“He’ll know you don’t mean anything by it. Just do this, okay? I’ll clean the inside of our refrigerator if you do.”
“Really? Even the fruit drawer?” Georgia had beendreading that task. The overripe mango was still in there, seeping slowly into its own swampy ooze.
“Even the fruit drawer.” Becca gave her a shove. “Go. Before I change my mind.”
Georgia walked in the general direction of Silas, taking her time. Asking him to dance was probably something she wouldn’t really have the finesse to do. She was technically working right now, and practically everyone she knew was in this room. Too many eyeballs, too much pressure. It was different when she was a teenager. Dancing with Leo had always been fun. But in the past six years, she’d only danced at the occasional wedding. And only with relatives.
Yikes, she thought as she made her way around various clots of partygoers. Six years was a long time to be a homebody. That’s how a habit became a rut, wasn’t it?
That wasn’t a fun realization.
In college, Georgia had played it safe. She’d kept to herself the first year, staying away from strangers and crowds while rebuilding her confidence. Her tennis teammates became good friends, and since they knew the difficult history of her last year of high school, they’d been understanding. Nobody ever made Georgia feel like a loser for staying in on Fridays and Saturdays. And during tennis season, she’d had plenty of company. They all worked too hard to party much.
