Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

Dinner goes quickly, thank fuck. My new wife and I are distracted by the constant stream of teammates and colleagues coming up to congratulate us.

“Dude.” Walker swings by, drink in hand and eyes all over my mouthy wife as she’s in conversation with another team doctor and Hazel. “Georgia’s your wife?”

I cross my arms over my chest. Another victim straying too close to the doctor’s web. Walker’s young and stupid. He doesn’t know the damage a woman like the doctor can inflict.

“Holy fuck,” Walker drawls, still staring at her, and something sharp twists in my gut. “I want a wife.”

My shoulders stiffen from the way he’s looking at her.

“No, you don’t,” I snap. “Close your mouth. And you can call her Dr. Greene.”

She does look hot tonight, though. That dress. I fucking hate that dress. I love that dress. I’m trying to ignore her but I’m obsessed with it, sneaking glances when she’s not looking.

Her legs are long and bare, and the short, sparkly dress barely covers her ass. Something that fucking annoys me about the doctor is her ability to make clothes look like they were created just for her, fitting every curve and swell of her body in a way that’s hard to ignore. Her auburn hair is down, wild and curly, and she’s wearing more makeup than before, drawing my attention to those captivating whiskey eyes and that fascinating mouth.

Beneath the boiling frustration in my gut, a minuscule grain of respect lingers. She’s winning again and I’m scrambling to get ahold of myself.

Well played, Doctor.

And then I remember that she has a boyfriend, and my teeth grit.

Walker turns back to me with a grin, his eyebrows bobbing up and down. “My wiener feels funny.”

I make a disgusted face. “Walker.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes with a teasing grin. “Focus,” he says in a low, sharp voice, putting on a frown. “Determination. Discipline. Ice baths.”

“Is that supposed to be me?”

“Yes, sir.” He salutes.

I shouldn’t like this stupid kid, but I do. “Walker?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Fuck off. And don’t call me that. I’m not your boss.”

The doctor twists around and smiles at Walker, her eyes warm. “Hi, Luca.”

His smile stretches ear to ear and he leans down to rest his hands on the back of her chair. “Hi, Georgia.”

“Dr. Greene,” I correct him.

He ignores me, the little shit, smiling harder at my wife. “Congratulations. Volkov’s a lucky guy. You’re really pretty.”

I curse under my breath. He’s like a fucking puppy stumbling over himself to climb in her lap.

His eyes dip to her cleavage. “Can I get you another drink?”

Irritation throttles through me. “She has a drink. Go sit down, Walker.”

If anyone’s going to get her drinks, it’ll be me.

The doctor presses her lips together as Walker returns to his seat, smiling at her over his shoulder. “He’s sweet.”

“He’s a child. He has no fucking clue what it takes to play in the NHL.”

“Good thing he has you.”

I stare at her mouth as she sips her drink. “What does that mean?”

I brace myself for a sharp, cutting crack about how I’m due to retire or how my body only has so much time left in the league.

“If anyone knows what it takes to play a long career, it’s you.” She glances around the restaurant. Anywhere but me.

“Doctor, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and her lips part like she’s about to say something.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Miller’s voice projects throughout the room. He’s at the front, holding a microphone with a cocky, knowing grin. “We’re going to get to the dancing and cake in a bit, but first, a little entertainment. We were torn on whether to include this portion of the evening, but in the end, we were just too damn curious about the two of you and your relationship. What can I say?” He winks at us. “We’re nosy.”

My expression hardens. I know where this is going.

“We’re playing Newlywed Trivia!” he says with a beaming smile. “How well do the two of you actually know each other?”

The doctor and I exchange a tight glance. I know she likes shopping, shoes, and getting her nails done. She knows every injury I’ve ever had, but we’ve never had a real conversation that didn’t end in one of us wishing the other was six feet under.

We’re fucked. We don’t know each other at all.

“Come on up, you two,” Miller says as Owens places two chairs at the front, back-to-back, and Darcy sets a whiteboard and erasable marker on each.

“When’s your birthday?” I mutter as we head over to the chairs.

Her eyes are panicked. “What?”

“When’s your birthday? Do you have any siblings?”

She stares like I’m the dumbest man on the planet. “Haven’t you been to a wedding before?” She catches herself. “Right. You don’t go to weddings. They’re not going to test us on boring stuff. They’re going to ask funny, cute questions. So fucking act like you like me,” she hisses through a smile.

We take our seats at the front, a hundred pairs of eyes on us. Miller explains the game—he’ll ask questions that the team and our friends have submitted, and we’ll write down our separate answers. If we were in a real relationship like our friends are, we’d know everything about each other.

“Question one,” Miller reads off a note card. “This one’s from Pippa Hartley. Who made the first move? Write it nice and big so everyone can see.”

Our markers fly, and when we hold up our boards to the audience, everyone laughs. I wrench around to see her answer.

We’ve both written each other’s name.

“I would never make the first move with you,” she says under her breath, pretending to laugh along with everyone.

“Like I would?”

“I see the way you look at my shoes, Volkov.”

“Because they’re ridiculous.” I sound defensive. “Not because I’m⁠—”

“Off to a rocky start,” Miller says into the microphone, and we wipe our answers away. “This one’s from Hayden Owens. Who’s the better kisser?”

The crowd laughs again when we hold up our answers. This time, we’ve both written our own names.

She lowers her voice so only I can hear. “Your teeth probably fall out every time you kiss someone.”

“Like I’ve told you a hundred times, I have all my teeth.”

“We knew they were stubborn, folks.” Miller’s eyes sparkle. “In case you’ve lost count, you’re oh for two. Let’s try again. This one’s a two-parter from our very attractive and slightly terrifying physiotherapist, Hazel Hartley.” He winks at his fiancée and she rolls her eyes, smiling. “Part one: What is Georgia’s favorite gift from Alexei?”

I wrack my brain—what gift would I give the doctor? She’s materialistic and shallow. Jewelry, I write.

She holds her board up and the audience chuckles. A pair of fuck-me heels.

Our argument from earlier replays in my head. “We’re at a work event. You should be more professional.”

“God, you’re such a prude.”

“I’m not a prude.”

“Part two,” Miller says. “What is Alexei’s favorite gift from Georgia?”noveldrama

She holds her board up again with the same answer as last time. The audience laughs again. Walker gives me an enthusiastic nod and a thumbs-up. Nice, he mouths.

The implication that the doctor gives me sexy gifts makes the back of my neck feel hot.

“Volkov, hold your board up,” Miller says, and I display my answer. “A cheap wedding,” he reads.

A weird tension ripples through the room, and some people laugh awkwardly. I glance at Owens. He’s pulled Darcy’s hand into his lap. He’d never write something like that for his answer.

I bet the doctor’s boyfriend wouldn’t say something like that, either. My jaw clenches.

“Nice,” my wife mutters. “World’s number one husband, right here.”

I let out a heavy exhale. I’m fucking this up. She’s getting under my skin, but everyone’s watching. Head in the game, I tell myself.