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

“What do you like about Coach Georgia?” one of the girls asks Alexei at practice the next week, when he insisted on joining.

“She’s mean to me.”

They giggle and I hide a smile.

“And she doesn’t let me push her around.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Girls.” I give them a look.

“Yes,” Alexei says at the same time, and we exchange a look. My stomach does that annoying rolling thing again, warm and languid and fluttery. Is he thinking about what we did after the awards dinner?

I haven’t. Not even once. Not when I wake up, not when I’m trying to work, and not when I’m falling asleep at night.

The girls grin at one another. “Do you think she’s beautiful?”

“Yes. But she’s also smart, and hardworking.”

An odd-looking potted plant arrived at my office at the arena this morning. Lady’s slipper—sudden and unpredictable attraction.

I avoid looking at him, but I can feel my face heating. What kind of game is he playing now? “All right, ladies, no more stalling. Let’s do some passing drills.”

“What was that you called me a few months ago,” Alexei murmurs in my ear while the girls run passing drills up and down the field. “Ugly?”

His eyes shift to mine, the tiniest spark of amusement flaring in them. I laugh and then cover it with a cough. We can’t tease each other like this.

“And I stand by it,” I lie, keeping my eyes on the girls.

His eyes cut to mine, glittering. “Really.”

“Mhm. A face only a mother could love.”

He shrugs, turning his gaze to the field. “Because you look at me like you think I’m hot.”

My jaw drops. “I don’t.”

Of course I do, but I’m not going to admit that.

His mouth slants and even though he isn’t looking at me, smugness radiates off him in waves.

“I don’t.”

“That must be the sound of someone else’s panties dropping when I wear my glasses.”

“Keep dreaming, Volkov. And stop flirting with me.” I blow my whistle and call the girls in, giving them a few general pointers before I split the teams up for a scrimmage. After a few minutes, my gaze snags on someone on the field, and I frown.

“What?” Alexei asks.

“Teddy’s holding back.”

“Teddy . . .” He studies the field. “Black ponytail?”

I nod. “I see this with athletes sometimes after an injury. They’re so afraid of reinjuring themselves or slowing their progress that they take it too easy. You don’t have this issue.” Just the opposite.

He watches, listening with a serious, thoughtful expression.

I turn my attention back to Teddy. She’s shy, conflict-averse, very sweet, and helpful. Helpful. Hmm.

Oh. A lightbulb goes off in my head, and I blow the whistle. “Time out,” I call to the field. “Take a break, grab some water.”

When the girls reach the sidelines, I gesture at Teddy.

“When you’re handling the ball,” I tell her quietly while everyone talks and drinks water, “it’s no fun for the other team if you hand it over without a fight. If you make it too easy, they’ll get bored.” I tip my chin at Tasha, one of our most competitive players. “Look at Tash. She loves to win, but only if it’s earned. If you make it too easy for her, she doesn’t feel like she deserves it.”

Teddy gives me a flat look. “I see what you’re doing.”

“Good.” I smile at her. “So when Tash is coming at you, tell yourself, I’m going to make this really difficult on her because that’ll be more fun for her. Play harder, Teddy. It’ll do you good.”

Teddy takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

I blow my whistle, the girls hit the field, and the game resumes.

Someone passes to Teddy. She brings the ball toward the net, Tasha running to intercept. I hold my breath as Teddy tenses, pauses, but then flips the ball up and away with her feet like we practiced the other week.

I whoop, but cover my mouth with my hand as Teddy takes off toward the net, Tash on her heels.

“Here we go,” I whisper, heart lifting, eyes on Teddy as she kicks the ball at the net.

The goalie leaps for it, arms outstretched, but the ball sails right past.

I whoop and clap and cup my hands to my mouth. “Nice work, Teddy!”

The girls surround her, hugging her and congratulating her, and even from the sidelines, I can see her ear-to-ear grin.

“Come on,” Tash yells at the sky, falling to her knees in defeat, but she’s smiling, the competitive part of her activated.

See? I mouth at Teddy, pointing at Tash and then making a smile gesture. She nods and smiles back at me.

“How did you know to do that?” Alexei asks. He regards me with a curious, searching expression, like he’s seeing something new in me.

I shrug. “I didn’t. But Teddy has a heart of gold. Helping others and contributing to the team motivates her, so I used that to get what I want out of her. Every athlete is different. They’re all motivated by different things.”

His eyebrows lift. “Very impressive, Coach Georgia.”

Warmth spills through me at his approval.

“Are we going again?” one of the girls asks, and I check the time on my phone.

“That’s all for today.” I point at Teddy. “Nice goal, Teddy.” I list off some more pointers before turning to Alexei. “Anything to add?”

He shakes his head. “Great work, girls.” He sends me a questioning look. “Want me to lead them through the stretch?”

“Uh. Sure. Thank you.”

While I make notes about today’s practice and start cleaning up the field, bringing in the pylons, I listen to the girls ask him questions about recovery, his diet, his training, and the answers in his low voice.

Later, Alexei and I are walking to the car, carrying the equipment, when Teddy catches up to us.

“Wait,” she says, handing something to Alexei. It makes a clinking noise.noveldrama

“We made you these.” She drops them in his open palm and I start to smile, heart squeezing.

Friendship bracelets, just like mine, with the cheap plastic beads strung on elastics, with letters arranged into silly sayings.

My first thought is that he’ll make fun of them, or say something dismissive.

“I love them.” He nods at her. So handsome in his serious, stern way. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Bye!” She grins again and sprints to the car waiting for her.

TOUGH GUY, one bracelet says, with skulls and crossbones.

“Very manly.” I nod with a serious expression. NO MULLETS, the other one says. “What’s with that one?”

He snorts. “They asked why I don’t have hockey hair.”

“A mullet?”

We get to my car and he opens the trunk, reaching for my bag and hoisting it in the back. “Apparently they’re back in style.”

“Oh no.” I cringe. “You’re never getting a mullet. Wife’s rules.”

Our eyes meet and there’s a funny flop in my stomach. “I mean, no one would believe I’d marry a guy with a mullet.”

His mouth twitches. “True.”

“What does the other one say?”

He shows me. ASS-ISTANT COACH VOLKOV, with peach emoji beads between the words.

I press my lips together so I don’t laugh. “Should I be concerned?”

He looks a shade embarrassed. “They asked me about exercises to get a bigger butt because they said whatever I was doing was working.”

I dissolve into laughter. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

He shakes his head, but looks like he’s fighting a smile. “You want me to drive home?”

“Sure.” I smile at him. I don’t love driving, and it’s nice to have someone do it for me.

And I like the way he says home, like it’s ours.

“Assistant coach.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him when we’re in the car, driving home. “That has a nice ring to it. You going to join me every time?”

“Maybe I will.” The bracelets clink on his arm, adorable and ridiculous against his thick, muscled forearm. Only a guy like Alexei could make friendship bracelets look hot.

When we get home, he pulls into my side of the garage and hauls my gear out of the trunk.

“Want me to leave this here?” He gestures at an empty rack in the garage.

“Sure.” I frown at it. “Wasn’t there stuff there before?”

He lifts the heavy bag like it weighs nothing. “I cleared it off. You need space for your soccer bags.”

I hold the door open for him, feeling funny about this. “That was nice of you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He follows me into the house, and at the junction where the kitchen and foyer link up, we pause, him watching me closely.

“Thanks for helping out tonight.” I feel weirdly self-conscious in front of him.

“Don’t mention that, either.” He folds his arms over his chest, watching me carefully. “We have a game tomorrow night. Maybe you can come. If you have time.”

“Oh, um. Yeah.” I blink. “I can make time.”

A beat of silence. Is he thinking about the hotel room after the awards dinner? Starting over, he said, or a new direction. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he won the weird power game we played by making me come and now it’s not fun anymore.

So typical. Men love the chase, but then they catch you and they’re no longer interested.

What was with that flirting earlier tonight, then? Why did he tell the girls I was beautiful?

See, this is why I do the one-and-done thing with hookups. So I’m not worrying and thinking about things after. I don’t have the mental energy to worry about men.

This is an agreement. We got turned on and messed around. That’s it.

He pauses, eyes lingering on my mouth, and my fluttery pulse takes off at a gallop.

“Goodnight,” I rush out before heading upstairs, feeling his gaze on me the entire way.

The next afternoon, a gift box sits on my bed with a big silky navy blue ribbon tied in a bow. My pulse jumps as I open it and lift up the Storm jersey in my size.

I check the back—VOLKOV is stitched on in block letters. Number 70.

Buying you things makes me feel a certain way, he’d said. Something pleasant twists low in my stomach.

As soon as his citizenship and my inheritance come through, I’ll have to either donate this to a thrift store or bury it at the back of my closet, where I won’t be reminded of it. That’s a problem for future me, though.

I look to my closet, starting to smile. I know just the heels for tonight.