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

A small potted plant sits on my desk when I get to work a few mornings later. The flowers are a pretty pale pink with dainty petals.

Hibiscus—delicate beauty. A frisson of electricity runs through me, making it hard to breathe as I smile at the plant.

I’m no gardener, and this plant will die in a week, but I don’t care. I love it.

I’m not getting feelings; I just love presents and being spoiled. I haven’t seen him since the night we messed around, after he brought soccer practice to the rink. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.

I had to leave for training and didn’t want to wake you, he texted. It was too early to incur Satan’s wrath.

Good boy, I texted back, ignoring the disappointment.

That night, I got home late from soccer. His bedroom light was on, and against the headboard, he was fast asleep. I slept in my own bed like a scaredy little chicken.

Between my fingertips, I stroke the soft pink petals. “I’ll water it,” Alexei says from my doorway, leaning on the glass.

I school my dopey smile into something neutral. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

My dumb little heart hopes he’ll say something like you’re lovely but he just continues to give me that affectionate look.

“And thank you again for soccer practice⁠—”

He sighs.

“—which you absolutely didn’t have to⁠—”

He strides over and kisses me. His stubble brushes my face, his scent whooshes up my nose, and his warm hand wraps around the back of my neck. I forget what I was saying. My hands are on his chest, though. His T-shirt is the softest thing I’ve ever felt. It’s the same one he wore months ago, at Darcy and Hayden’s engagement party.

He pulls away to study my eyes. “Stop thanking me.”

I don’t even remember what I was thanking him for. He holds my eyes, and my stomach dips at the intensity in his gaze. He lowers to a crouch so we’re at eye level with me sitting. His hands come to my upper arms, firm but gentle.

“If you get home and I’m asleep,” he says in a low voice that makes the back of my neck prickle, “wake me up.”

I swallow. “You need your rest. You’re very old.”

His gaze sharpens. He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, exhaling. “Don’t wake me up, then. But don’t go to your bed. Not anymore.”

My stomach does a funny flip.

“I’m getting rid of it today.”

I should protest. I should tell him to get fucked. That’s what I would have done before.

“Okay,” I say instead, like some besotted dumbass. “Fine.”noveldrama

“Fine.”

His mouth quirks and he drops another quick kiss on my mouth before straightening up, sitting on the edge of my desk, and folding his arms over his chest.

Again, my gaze drops to his T-shirt. If I stole it, would he notice? I bet it smells like him.

“What’s that look?”

“Your shirt.” I swallow. Get a hold of yourself, Georgia. “It’s soft.”

“You like my T-shirt?” He arches an eyebrow, amused at whatever he sees on my face.

I’m trying to think of something cool and witty to say when my eyes drop to the keys he set on my desk when he walked in. There’s a tiny pink crystal on his keychain.

“What is that?”

He glances at it, unfazed. “That’s a keychain, Hellfire.”

A crystal? He said they were stupid. He made fun of me for mine. “What, do you think it gives you powers or something?”

The corner of his mouth tips up at me throwing his words back at him. “I saw it and thought of you.”

Oh god. No. Nonono. He can’t just say things like that.

“You saw this crystal and thought of me?”

He nods.

Damn it. I can’t deal with sweet Alexei. I can’t.

I suck in a tight breath. “I have something terrible to tell you. You’re not going to like it.”

His eyebrow arches.

“I bought that crystal just to annoy you.”

He huffs. “It worked.”

“I know. I’m very, very good at getting on your nerves.”

His mouth tips again, eyes warm, and my stomach dips. I don’t understand this game. I don’t know the rules.

He looks away first, shifting on the desk. “Are you free Saturday?”

I squint, thinking. “Yes. Why?”

“We should have everyone over for dinner.”

I stare at him. He stares back. “You want to have people over.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve lived with you for two and a half months, and you haven’t had company over once. And your parents don’t count.”

He narrows his eyes at me, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. I love when he gives me this look, like he wants to be annoyed but he’s entertained and amused.

“How many people are you thinking?”

He shrugs. “Ten? Twenty? I’m not sure.”

“Ten or twenty?” My eyes bug out of my head. “Alexei, this is going to be a ton of work. You should have it catered. Or have everyone bring a dish, potluck style.”

“I’ll do everything,” he adds, off whatever he sees in my expression. “I’ll get all the food, I’ll cook, I’ll clean up. It would be nice if you were there and doing your…” He waves a hand noncommittally at me. “You know.”

“My what?”

“Smiling. Laughing. Charming everyone.”

“You think I’m charming?” I’m smiling now.

“More than me, that’s for sure.”

“Oh my god.” I brighten. “Think of how many people I could get to lick the crystal.”

He makes a horrified noise. “That’s disgusting. You should have your medical license taken away.”

My laugh comes out loud and bold, and something warm flashes in his eyes. “Just admit you licked the crystal, Alexei. You think I haven’t noticed the string of good luck you’ve had since I moved in?”

He doesn’t answer, just swallows and watches me, mouth starting to curve up like mine is, dark eyes moving over me with pleasure.

My heart flops over in my chest. He really is handsome.

I glance at my nails. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be my delightful, charming self. No promises about not forcing people to lick the rock, though.”

That night, I get home from work well after dinner. There’s a container of pasta in the fridge with a sticky note on top. Eat it, written in tight, scratchy writing. I sit at the bar counter, devouring the penne arrabbiata while answering emails on my phone, listening for any noise in the silent house. He’s an incredible cook, I realize, as I polish the food off. After, I play with the bunnies for a few minutes in the front room, which they seem to have staked out as their room now, and when I can’t stall anymore, I head upstairs.

My bed is gone from my room. No surprise there, but my heart still does whirly loops.

In his room, the light’s on but he’s asleep, chest rising and falling, a peaceful, relaxed expression on his face. E-reader flat against his bare chest. Wedding ring glinting on his finger in the low light.

I glance down at my own hand, at the ugly ring that’s growing on me. How extremely married of me, gazing at my husband while he sleeps in the bed we now share.

I undress, pull on the lacy sleep romper I grabbed from my room, and slide into bed beside him. He bought it, I’m sure he’ll enjoy waking up to it. Still asleep, his arms come around me like an instinct.

“Georgia?”

“I’m here,” I say quietly, reaching for the light, and he relaxes, tucking me into him.

I lie there in the dark, his heart beating against my back, his warmth and his scent surrounding me.

I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know what any of this means anymore. We’re going to get divorced. Neither of us are cut out for marriage. This isn’t detached, though. This thing we’re doing is quickly becoming more than an arrangement.

And yet, I can’t stop.