Page 103 of Gloves Off

Neither of us actually wants to be married, and I’m not going to forget it.

CHAPTER 49

GEORGIA

“Don’t bite me,”Alexei warns to the kitchen floor as I walk in after work a few days later. There’s a game on TV in the other room so he hasn’t noticed me. “Don’t believe anything she’s said about me.”

I peer around the island. The bunnies are on the floor, going to town on two plates of neatly chopped-up veggies. Alexei crouches between them, stroking a strong hand across Damon’s fur. His wedding ring glints, and my stupid, stupid little heart gives an erratic thump.

“Hi.”

He goes very still before he stands and folds his arm across his chest like he wasn’t just talking to my bunnies. “Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for tumors.”

I press my lips together. I need to get ready for soccer, but there’s no way I can drag myself away without teasing him. “It looked like you were petting Damon.”

“Demon, more like. You’ve been gone for hours.” He shrugs. “They need attention.”

“Svetta gives them tons of attention during the day.” A sparkling, fizzy feeling goes off in my chest. Teasing him is like a drug. “I think you like them.”

“I don’t. I hate them. They stink.”

“Mhm. Did you julienne those carrots? How do you even know how to do that?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t just play hockey. I can cook.”

For the first time, I notice the chef’s block of knives on the counter. The professional-grade pots and pans hanging from the ceiling rack.

The other night, when I came home late, it smelled incredible in here, like tomatoes and basil. Like someone had been cooking.

Him. Not Svetta. Alexei cooks. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot.

“Prove it,” I say with an arched brow, even though I believe him.

His gaze sharpens with challenge. “Next time you leave work at a reasonable hour, I will.”

My stomach dips. A meal together? Unforced, and not for show? We would never.

I’m holding his gaze, trying to think of something sharp and witty, when my phone buzzes.

At the reminder on-screen, though, my heart stops.

“Shit,” I whisper.

He straightens, frowning. “What?”

“I have a work dinner.” My mind starts to race. “There’s a neurologist we’re trying to woo to the program.” We’ve been trying to arrange a visit with Dr. Emilio Reyes for months. “I don’t know how I missed this in my calendar.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I have soccer.” I glance at the time on the microwave. “I double-booked myself. Heather’s out of town at a conference. She and I have been the main contacts for Dr. Reyes. It would look rude and dismissive if I had another doctor take him out, like we didn’t care. And I can’t cancel soccer. That’s my rule; I don’t cancel on the girls.”

I could, but even the idea makes my stomach sink. Soccer isn’tjust a chance to exercise under medical supervision. It’s a social thing. They’re all friends. And whether I want the responsibility or not, I’m a role model to them.

I need to be consistent and reliable for them.

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