Page 116 of Gloves Off

He gives me a flat look. “You look nice.”

“Even though I’m wearing ‘sparkly shit’?”

“Your sparkly shit is growing on me.”

We’re about to step through the door of the ballroom when hiswarm hand encircles my wrist, stopping me. I look up; he’s so impossibly tall and broad. I’ll never get used to it.

“You look beautiful,” he says. “As always.”

My pulse skips a beat. I didn’t mean to fish for a compliment, and I don’t need it from him, but I still float a couple inches off the ground. I don’t care what he thinks. It’s only because his compliments are scarce that I feel this way.

“As always?” I start to beam as we walk into the ballroom, and he rolls his eyes.

I’m about to start teasing him when we’re surrounded by three enormous hockey players.

“Volkov.” It’s Rick Miller, Rory Miller’s dad, a retired Canadian hockey legend. He shakes Alexei’s hand with enthusiasm. “Good to see you again, and good to see you getting the recognition you deserve.”

Recognition he deserves?

“Thank you.” Alexei gives a tight nod before gesturing at me. “This is Dr. Georgia Greene, my wife.”

Rick’s gaze moves to me and we shake hands. “Ward has mentioned you. Nice to meet you. You work with the team?”

“I do.”

“She works in injury recovery research at Lionsgate,” Alexei adds.

Rick’s eyes light up with interest.“Really.”

I give Alexei a strange look. His hand is still on my waist, keeping me close. “Yes. I run a research program and work with athletes in their rehabilitation.”

“Volkov.” A man I recognize as a coach in the league interrupts, shaking Alexei’s hand and slapping him on the back. “Congratulations. Well deserved.”

“I’ll find you later,” Rick says to me while Alexei’s pulled into the conversation. “I’m going to pick your brain.”

He disappears, and I edge away, wanting to give Alexei space, but his grip on me tightens.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says in my ear.

“Just giving you space.”

“Stay.”

Again and again, people come up to him, congratulating him, and he introduces me. The athletes learn what I do and have a million questions, and I answer them with half my attention on my husband, and how he’s treated like royalty among the players. People are eager to meet him and say hello. They hang on to the few words he says to them. Despite the attention and admiration from every level in the league, from current players to retired ones, from coaches to owners, he seems unfazed, deferring their praise and introducing me instead.Dr. Georgia Greene, my wife,he keeps saying. My profession first, my status as his wife second, I can’t help but notice.

This is Hugo Greene’s granddaughter, Georgia,Liam would say.

“Lucky guy, Volkov,” the New York coach tells him after we talk about new methods of inflammation reduction. “Lucky guy.”

“I’m aware.” My husband’s hand smoothes over my lower back, and a thrill runs through me.

“Dr. Greene.” Ward appears at my side, giving me a friendly nod.

“Hi, Tate.” I send a pointed glance to his suit. “Great suit.” He always cleans up nice. It’s probably why he’s getting an increasing amount of attention in the media for his single status.

“How’s Bea?” His daughter.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling. “She’s great. Eight going on thirty-five.”

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