Page 119 of Gloves Off

At the bar, I order her another drink and a water for myself before I step in front of her, backing her against the bar. I’m not hiding her from the room, I tell myself, I’m closing myself off from everyone. I need a fucking break, is all. One hand leans on the bar counter, the other comes around her waist and I pull her close. Close enough so that her hair brushes my shoulder, and her ear is inches from my mouth. Close enough to feel her warmth against my side.

“Feeling possessive tonight, Volkov?”

Yes. More than ever. “If we look like we’re busy, no one will interrupt us.” No more fucking handshakes. No more fucking congratulations on the end of my fucking career.

Our drinks arrive, and we sip in silence, me inhaling her perfume and her staring off into space. I count seventeen freckles across her nose and cheekbones before I interrupt her daydream.

“What are you thinking about, Hellfire?”

“Why aren’t your parents here?”

My gut tightens. “I told you. They give this to retired guys.”

She studies me. I don’t know how to feel, under her scrutiny like this.

“They worked to the bone so I could play hockey,” I tell her, not looking into those fascinating eyes. “If they weren’t working, they were driving me to hockey at the crack of dawn.” Finally, I force myself to meet her gaze. “Playing in the NHL showed them it was worth it.”

“Alexei.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, a little frown pulling between her brows. “They’re proud of you. That’s not going to go away when you retire.”

“I know. I just—” I shake my head. “They didn’t flee Russia so I could retire and spend all day cooking and watering my plants.”

“They’re proud of you,” she says with conviction, like back at the benefit when she told me about loving her work at the hospital. “No matter what.”

A beat of silence passes. When she held my hand, my entire world anchored to her, all the panic and worry subsiding for a brief moment. I don’t know what’s going on anymore.

“I’m sorry I recommended you for retirement.” Her eyes are wide with an unreadable emotion. Regret, maybe. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Pain twists in my chest at the memory, but I keep my voice steady, my gaze across the room, and my expression neutral. “You called me a lost cause.”

Silence. She’s chewing that tempting bottom lip again. “I may not enjoy watching you get hurt, but you’re definitely not a lost cause.” She shakes her head, gesturing around the room. “All these people are here for you, Alexei. The applause for you was ten times the other guys’. Everyone thinks you’re incredible, not just me.”

Under my hand on her waist, she tenses, eyes flaring with surprise like she didn’t mean to say that.

“You think I’m incredible?” I arch an eyebrow, holding tight to my cold, undeterred expression, even as warmth and pride spread through me.

She gives me a tiny nod. “Sure. Yes. You’re clearly a great hockey player.”

“Are you sorry you transferred me to another doctor?”

Wordless, she shakes her head. I want to pry that head open and read every thought. I want to know her and understand her. If she didn’t think I was on my career deathbed, why’d she shove me onto another doctor?

“So.” Her eyebrows lift, eyes curious. “You’re going to Rory and Hazel’s wedding now.”

I’m about to press on the previous subject, but I want her to trust me enough to tell me herself. “Yeah. I’m going.”

My mind flips to that incredible fuck at her work benefit, and my groin tightens. I probably should ditch Miller’s wedding, or I should find another place to stay for the week, but I’m not going to do either.

“I thought you didn’t go to weddings,” she says lightly.

“I don’t.” A pause. “I was engaged,” I admit. Telling her this makes me feel like I’m balancing on a tightwire. I scan her face, gauging her reaction, but she just nods.

“Emma.”

An ugly spike of alarm shoots through me, both at the name I haven’t said out loud in years, and that Georgia knows.

“Your mom brought that photo album of you as an ugly baby.” Her eyes tease me before she sobers. “Your wedding invitation was tucked in the back.”

Right. She texted me a bunch of pictures. Jesus, that was a month ago. “I wasn’t an ugly baby.”

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