Page 136 of Gloves Off

He’s wearing the friendship bracelets the girls made him. With his towering, broad frame and the hard, brutal lines of his face, they look laughably silly.

And yet extremely hot. Annoying.

“Thanks,” he says, unfazed, unembarrassed, and that’s hot, too.

“Heyo, party people.” Luca slides into the booth, and everyone cheers.

Alexei shifts over, and his arm drops so it’s resting around my shoulders now. I’m tucked against his side. I’m still buzzing from the kiss after the game, and now all this touching feels strangely intimate and comfortable.

“First goal, buddy.” Rory claps Luca on the shoulder. “First of many.”

Luca smiles ear to ear. “I hope.”

“You will, man. It’s your first year.” Hayden nudges Alexei with his elbow. “And you got this guy on your side, helping you.”

“You did good tonight,” Alexei tells Luca.

“Ifeltgood,” he admits. “I felt like I was flying.”

Something changes in Alexei’s expression, but he just nods. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

“We’re proud of you,” Rory tells him. “All of us.” He looks to Alexei. “Including Volkov.” He raises his eyebrows at Alexei, waiting.

Alexei clears his throat and nods at Luca. “Proud of you, Rookie.”

Everyone goesawwwand Luca grins, the tips of his ears going red.

Darcy joins the booth, but there’s no room. Alexei stands, holding out his hand to me.

“Let’s go sit over there,” he says, tilting his chin to an empty table at the other end of the bar.

“Where are you going, Volkov?” Luca asks.

Alexei holds my eyes. “I want my wife to myself.”

A shiver of delight runs through me and I take his hand. Darcy grabs Hayden’s arm as they exchange a private look, but I ignorethem. Alexei leads me to the quiet booth, and I feel the weight of our friends’ gazes on us. Jordan and I meet eyes—her brows lift, eyes sparking.

When I sit down, he pulls me into his lap, warm and solid beneath me.

“Does your shoulder hurt?” I ask quietly. He collided with a guy tonight, hard.

He makes a low noise, hands still on my waist. “It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad, or not as bad as usual?”

He gives me a wry look. I reach up and press into his shoulder gently, feeling for tension.

“Ow,” he groans, pretending. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m barely touching you, you big baby.” I don’t know why I’m even doing this. I can’t help myself, I guess. It’s the injury recovery specialist in me, knowing he’s in pain and wanting to do what I can to help.

“It hurts.”

“This is why you need regular massages.” I push my thumb along the muscle. “It won’t hurt so much next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

I meet his eyes, raising my eyebrows. “Yes, there will be.”

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