Page 36 of Gloves Off

We’re almost at the restaurant, driving through Stanley Park on our way to the Teahouse. His eyes drop to where I’m fiddling with my necklace.

“You’ve been to this dinner before,” he says. “It’s for the new players. No one will be looking at us.”

Concern flickers in his eyes.

“I gave you my word,” I tell him as he parks in the crowded parking lot. “I’m not going to screw this up.”

“I know,” he says, and it feels like he means it, but I don’t wait for him to go on before getting out of the car and striding into the restaurant. I hear the chirp of his car before his footsteps follow.

“As long as we don’t have to kiss again,” I toss over my shoulder with a smirk, “no one will know the truth.”

He’s about to argue but the host greets us with a bright smile and leads us into the restaurant.

At the front of the dining area, I stop short at the giant image displayed. Alexei’s hard chest bumps me from behind.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

It’s the picture from our wedding day, of our terrible kiss. Beside the photo, aCongratulations!sign. All the Storm players and staff in the restaurant fall silent, smiling at us.

I turn to Volkov with wide eyes, heart pounding up into my throat. “No one will be looking at us, huh?”

This isn’t a dinner to welcome the new players.

It’s a wedding reception—for us.

CHAPTER 17

GEORGIA

Alarm barrels through my bloodstream,lighting up my nervous system.

Tonight, all eyes will be on us.

Oh god. What if there are games? What if we have to dance? What if we have to kiss again?

“Did you know about this?” I hiss to him through a smile, pretending everything is fine as all our friends and colleagues watch us.

“Of course I didn’t know,” he mutters back, running a hand over his hair. “You think I wouldn’t warn you so you can put your knives away?”

“Fuck you,” I whisper, still smiling.

“Fuck you, too, sweetheart.”

Tate Ward steps forward with a cautious look. “I see we’ve taken you by surprise.”

I force out a light, tinkly laugh. “You sure have.” I sound a bit manic.

“I hope this is okay.” He searches our expressions. “The team really wanted to do this for you.”

“It’s great,” Volkov says. “We really appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Yes.” I take deep breaths. I can do this. “Thank you so much.”

Tate reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope, handing it to us. My arms apparently aren’t working, but Volkov accepts it. “A little something from the team to say congrats.”

Volkov opens the envelope and arches an eyebrow at me, expression unreadable.

“A week in the honeymoon suite at the Silver Falls resort,” Tate explains. “Alexei said you were planning to take your honeymoon there before Miller’s wedding on New Year’s.”

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