Page 38 of Gloves Off

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes with a teasing grin. “Focus,” he says in a low, sharp voice, putting on a frown. “Determination. Discipline. Ice baths.”

“Is that supposed to be me?”

“Yes, sir.” He salutes.

I shouldn’t like this stupid kid, but I do. “Walker?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Fuck off. And don’t call me that. I’m not your boss.”

The doctor twists around and smiles at Walker, her eyes warm. “Hi, Luca.”

His smile stretches ear to ear and he leans down to rest his hands on the back of her chair. “Hi, Georgia.”

“Dr. Greene,” I correct him.

He ignores me, the little shit, smiling harder at my wife. “Congratulations. Volkov’s a lucky guy. You’re really pretty.”

I curse under my breath. He’s like a fucking puppy stumbling over himself to climb in her lap.

His eyes dip to her cleavage. “Can I get you another drink?”

Irritation throttles through me. “She has a drink. Go sit down, Walker.”

If anyone’s going to get her drinks, it’ll be me.

The doctor presses her lips together as Walker returns to his seat, smiling at her over his shoulder. “He’s sweet.”

“He’s a child. He has no fucking clue what it takes to play in the NHL.”

“Good thing he has you.”

I stare at her mouth as she sips her drink. “What does that mean?”

I brace myself for a sharp, cutting crack about how I’m due to retire or how my body only has so much time left in the league.

“If anyone knows what it takes to play a long career, it’s you.” She glances around the restaurant. Anywhere but me.

“Doctor, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and her lips part like she’s about to say something.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Miller’s voice projects throughout the room. He’s at the front, holding a microphone with a cocky, knowing grin. “We’re going to get to the dancing and cake in a bit, but first, a little entertainment. We were torn on whether to include this portion of the evening, but in the end, we were just too damn curious about the two of you and your relationship. What can I say?” He winks at us. “We’re nosy.”

My expression hardens. I know where this is going.

“We’re playingNewlywed Trivia!” he says with a beaming smile. “How well do the two of youactuallyknow each other?”

The doctor and I exchange a tight glance. I know she likes shopping, shoes, and getting her nails done. She knows every injury I’ve ever had, but we’ve never had a real conversation that didn’t end in one of us wishing the other was six feet under.

We’re fucked. We don’t know each other at all.

“Come on up, you two,” Miller says as Owens places two chairs at the front, back-to-back, and Darcy sets a whiteboard and erasable marker on each.

“When’s your birthday?” I mutter as we head over to the chairs.

Her eyes are panicked. “What?”

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