Page 5 of Gloves Off

Through the glass walls of Ward’s office, dark red hair catches my attention, and I watch the doctor stride up the hall in those infuriating heels. My nostrils flare as she smirks at me.

No one gets on my nerves like her.

As she passes Ward’s open doorway, she shifts her attention to Ward and her smile turns genuine. “Hey, Tate.”

Ward gives her a friendly nod. “Dr. Greene.”

An ache throbs in my chest, thinking about what I said to her two years ago, after finding out she transferred me. After finding out she didn’t believe in me.

There’s no way I’d let someone treat me who bought her way into medical school with Daddy’s money. You’re clearly incompetent.

The hurt in her eyes didn’t feel as good as I wanted, though.

You said that to Ward? she asked.

Yes,I lied.I told him you were incompetent.

She disappears around the corner, and I realize Ward’s watching me with a glint in his eye.

“Too bad you aren’t married to a Canadian.”

“Married?” After Emma, I would never, ever get married.

He looks out the window. “It would really speed the application process along.”

A long beat of silence stretches between us. “Are you saying I should marry a Canadian for citizenship?”

My first thought is the doctor before I shove that thought away, fast. I hate that she pops into my head at random times.

He leans back, watching me in that steady, calm way. “I didn’t say that. I would never tell you to do something illegal.” He shrugs again. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got three years left in your contract. They’ll sort it out by then.”

Nausea rolls through me. I don’t know if I have three years left with the team, and with the way things have dragged out with my citizenship application, I can’t afford to wait that long.

I say goodbye to Ward and head to my car, aware of every pin and plate in my body. Every injury that didn’t heal right because I played through it. On the ice, I use my body like a weapon, playing brutal and physical hockey.

One injury could end everything and send me and my family back to Russia.

Ward’s right. I need to get married, and it needs to be fast.

CHAPTER 3

GEORGIA

That afternoon,I sit in my office at the hospital, eyes narrowed as I stare out the window at the giant banner hanging from the nearby arena—a hundred-foot image of Alexei Volkov in his Storm uniform.

My arena office looks out onto a Storm billboard with the same image. The universe is laughing at me.

I flip both middle fingers at the banner. What a waste of a sharp jawline, strong nose, and thick, dark hair, just long enough to curl at the back of his neck. Long enough to twist your fingers in and give a sharp tug.

How unfair that the universe gave that set of broad, sculpted shoulders tohim,madehimthat towering height.

Even his voice is a waste, with that low, rumbly timbre, free of a Russian accent but with slightly clipped consonants.

Volkov’s hot in a scary way, my friend Darcy said once. Dark, soulless eyes rimmed in thick lashes. Perpetual under-eye circles that are probably hereditary, but I like to dream that our arguments keep him up at night, frustrated and unable to sleep.

He’s bad boy hot. The kind of hot you shouldn’t want, but you do.

I mean,Idon’t. Some people do. Volkov’s far too much of a dick for my liking.

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