Page 35 of The Dating Coach
Chapter 17: Gemma
The emerald dress had been Karen's idea, a borrowing from her extensive "formal events I'll never attend" collection. It hugged curves I usually hid under baggy team gear and highlighted eyes that Liam hadn't stopped staring at since he'd picked me up. The hospital charity gala was exactly the kind of event I'd normally avoid, but my original plus-one – a safely platonic lab partner – had canceled with the flu, and Liam had volunteered before I could think of a reason to say no.
Now, standing in the gala ballroom surrounded by Pinewood's medical elite and donors with more money than sense, I was hyperaware of every point where we touched. His hand on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd burned through the silk. When he leaned in to whisper commentary about the increasingly ridiculous silent auction items, his breath against my ear made me shiver.
"Five thousand dollars for a week in someone's Hamptons time-share," he murmured, lips quirking. "I'll stick with Frank's family cabin. At least there the wildlife is outside the house."
"The wildlife at Hamptons parties is probably more dangerous than actual bears," I replied, trying to ignore how good he looked in his tuxedo. Hockey players shouldn't be allowed to clean up this well. It was unfair to those of us trying to maintain professional boundaries.
"Dr. Harrington!" I called out, spotting the head of oncology near the silent auction tables. "Thank you again for the invitation."
"Gemma! So glad you could make it." Dr. Harrington's eyes slid to Liam with undisguised interest. "And this is?"
"Liam Delacroix," I said, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs.
"Ah, the boyfriend!" Dr. Harrington's face lit up with understanding. "The hockey player! My grandson is obsessed with you. Says you're going to revolutionize the center position in the NHL."
I felt heat creep up my neck at the assumption, but the words to correct him stuck in my throat.
"That's very kind," Liam said smoothly. "Though I'm more interested in hearing about the oncology program. Gemma's told me about the groundbreaking research you're doing with targeted therapies."
Dr. Harrington blinked, clearly not expecting a hockey player to engage with medical research. But Liam continued asking intelligent questions – ones that showed he'd actually listened when I'd rambled about my career dreams during our late-night study sessions. My chest tightened with something dangerously close to pride.
"You've got a keeper here, Gemma," Dr. Harrington said eventually, beaming at us both. "Someone who supports your ambitions is worth their weight in gold."
"I'm the lucky one," Liam said, and the sincerity in his voice made my breath catch. "Watching Gemma tackle her goals with such determination has been inspiring."
As the night wore on, we navigated the cocktail hour side by side. The oncology faculty, spotting us together, naturally assumed we were a couple—it was easier for them to assumethan to ask who Liam was—and we didn't correct them. His hand stayed warm against my back as we drifted between groups, each touch kindling a heat beneath the silk of my dress that had nothing to do with the crowded room. I found myself effortlessly slipping into our shared rhythm.
"You're good at this," I murmured when we paused by the bar for champagne.
"At what?" He leaned closer, ostensibly to hear me better over the band warming up.
"Playing the devoted boyfriend." The words came out more bitter than intended. "Very convincing."
His eyes searched mine. "Who says I'm playing?"
Before I could process that, the band struck up a waltz and couples began moving onto the dance floor. Liam set down his champagne and offered his hand. "Dance with me?"
"I don't really—"
"Trust me," he said softly, and I was lost.
He led me onto the floor with confidence that shouldn't have surprised me – my dating lessons were clearly paying off – but the way he pulled me into proper dance position made my pulse skip. One hand settled at my waist, the other cradled mine with gentle strength.
"Where did a hockey player learn to waltz?" I asked as he guided us into the music with surprising grace.
"Cotillion classes," he admitted with a rueful smile. "My mother insisted. Said even hockey players needed to know how to behave in polite society."
"And do you?" I teased. "Know how to behave?"
His hand tightened fractionally at my waist. "Depends on your definition of behaving."
We moved together like we'd been doing this for years instead of minutes. The room faded away – the other couples, the observers, the weight of pretense. There was just Liam's eyes on mine, the warmth of his body, the way he guided me through turns like I was something precious.
"Gemma," he started, voice low and serious.
"Well, well. Gemma Spears in a dress. I thought I'd seen everything."
