Page 10 of Gloves Off

Circling the other player, my heart beating out of my chest and adrenaline racing through my veins, the fans roar with approval as I throw my gloves on the ice.

CHAPTER 5

GEORGIA

A week later,I walk into the Filthy Flamingo, a crappy dive bar tucked away in the Gastown neighborhood, and take a seat at the bar in front of Jordan—my friend, my roommate since university, and my bartender.

The narrow, wood-paneled bar has vintage band posters framed on the wall; soft, pretty string lights across the ceiling; and a hundred Polaroids tacked up behind the liquor bottles. There’s one of me giving Jordan a big, smacking kiss on the cheek while she laughs. That one always makes me smile.

A few Storm players already sit at a table in the back. Jordan hates hockey and this quiet bar is the only place they can go where they won’t be hounded by rabid fans. I usually avoid the bar on game nights, when the team is sure to be here after the game. It’s not to avoid a conflict of interest, because I don’t treat the players I’m friends with, like Hayden Owens, but I hate running into Volkov.

“I need to get married,” I tell her, dropping onto a barstool.

She pours me a glass of wine without pause. She knows all about the inheritance and the program losing funding.

She opens her mouth to say something but I jump in. “Marry me.”

“No.” The corner of her mouth ticks up.

Despite her delicate, fairytale looks—long, shiny dark hair, emerald eyes, pale porcelain skin with dainty features straight from her late mother—she isn’t fazed or rattled by anything. She doesn’t take any shit, and nothing gets to her. She’s tough as nails.

We’ve been together through thick and thin—through her mom passing away and her dad basically abandoning her from grief, through the whole Liam thing. Through medical school for me and her sports psychology masters. I tried to bring her on as a consultant to the research program, but she said no.

I give her a winning smile. “Please.”

“I really don’t want to.”

“I’d do it for you.” I actually would. She’s the only person I’d marry. “It’s perfect. We already live together. You’d just have to come to events with me and stuff, call me your true love, pretend to kiss me, etc.”

She arches an eyebrow, amused. “I’m not really into the whole fake dating thing.”

I give her a wry smile. I didn’t actually think she’d say yes. It’s a ridiculous ask. “Okay, fair.”

More players arrive, saying hi to us as they pass. She mixes drinks for a few minutes before she sets the shaker down, takes a deep breath, and holds her expression neutral. Her dark nails tighten on the counter. “You could ask my dad for the money.”

I’m ashamed to say, I’ve already considered this. I know what he’d say, and so does Jordan. The one person in Vancouver who has more money than my grandfather did, he’d want the one thing money can’t buy him—time with his daughter, who wants nothing to do with him.

She’d do it for me, too, but I can’t do that to Jordan.

“Nah.” I wave a hand like I’m turning down seconds at a meal. “I’d rather get married.”

She gives me a tiny, relieved smile. “I can think of a dozen guys who’d marry you. Go find one of them. Who’s that guy at the hospital, Dr. Handsome?”

“Dr. Handley.” He would totally marry me, but then he’d get attached and I’d feel bad breaking his heart. “I don’t want that kind of marriage. I want a business arrangement.”

Jordan’s nodding. “No feelings.”

If anyone would understand, it’s her. She doesn’t do relationships, either. “Ideally, we don’t even like each other.”

The door opens and Volkov walks in. Jordan raises her brows at me with a teasing question in her eyes.

I give her a dry look. “As if.”

I head to the washroom, but when I return, Volkov is sitting two barstools away. He and Jordan have their heads together, talking in low voices. They see me and he stops talking. She sends a pointed look at me.

“What?” Jordan knows how I feel about him, but they’re friends, and she refuses to take sides.

“Volkov has something he wants to ask you.”

---