Page 14 of Gloves Off

“That’s not going to be a problem, Doctor.” I know better than to fall for someone who values image and wealth above all else. I’d never make the same mistake twice.

She gives me a knowing smirk, those warm whiskey eyes sparkling. “I know I’m your type.”

My eyes trail over her, lingering on her neckline, where freckles peek over, scattered across her pale skin. Her skin looks soft, probably from drinking virgins’ blood.

“You aren’t.”

Does she think I would actually make a move on her? That I’m attracted to her?

My gaze trails over her form. Curvy. Tall. Thick hair I can wrap around my fist. Sharp, assessing gaze and even sharper tongue. And those shoes. I hate those shoes.

The server comes by and she orders a glass of wine, I order a nonalcoholic beer.

Her eyebrow lifts. “You don’t drink?”

“Not during the season.” After even one beer, I can feel the inflammation in my body the next day. Old injuries ache more. It’s not worth it.

Her gaze lingers on me, interest and focus in her eyes, and she looks like she wants to say something.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your date,” the server says, glancing between us with a nervous smile, and I fight the urge to correct her. From the way the doctor stiffens, I’m certain she’s stifling the same urge. “Would we be able to get a photo with you?”

She gestures at the bartender on the other side of the restaurant.

“We’re huge fans,” the server admits.

“Of course.” I clear my throat and stand. “Let’s go to the bar.”

I spend a few minutes signing autographs and taking photos with the staff before I return to the table.

“Wow,” the doctor drawls. “Youcanbe nice.”

I’m about to tell her I don’t mind spending time with fans, that when I was a kid and my dad would take me to minors games—the only ones we could afford—I’d be thrilled to meet the players. Hockey isn’t just a game, it’s part of our culture. It brings people together. It gives people something to get excited about, something to hope for.

“It’s part of the job,” I say instead.

Her gaze lingers on me with a little frown, like she knows there’s more I’m not saying, but she lets it go. “So, one year.”

“One year. Or until my citizenship and your inheritance come through.” I take a deep breath. “We need to live together.”

Her gaze narrows on me.

“I’m not moving,” we say at the same time.

Her jaw drops. “Why should I move? I live close to the arena. It’s convenient for you.”

“Don’t you live with Jordan? I’m not going to fight over the shower in the mornings like I’m living in a frat house. You’ll move into my place.”

“Is your place even livable?”

I shake my head, in awe of how fucking spoiled she is. “I may not have a fountain and circular drive like you grew up with, but I assure you, my place is good enough for the average hockey wife.”

Her nostrils flare. Was it the comment about her being used to wealth, or reducing her education and career to her impending marital status? Looks like I just found another nerve to hit.

“Careful, Doctor.” I raise my brows. People have been subtly glancing at us this whole time. “Don’t look so demonic. People are watching.”

As I say it, some guy passes by the table, gaze snagging on the back of her hair. My hand tightens around my glass.

She puts on a smile, but her gaze cools, pretty amber eyes turning frosty.

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