Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

A few mornings later, I’m on my way out the door when I find Alexei in the kitchen.

“Thanks for helping out at soccer the other night.” Between games and work, our schedules haven’t lined up since. “You were a big hit.”

He looks up, gaze lingering on me. “No problem.”

The girls had flooded our team chat, asking when he’d be back. Later, at home, the light was on in his room and I considered knocking and asking him how it went, but the prospect of seeing him lying in bed, shirtless, reading, wearing glasses again seemed too risky.

I wish I could get that image out of my head. I’ve made extra effort not to consume any game content or watch replays where I could see him getting hurt. With him actually acting like a decent person now, the last thing I need is to wake up in his bed again.

We’re not supposed to be messing around, I’m not going to tempt myself.

“Do you want an omelet?” he asks abruptly.

He wants to make me food? My heart thunks. “I have a meeting, I should get going.”

He makes a noise of acknowledgment, and glances behind me at the door to the garage. “Sure. Next time.”

“Next time.”

For some reason, I’m walking over to him. My heels click across the floor and the way he glances down at them, the way heat flares in his eyes, boosts my confidence.

“Thank you, though,” I say quietly, leaning up on my toes and pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. Under my touch, he doesn’t move. “And thank you for the other night. You really did save me there.”

His scent, the way his stubble scrapes against my lips, they blank out the giant question blaring in my head: What the actual fuck am I doing right now?

“You’re welcome, Hellfire.” There’s a low, pleased tone to his voice that makes me flutter again.

He glances at my lips. The urge to kiss him for real pulses through me.

We can’t, we shouldn’t, we said we wouldn’t, but god, I want to.

Oh god. I think I might be developing a crush on my fake husband.

“You’re going to be late,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up. Not a smile, but almost.

“Right.” My face is flushing. “Bye.”

At the door to the garage, though, I stop short.

My car’s gone, and a dark green luxury SUV is parked in its place. Shiny and new. I frown. I parked my car there last night. I know I did.

Did Alexei’s dad pick the car up this morning to fix something? I feel like one of them would have said something.

A bad feeling simmers in my stomach.

When I walk back into the house, he’s waiting in the foyer, pacing with a weird, nervous energy.

“Whose car is that in the garage?”

He clears his throat, eyes on my face. “Yours.”

The bad feeling in my stomach lands with a crash. “You can’t be serious.”

You’re buying a new car, he said once. My throat feels hot and tight.

He crosses his arms, a spark of pride in his eyes. “It’s yours. I bought it for you.”

A knot forms in my chest and I can’t get a full breath. I feel sick. “Where’s my car?”

“Gone. I took care of it.”

“Took care of it,” I repeat. “You got rid of my car without asking me?” I blink in total fucking disbelief.

In an instant, I’m in the kitchen of Liam’s apartment back in Toronto, asking him why I’m getting emails about my med school unenrollment.

“Are you serious? How could you think that was okay?”

His pleased expression falls like a ton of bricks. “It was a piece of crap, Georgia. It broke down once a week.”

“But it was mine.” The words come out sharp and loud. “Where is it?”

“The junkyard.”

Rage blinds me. “What?”

“It’s probably a tin can by now.”

I’m speechless, I’m so furious. I feel shaky and weird. My pulse beats in my ears. Even when he threw my shoes in the garbage, I wasn’t this mad. Back then, I expected nothing better.

Beneath the anger, though, I feel stupid. Disappointed. Whatever’s been happening these past few weeks, how we’ve been talking without wanting to kill each other, I thought things were changing. He seemed different.

I stare at the stubborn set to his jaw. He’s not different. He’s exactly as controlling and high-handed as I’d thought he was.

My crush on my husband bursts like a balloon. I was right all along.

“Did you grab the bracelets from the rearview mirror?”

“What bracelets?” His expression turns confused, then irritated. “Do you realize what I did to get that car here, Georgia? It’s back-ordered for six months.”

I barely hear him. The girls at soccer made me those bracelets. They’re silly and cheap but they say PAGING DR. BADASS on one and FEMININE RAGE on the other and I love them. When I see them, I smile.

And this asshole got rid of them without a second thought.

“That car was a death trap, Georgia. It was for your own good. I did this for you.”

Something inside me snaps. I’ve heard those words before—for your own good. “Fuck you, Alexei.”

Is that hurt behind the angry outrage in his eyes? I don’t care.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He gives me a what the fuck look. “I bought you a car. A nice one. The safest one on the market with every fucking bell and whistle available. I had to pull every string I had to get it here for this morning. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position?”

“Oh, I’ll kill,” I laugh without humor, pulling out my phone. I need to get to work and I need to get away from him.

“Your car was a piece of shit, and your problem was becoming my problem, so I handled it. Why don’t you show a bit of gratitude instead of acting like a spoiled brat?”

I choke on the air, blinking. Wow. Just wow. Five minutes ago, I kissed this guy on the cheek. What the hell was I thinking? This is what I get for letting my guard down.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

I won’t look at him. “Booking a ride.”

He curses under his breath, shaking his head. “Take the car, Georgia. It’s why I bought it.”

“I’m not driving that thing.”

“Yes, you are. As my wife⁠—”

I whirl on him, my blood boiling. “I am not your wife. You—you—” God, I can barely get the words out. I’m choking on them. “This is exactly why I never wanted to get married. This is exactly the kind of thing Liam would do. What I want doesn’t even matter to you, does it? You steamrolled right over me like you do everyone else. You didn’t ask, you just took, because what’s mine is yours, right? Because what I want doesn’t even register on your radar.”

My chest aches. I feel like crying and burning the house down at the same time.

“I thought I was wrong about you. I was actually starting to like you.”

Something shifts in his expression. My eyes sting and I turn, blinking furiously, clearing them. I hate that crying is my body’s anger response, especially in front of him. It’s the best way to weaken my argument and make me seem like a hysterical, hormonal, emotional woman.noveldrama

I walk out the door and close it behind me without looking back.