Page 11

GEORGIA

“Well, now,” I say to Darcy a few days later at the Filthy Flamingo for her engagement party, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Let me see it.”

Earlier today, Hayden gave everyone a heads-up that he would be proposing to the woman who had been his best friend for eight years. The bar is filled with Vancouver Storm players, partners, and team staff.

She obediently holds out her hand, blushing, her lavender hair around her shoulders in soft waves. I inspect her ring, a sparkling cluster of white lab-grown diamonds around a pink diamond, like the cherry tree blossoms that bloom around Vancouver in the spring.

So soft and romantic. So Darcy.

“It turned out beautifully. Just beautifully.”

Seeing someone head over heels like Hayden is for Darcy makes my heart ache with sweetness. They’re so meant to be. I can already picture them living out their lives together, hand in hand, teasing each other, smiling at each other, laughing at their private jokes.

The back of my neck prickles, and my eyes cut to Volkov, glaring at me while in conversation with Rory and Hayden. He’s kept to the other side of the bar all night with rigidity, like the distance between us is court mandated .

I picture us in fifty years. I’m at his funeral, watching his casket being lowered into the ground, flipping him double middle fingers.

“Isn’t that his ex-wife?” someone would whisper.

“Great choice on the dress,” I tell Darcy. She’s wearing a floral sixties-style A-line I found on a consignment site the other week and sent the link to her. “I told you you’d have somewhere to wear it.”

When we met last year, Darcy was fresh out of a long-term relationship, stuck in a boring, soul-sucking job, dressing in a way she hated, living a life she hated. It took a bit of peer pressure from me but I’ve converted Darcy to wearing clothes she loves, that make her feel beautiful.

“Wait.” Her gaze snags on my left hand before she grabs it, ogling the plain, thin band. Nothing sparkly like what she has, but on this finger, the meaning is crystal clear. “What’s this?”

“Oh, that?” God, I really didn’t want her to find out now, during her engagement party. The timing is terrible.

“Yes, this .” She wears a funny, curious smile.

I’m surprised she hasn’t seen the photos yet. “I got married.”

“Married?”

She looks like I slapped her. Of course she does. I will never get married, I’ve told her. I’ve told everyone that.

And I still won’t. Not for real.

“To who? When? Why? I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

I didn’t realize how hard this part would be—lying to my friend. I like Darcy. I respect Darcy. She’s smart and funny and wonderful.

“Volkov.”

Her sea-green eyes go wide as saucers. “I have a million questions.”

Just like with my parents, I want to tell her the truth, but I don’t want her complicit in anything. “It’s your engagement party. We don’t want to steal your thunder. ”

She makes a face, waving me off. “You know I don’t care about that. We should celebrate.”

“No,” I say too quickly, with a desperate edge, and she gives me a strange look. “I mean,” I clear my throat, laughing a little, “I’m still wrapping my head around it.”

Not a lie, technically.

She studies me before she nods, smiling softly. “Okay. I understand.”

The guilt doesn’t go away, though. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Darcy is the kindest, loveliest person on the planet, and I am a bag of trash for lying to her. I’m worse than fashion designers who destroy unsold items instead of putting them on sale.

“I did always wonder if you guys were going to,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “hate fuck.”

My face burns hot. “Darcy.”

She starts laughing. “What? You two have all that sexual tension.”

This again? My parents announcing that they “knew it” plays in my head, and my hackles rise.

“I can’t believe you got married,” Darcy says to herself just as Hazel Hartley walks by.

“Wait.” Hazel stops in her tracks and grabs my arm before lifting it to look at my hand. “Married?”

“Married?” Her sister, Pippa, a singer-songwriter, married to Storm goalie Jamie Streicher, pops up out of nowhere.

“Married?” I hear Hayden say on the other side of the bar.

“You got married,” Rory Miller repeats loudly like he can’t believe it, while Volkov stands there, looking irritated.

Even calm and serious Jamie Streicher looks baffled. One by one, the guys look over to me. My stomach dips with nerves. The bar falls silent as the news spreads like wildfire. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Everyone is staring between me and Volkov .

I force an embarrassed smile, my face burning hotter than the sun. “Surprise.”

“There she is,” Hayden singsongs as he approaches. “Dr. Georgia Volkov.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Still Georgia Greene. Not changing my name.”

Hayden wraps me in a tight hug, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “I knew there was something between you guys. Didn’t I know it?” he asks Darcy. “I said it, right?”

“Mhm.” She smiles. “You said it.”

I make a low noise of frustration that thankfully no one hears over the music and conversation.

“Georgia, congratulations.” Rory wraps me in a hug. “Maybe we can finally get some peace and quiet now that you two have an outlet for all that tension.”

Hayden, Hazel, and Pippa start laughing, Darcy presses her lips into a firm line like she’s trying not to smile, and Jamie just raises his eyebrows, but his eyes are sparkling.

Volkov and I meet gazes, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something like in his dreams, but we’re supposed to be happily married and having loads of loud, passionate sex.

I picture Volkov in bed. I’ve seen him without a shirt—he’s ripped, like most hockey players, and the guy is six foot five. I bet that in bed he’d be like he is the rest of the time—pushy, controlling, overbearing. Selfish. High-handed.

Heat twinges between my legs.

“Yep.” I swallow half my drink. “Doing lots of... that stuff.”

Volkov gives me a strange look and I busy myself with finishing the rest of my drink.

“So, you liked him all along?” Hayden presses, still wearing that teasing smile.

Volkov arches an eyebrow, knowing and arrogant. My spine stiffens, and it takes every ounce of my control not to set Hayden straight.

“Yes.” It’s like eating dirt. This is so humiliating. “I liked him all along.”

The athlete recovery program, I chant in my head as I catch a glimpse of his cruel smirk.

Rory gives us a go on gesture. “When did it start?”

Behind the bar, I meet eyes with Jordan. You’re on your own, her expression says.

“We hooked up after the double date.”

“Cool.” Hayden grins at Darcy. “So did we.”

She blushes. They’re all probably thinking that once Hayden and Darcy left, the tension between me and Volkov simmered to a boil before I dragged him by the collar into the bathroom and had passionate, furious sex with him.

In reality, we watched Hayden jealously haul Darcy out of the restaurant before Volkov got up without a word, paid the bill, and left without looking back at me. Just another secret we’ll have to keep.

Volkov clears his throat. “We didn’t think it was going anywhere. That’s why we didn’t tell anyone.”

Everyone glances between the two of us, and my blood pressure peaks again. Hazel’s eyes narrow.

They don’t believe us. We can’t just spout off practiced answers. We need to actually look like a couple.

My pulse picks up as I move to Volkov’s side, and with everyone’s eyes on me, I awkwardly rest my hand on his chest.

It’s like touching a brick wall. The guy’s body is made of armor, and he’s giving me nothing. His T-shirt is strangely soft, though, like it’s been washed a hundred times. A hand on the chest, though? That doesn’t exactly scream true love . No, I need more. What would Darcy do with Hayden ?

I tilt my head so it rests on his shoulder.

This feels so awkward, but a moment later, his hand comes to my waist. Warmth seeps through the fabric of my dress.

Except for putting the ring on my finger a few days ago, he’s never touched me.

I touched him during our initial meet and greet, when I examined his injuries to see how they’d healed, and he looked like he was about to throw up.

My heart beats out of my chest. My nervous system is warning me of danger. Is his heart beating faster under my hand? It seems like it. Maybe his nervous system is warning him of danger, too.

“Sometimes you fall for the last person you expect.” I give him my prettiest smile, and his nostrils flare. “Right, handsome?” Fucking say something, my expression says.

“The doctor’s right,” he tells everyone. “She’s the last person I’d expect to fall for.”

Incompetent . I hear the word he said two years ago like it was this morning.

He yanks his hand away from my waist, and tucks it in his pocket. Embarrassment twinges behind my ribcage as I lift my head off his shoulder. Of course he doesn’t want to touch me. He hates me.

Good. Him finding me repulsive means nothing will get complicated between us. He’ll never hit on me, and even if he did, I’d laugh in his face.

I wonder what that would be like, Volkov hitting on someone. Probably him clubbing her on the back of the head and dragging her back to his cave. I haven’t heard of him dating anyone. Maybe he’s celibate. Maybe he’s one of those types who thinks sex or even jerking off is bad for his testosterone.

My gaze roams over his broad shoulders, the way his dark hair curls slightly at his nape.

The brush of stubble over his sharp jaw.

So he’s hot. So what. There are tons of good-looking hockey players here tonight.

It doesn’t give him an excuse to act like an asshole and remind me how disgusted he is by me .

Competition fires through me, and I have the urge to get him back.

“You know what I’ve always loved about Volkov?” I ask Darcy. “He’s a beast in bed. The second we step in the door, he’s all over me. We don’t even have time to take my heels off.”