Page 4

Chapter 4

Jacob

W alking into the Italian restaurant with Gabriella by my side feels like someone’s taken a cheese grater to my heart. A day after walking into Gabi's office, I’m still reeling from chewing out Gio earlier today. I can’t believe he never told me about her pregnancy.

Yeah, sure, I never had a snowball's chance in hell with Gabi. Believe me, I know that because of my friendship with Gio. But the realization that she’s having another man’s baby slices deeper than I expected.

As we step inside, the warm aroma of fresh pasta and garlic bread welcomes us, reminding me of Nonna's home; the only real home I've ever known.

Gabriella looks breathtaking under the soft lights of the restaurant. Her posture is straight and confident. Her wavy hair cascades down her back, and her outfit—a stylish green dress that complements her eyes—makes her look like she just walked off a magazine cover.

A sense of loss gnaws at me even now. It’s an emotion that deepens with every glance in her direction.

Gabi catches me staring and leans in close. “Quit gawking, Jacob," she teases, eyes sparkling. "You’ll give me a big head."

I smirk, leaning in to match her. “In your dreams, Lady Gabriella. Just making sure you don’t trip over your own feet.”

She laughs, the sound sending a jolt of warmth through me. Yeah, this is how it’s always been—witty banter and friendly jabs. But tonight, everything feels different, heavier, somehow.

I straighten up and offer my arm, and she takes it, her touch light and familiar. Together, we walk toward our table, surrounded by the hum of laughter and conversation.

As we settle in at the table, Gabi excuses herself to the ladies' room. No sooner does she disappear around the corner than my teammates pounce.

With the exception of our starting goalie, and resident grouch, Evan Daniels, the rest of my teammates are like bumbling puppies, eager to get the latest gossip and play matchmaker.

Halstead, the team’s resident jokester, is the first to speak up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the dashing Jacob with our beautiful new PR Director. Gonna invite us to the wedding, or what?” He wiggles his eyebrows in mock suggestion, causing a ripple of laughter around the table.

I lean back in my chair. “Yeah, right. I’ve known Gabi since we were kids. There’s nothing romantic about it.”

“Sure, pull the ‘childhood friend’ card,” Manning chimes in, nudging my shoulder. “Next thing we know, you’ll be naming your firstborn after one of us.”

“Hey, I call dibs on being the godfather!” adds another voice from the end of the table. More snorts and chuckles follow, and I roll my eyes.

“All right, all right, calm down,” I say, holding up my hands. “You guys are like a pack of hyenas. If you must know, Gabi's helping me. We're talking about how to put to bed the lies that have been circulating about me and Corso's daughter. It’s a professional relationship only.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Manning retorts, earning himself a hearty round of applause from the team.

Just then, Gabi returns, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What’s all the fuss about?"

"Nothing," I say swiftly, shooting my teammates a look. "Just some friendly banter."

She eyes me suspiciously, but then her face breaks into a knowing smile. "Whatever you say, Jacob."

Ignoring the smirks around me, I pull her chair back, and we settle in for what I hope will be a distraction-free dinner—though given my team, I know that's a long shot.

I lean in. "Did you talk to Gio yet?"

Gabi nods. "Yup, I talked to my brother. He's pissed he couldn't make it. Had to deal with some stuff, but he knows the deal. He knows that I'm helping you out and keeping things under wraps."

"Thanks, Gabi," I say sincerely.

"No problem. But you owe me one. I want the biggest plate of lasagna they serve here." She wags her finger. " I'm talking family-style, extra cheese, the works. I want people wondering if my pregnant stomach is actually just a food baby."

I chuckle and shake my head. "You drive a hard bargain, but deal. I'll make sure to order enough for leftovers too."

As we dive into our meal, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, with my team teasing each other and sharing stories from past games. The excitement about us entering the playoffs is almost tangible, and I can feel the team bonding all around me.

But amidst all the laughter and jokes, I can't stop staring at Gabi.

I make a mental note to thank her properly after dinner before turning my attention back to my teammates.

Halfway through dessert, I realize I need to hit the head before we leave. I excuse myself from the table, heading for the men's room.

Weaving through the tables, I flash a smile at the familiar faces of the Chicago Blades organization. As I round the corner, I practically crash into a wall—or at least I think it’s a wall, until I glance up and see George Corso looming above me.

The wide-shouldered owner of the Chicago Blades looks as if he's just bitten into a lemon, and not the sweet kind in lemonade.

"Mr. Corso." I clear my throat, stepping back. "Didn't see you there. You probably get that a lot, though, right? Being all...statuesque."

He narrows his eyes, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s about to bench press me.

"Jacob," he replies, his voice as icy as the rink. "Just the person I've been looking for."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I've been hearing some...troubling rumors."

Oh great, here we go—the canoodling rumor. Perfect. Just what I need after an already complicated evening.

I nod at my boss, trying to keep my tone light despite the I-could-strangle-you vibe radiating off of him. "You know, rumors are funny things. You ever play the game of telephone as a kid? By the time it gets to the last person, it’s always something ridiculous like 'Jacob’s dating an alien'."

But George isn’t buying what I’m selling. His stony expression remains, well, stony.

Then it hits me—a genius move.

"Speaking of relationships," I blurt out, surprising even myself. "Have you met Gabriella De Luca, our new head of PR?"

He blinks. "Of course."

"Amazing, isn't she?" I glance at the table over my shoulder. "Guess she told you all about our engagement, then?"

Insert pin-drop silence.

"Engaged," George muses, his eyes drifting over my shoulder towards our table. I follow his gaze, and there's Gabi, laughing with my teammates, looking as radiant as ever. "You're engaged. To Gabriella De Luca," he repeats, as if testing out the words.

"Yup," I confirm, putting on my best earnest face. "Just got engaged last week. We’re, uh, really settling down. Thinking about the future, you know—white picket fences, the whole thing."

George’s expression softens—just a smidge, but enough for me to exhale a little.

Family man, committed player—that’s the image flashing through his mind right now, and I can see him relaxing.

"Well, Jacob," he says, his voice considerably warmer, "I hope for your sake that you're serious about Gabriella. We value integrity on the Blades."

"Absolutely. I'm completely committed."

He nods, satisfied. "Good. Because rumor has it that she's quite the catch."

I give a charming smile. "She is. I've known the De Luca family all my life. Only made sense to make it official."

"Well then, I'll have to offer my congratulations. And perhaps we can schedule a dinner with our families soon?"

"Sounds great," I say, barely containing my relief.

As George walks away, I let out a long sigh and nearly grab someone’s drink off the table nearest me to settle my nerves. Crisis averted.

I make a mental note to make sure Gabi takes home two containers full of the best lasagna ever created and to thank her later for being such an amazing cover story.

After using the john, I walk back to our table, my teammates eyeing me curiously. "What was that all about?" Manning asks.

"Just some business stuff," I reply casually, taking a seat next to Gabi.

She gives me a knowing look and leans in close. "Ah, the business of scarcely avoiding getting your ass kicked by George Corso?"

"Hey, you've seen me fight on the ice. I can handle myself."

"I have a feeling George may be more intimidating than any opponent you've faced on the rink," Gabi teases back.

"He is." I reach for my water, taking a sip. "Which is why I'm working on a plan to make sure I never have to face his wrath again."

Gabi raises an eyebrow. "And what is this brilliant plan of yours?"

I lean in closer and whisper, "Let's just say I'll owe you a metric ton of lasagna."

"Oh, crap. Am I going to need bail money? I just started this job, so I haven't even gotten my first paycheck."

"You worry too much, Gabs. Trust me, this plan is foolproof."

She gives me a skeptical look but doesn't press the issue. "Fine, but if you end up in jail, I'm not putting up any cash."

"Deal." I raise my water glass, flashing her a grin. The grin falls away as I catch a glimpse of George at the other table, glancing in our direction.

This isn't like the fire alarm I pulled in high school to get out of an exam. This is serious business. It’s my career. And I can't afford to make any mistakes.

Fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

I motion for the waiter. "Uh, can I get a scotch on the rocks, please?" I pause. "Make it a double. I think I'm gonna need it."