Page 8

Chapter 8

Jacob

I hate flying. I mean, really hate it. Not that I have a fear of heights or anything, but being cooped up in a metal tube for hours is not my idea of fun.

Especially when "cooped up" also means being close to Gabi, who, naturally, is traveling with us as the Blades' head of PR.

The moment we board the plane, I'm hyper-aware of Gabi. Her slight waddle, the way she holds her belly protectively, and that determined look on her face—like she's ready to take on the world, one swollen ankle at a time.

I try to focus on the game, on the strategy against the Rangers, but my eyes keep drifting back to her.

It's a full-time job, keeping an eye on her without making it obvious. She catches me peeking over every so often and arches an eyebrow, clearly irritated or amused, I can't tell which.

The woman is infuriatingly hard to read, especially when she's trying to keep up this whole "keeping distance" thing.

We're supposed to be in a fake engagement, but she's treating me like I'm some sort of infectious disease. We sit silently through take-off, turbulence, and snacks—thankfully, she's too busy munching on her crackers to notice my constant attention.

When we finally land in New York, the cold winds hit us like a slap. Checking into the hotel, I’m already mentally preparing myself for a shared room with a king bed—but nope, Gabi insisted on separate rooms. Fine by me, I tell myself, as if I wanted to cuddle up next to a woman who avoids me like I have the plague. But then something happens that catches me off guard.

As soon as I drop her bags in her room, she turns to me with that steely glare I've come to both admire and fear.

"Jacob," she turns to me, green eyes bright. Already, I know I'm in trouble.

"Uh oh. What did I do this time?" I shove my hands into my jeans pockets, feeling a bead of sweat work its way down my back under my white tee.

"Why do you always assume I think you've done something wrong?"

"Comes with the territory of, I don't know, you believing I'm a total idiot?"

She grins. "Well, I do think you're a idiot. But that's not why I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking, how about we spend some time together after practice? Just...to go over some PR stuff," she adds quickly, as if needing to justify the request.

"Oh, I see. PR stuff, huh? Like discussing how many hair products I need to keep this impeccable flowing mane of mine tamed? I know it's your secret obsession."

"Yes, Jacob, exactly. And maybe, just maybe, figuring out how to keep you from tripping over your own ego.” Gabi shakes her head, but I can see a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Actually, our talk would look more like going over some interview questions and how we want to present our 'relationship' to the public." She creates air quotes with her fingers as she says the word “relationship” and my heart sinks a little.

"Right. The fake engagement thing."

"I mean, we're already getting requests for interviews as a couple. My poor intern is already fending off the wolves. And the more playoff games you guys win, the more of a frenzy there will be. We need to be prepared."

I sigh, knowing she's right. But part of me wishes this whole PR stunt wasn't necessary. That we could just be Gabi and Jacob, two friends working together for a common goal.

"That sounds...fun."

"Hey, don't worry." She notices my change in demeanor and puts a hand on my arm. "We'll make it convincing, I promise."

That's the last thing I'm worried about. I don't mention the other more important things I'm worried about. Like what the hell Gabi is going to do when this baby arrives.

I nod, my skin feeling warm where her hand still rests on it. "After practice it is. I may have to blow your knucklehead brother off, though. Every time we're in New York, Gio is intent on finding the fastest way for us to get into a fight with New York fans."

Gabi laughs, shaking her head. "I'll make sure he stays in line."

"Good luck with that." I joke, knowing how wild Gio can get when it comes to hockey and defending our team.

Gabi smiles, shoving me gently out the door, and I head out to practice, trying to focus on hockey and not let my mind wander to all the other complications in my life. But as soon as I start skating, all those thoughts come rushing back.

I am so screwed.

My mind is a tangled mess the second I hit the rink.

The buzz of the rink usually brings me instant focus, but today it’s like trying to skate through molasses. I’m barely fulfilling the duties of my position as right winger. My head is a jumbled mess of thoughts about Gabi.

Gabi's face keeps flashing in my mind. I think about how smart she is and how she always knows the right thing to say. She's pretty damn funny too, which doesn't help.

She has this way of making even the most stress-inducing situations seem like a walk in the park. I find myself chuckling at our conversations long after they're over.

Not to mention there's the other thing.

That burning anger thing.

The absolute disbelief that whatever jerk she slept with isn’t stepping up as the father of her baby.

He abandoned Gabriella De Luca.

Gorgeous, smart, witty fucking Gabriella De Luca of all people. And all I know is that she deserves so much better.

Then there's that kiss. The one at her Nonna's house. The one that really wasn’t supposed to mean anything but...it did.

I can still feel the softness of her lips, the way she fit perfectly against me. It's like a constant reel playing in my mind. And it’s the last thing I’m supposed to be thinking about during our fake engagement.

But damn, I enjoyed it. More than I care to admit.

Our fake engagement which is meant to fool everyone else shouldn't have me yearning for something real, right? But here I am, crashing into boards and missing passes, completely losing myself to thoughts of her. It’s almost poetic in a way, just not the kind of poetry that wins games.

My coach's whistle snaps me back to the present. “Snap out of it, Walker!” he yells, and I nod, pushing harder on the ice. Trying to focus. Trying to be here, in a moment that she is sorely missing from.

After our grueling practice session, I head to the showers, trying to shake off the distraction with scalding water.

It doesn't really work.

Thoughts of Gabi cling to my mind, more persistent than ever. Fully dressed, I pull out my phone and type out a text to her.

I type, “Meet in the hotel lobby to go over the PR plan?”

Gabi doesn't take long to reply. I can almost hear her teasing tone through the screen.

“Let's ‘strategize’. Meet you in 30.”

I chuckle, appreciating her knack for turning any mundane task into something more intriguing. I grab my bag and make my way out of the arena, heart pounding a little harder than it probably should.

When I arrive in the lobby, Gabi is already there, waiting in a denim jumpsuit that flatters her frame perfectly.

Her dark hair cascades softly over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that makes her green eyes stand out even more. Her full lips curve into a smile as she sees me approaching, and I can feel my heart skip a beat.

I inhale slowly. "Ready to go?" I ask, extending my arm. "Got a cab waiting outside for us."

"Actually, I was thinking we could walk," she suggests, eyes sparking with something close to intrigue.

"Walk?" I echo. "Where to?"

Turning her phone around, she shows me an address typed on it. "There's this Italian restaurant just a few blocks away. The name of the place is Amore. Apparently, they've got award-winning lasagna."

"Let me guess, you want to compare their sauce to Nonna's, don't you?"

Gabi laughs, a musical sound that never fails to lift my spirits. "You know me too well, Jacob."

I do. That's the problem.

I know Gabriella De Luca a little too well.

I now know what her mouth tastes like. What the heat of her body feels like against mine. What it sounds like when she whimpers softly against my lips.

Keeping an eye on her as we play fake fiancés is one thing. Having to be near her without delving any further...that's a whole other level of torture.

I repeat my usual mantra, straightening as I gaze at her.

This is just for show. A means to an end.

Blowing out a breath, I extend my hand.

"All right then, Miss De Luca." I place my hand on the small of her back, keeping it there. "Lead the way."

Gabi

We are now in full playoff mode, every single person rushing around the stadium like ants, making sure everything is in top condition for tonight's game.

The Chicago Blades are preparing to face off against the Rangers, and everyone can feel the tension in the air.

I should be focusing on my work and should also be invested in making sure our fake engagement goes off without a hitch. But all I can think about is last night at Amore...and Jacob.

Sitting across from him, enjoying a plate of lasagna so good it could rival Nonna's, I found myself swept away by our conversation.

It wasn't just about coordinating our PR strategy for the engagement.

It was deeper, more intimate.

Jacob opened up about his plans for the future, his career aspirations, and the constant buzz of rumors surrounding his love life. Half of the relationships the press chattered about didn't even exist. In return, I shared my hopes and fears about my career and becoming a mom.

The laughter. The honesty. The way his eyes lit up when he spoke about watching all his hockey dreams come true with his round of playoffs. His hopes of winning the championship cup.

It felt like I was peeling back layers of a man I thought I knew but was now discovering anew.

And now, here I am, struggling to reconcile my conflicted feelings for him.

Needing a distraction as the game begins, I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to my best friend, Lexi, who's covering one of the playoff games in LA.

“Hey Lex, the game's about to start. How's the scene over there?”

It doesn't take long for her to reply.

“Chaos, as usual. The LA Kings fan base is losing their minds. How about you? Nervous?"

I send back, “Me? Nervous? Why would I be nervous?”

“Well, you are the new head of PR for the Blades. It looks great if they win and really MEH if they don't. Plus...I know being Jacob's 'squeeze' comes with its own worries, right?”

There’s a pause and then she sends, “I'm sure you want your little right winger bae to do well, too... ??”

I bite down on my bottom lip before texting back.

“Focus on your own game, Miss Media Mouth.”

Lexi sends back a string of laughing emojis. “Hit a nerve, I see...” she says next.

I smile as I watch the little typing bubbles bouncing on the screen. “Enjoy the game and good luck to your man! ??”

I inhale deeply, blowing out a breath just as quickly.

In an effort to ignore Lexi's probing questions, I direct my attention to another text conversation. I scroll through my contacts and quickly tap on "Nonna". My thumb hovers over the screen as I think of what to write.

“Hi, Nonna. How are you feeling today? How's the hip?”

It takes a few minutes before my phone buzzes with her reply.

“Ciao bella! I'm feeling much better today. The hip is healing nicely. I'm even getting along with this new nurse Jacob hired.”

I raise an eyebrow at that last part. Jacob hired a nurse? This is the first I'm hearing of a nurse. I quickly type back, “New nurse? I didn't know Jacob hired someone to help you.”

“Yes, sweetie. She's been wonderful, helping me with exercises and making sure I'm comfortable. Jacob insisted, said he wanted the best care for me. Such a good boy.”

I feel myself gaping at my phone.

Of course, Jacob would do something like this and not tell me. Gratitude and shock mix in a powerful cocktail that leaves me feeling frustrated.

Frustrated because, once again, I'm being left out of his plans. Frustrated because it's an act that's so sweet and well-intentioned, it's hard to be mad at him.

But most of all, frustrated because I can't stop thinking about him. About his kindness, his thoughtfulness, and the way he always puts others before himself.

Groaning out loud, I start typing to Nonna.

“I'm glad you're getting the help you need. I’ll thank Jacob when I see him next. Take care, Nonna. Love you.”

Nonna sends back, “Love you too, dear. Enjoy the game. And give Jacob my thanks as well!”

The second the text hits my phone, the buzzer announcing the start of the playoff game sounds off.

We need this win to make the team look good. To make Jacob look good. And maybe to distract myself from these confusing feelings I might be having for the one man who has always—and will always be —off-limits.