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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.
