by Piper Rayne
“To be honest, I’m exhausted. I worked on serving for five hours straight and I feel like my arm could fall off at any minute.”
He laughs. “Ah, yes. The grueling life of professional athletes.”
“But we also get to splurge on milkshakes and not feel guilty about it, right?” I laugh.
“Is it that good?” he asks, pointing to the creamy heaven in a glass.
“Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’ve never had a milkshake.” My hands fly to my mouth in sheer surprise.
He laughs again and shrugs, his shoulder bumping mine. I love how we touch every time we move.
“You’ve lived in America for how long and you’ve never had a milkshake? It’s one of the many pleasures of being in this lovely country.” I gesture toward the window as if that encompasses the entirety of the United States.
“I haven’t tasted all the pleasures I’d like yet, but I’m working on it.” He gazes at me with an intensity that hints at much more than friendship. It makes me shiver from my head to my toes. I haven’t felt like this about anyone before. Not even my last boyfriend, Zhenya. While, I liked him, I think it was the comfort of being with another Russian, especially when I was still new to America.
“Hey, V! We gotta get back to the bus before wheels up for the airport,” one of his teammates calls from the back of the restaurant. The guys are standing up and throwing cash into a pile in the middle of the table.
He nods and holds up a finger, then turns back to me. “I’m sorry, but I have to go,”
He wants to spend more time with me, it’s written all over his face. It reminds me of the last time we saw each other at that fundraiser in Detroit. We were just getting comfortable when Charlie called for me.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. The grueling life of professional athletes, right?” She winks.
“Exactly.” He smiles and runs a hand thorough his dark blond hair. “It was wonderful to run into you again, Katya.” He squeezes my knee before scooting out of the booth and standing to leave.
My smile disappears as soon as he and his teammates walk out the door. Just like that, I’m no longer interested in the milkshake in front of me, the one I hyped up so much. All I want is more time with Vanya.
Everything about him—his warm blue eyes, his wide smile, his unexpected touch—set fire to every nerve in my body. No one’s ever made me feel this way before. But we both have careers that take us in different directions.
The kind of life I lead makes keeping real friends difficult—unless you count the other tennis players I’m always around. I get along with everyone just fine, but I don’t want to hang out with only tennis players. I want to have friends who aren’t competition. Friends who let me wind down and relax from the stress of the job instead of talking about it. The fact that Vanya appeared in my life, not once, but twice now, has to mean something.
“Hey.”
I feel someone tap my shoulder again. When I turn around, Vanya’s back.
“Did you forget something?” I ask, scanning the booth and table for something out of place.
“Yes.” He touches my arm, jolting me out of my search. “But it’s not anything physical.”
I tilt my head toward him. “What does that mean?”
“I forgot to ask you for your number.”
For a moment, I’m frozen, giddy with excitement. Then I remember what he asked for. “Oh!” I scramble through my duffle bag looking for something to write on. All I can find is a piece of gum. I pull it out slowly, then glance at Vanya.
He laughs and plucks it from my hand. Then he unravels the paper, pops it in his mouth, and hands the wrapper back to me. “Works for me.”
Shaking my head, I scribble my mobile phone number on the paper. The phone is a huge, bulky thing, but it’s a life saver for keeping in touch with all the travel I do.
When I give him the number, he says, “Talk to you soon, Sunshine.” Then he winks and rushes out the door. I watch out the window as he jogs to catch up with his teammates.
The smile on my face doesn’t leave with him this time, lingering for a while. It’s still there as I finish my milkshake. Still there when I pay my bill and leave the warmth of the restaurant for the chilly Chicago day. It’s still there when I flop down on my bed to watch the evening news, and it’s even wider when I see Vanya’s face on the television, when the news anchor reports that he’d scored two goals in their game last night.
The guy I’m crushing on asks for my number, and I have a commercial shoot tomorrow. This might go down in history as the most interesting trip to Chicago I’ve ever had.
4
Vanya
I know I should play it cool, but ever since I ran into Katya last week in Chicago, I can’t get her out of my mind. Though I felt an attraction to her the first time we met, I never would have acted on it. Our ages wouldn’t have made anyone blink back home, but here, in America, I can’t even imagine the things they’d say about us.
The night met her, I was feeling homesick. Then, all of the sudden, there she is. A mature, beautiful, talented woman from Russia. Someone I could talk to without reservation, not only because we speak the same language, but also because she understands the fast-paced life of a professional athlete.
But seeing her randomly at a diner in Chicago feels like more than coincidence. It’s as if our paths are supposed to cross.
I bring the gum wrapper to my nose and laugh as I inhale the minty scent, remembering how this was the only thing she had to write on. I lay back on my couch and dial the number on the paper.
“Hello?” she asks.
“Sunshine! How are you today?”
“Vanya! I’m well, thank you. It’s nice to hear from you.”
“Our meetings seem to get cut off too early. Now that I have your number I can bother you for as long as I want,” I tease her.
“You don’t bother me. I quite enjoy it.”
“What’s new in your world? What are you working on?”
“My forehand.” She laughs, then continues. “Charlie says the two ways I can make my game better are my serve and my forehand. We’ve been working on both.”
“You have a great coach.”
“Oh!” she interjects. “I’ve been working with a company to develop their next fragrance!”
I grab a glass out of the cabinet and fill it with tap water. “Really? That’s fantastic!”
“It started, and I just had to run with it. I mean, you know how easy it is to get injured, Vanya. What if I lost my ability to play tennis tomorrow? What would I do?”
“I have faith that you would be amazing in anything you strive for.” It’s an honest answer. She has a high level of drive, determination, and maturity. She could do anything with the right training.
“I agree,” she says in a teasing voice. “Right now, I make more with endorsements than I do tennis. And while tennis is my number-one priority, I can’t turn that money down.”
“I understand,” I say, nodding, though she can’t see me. When you grow up with nothing, no money, no way to move up in life, and no future change on the horizon, you hold on tight when an opportunity arises.
“Do you enjoy that part? The modeling and endorsements?”
“I love it!” I can hear her genuine excitement through the phone. “But it has its downside. The media is all over me. I can’t even get groceries without being photographed. I have no privacy.”
“Maybe they think you’re okay with the attention because you’re on the cover of every magazine.”
“Are you saying I brought it on myself?” There’s a hint of annoyance in her voice, as if I’m accusing her. “Because I make the best of the attention, I deserve to have every part of my life photographed and analyzed?”
“That’s not what I said, Katya. And it’s not what I believe.”
She sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wish they would tone it down some, you know? Tennis is enough stress. Every match, every play
, every serve is scrutinized. I don’t like it, but I understand it. I don’t understand the personal life.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s not as bad for me here in Detroit. It’s a huge media market, but they really only care about how I perform. Like you, my every game, every shift, every play is scrutinized. I think Russians cared more about my personal life than people in here.”
“I guess I was too young in Russia. No one really knew me yet.”
“And now you’re international news. Every girl wants to be you, and every man wants to be with you.” As I walk into the living room, I’m mentally placing myself in that category. My pulse increases every time I think about how much I want to be with her.
She laughs. “It’s a fantasy.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Well, there’s only one man I want to be with.”
My heart races as I gather the cord and bring it to the living room. Thankfully, it’s long enough to reach. “Really?”
“Charlie. He’s always got my back and he’s the best coach I could ever ask for.”
I laugh, settling back into the cushions and putting my feet on the table, crossing them at the ankle. “Charlie, of course.”
“I’m going to be in Detroit next week. Maybe we can meet up for dinner. I mean, if you don’t have plans or a game.”
“Are you asking me out?” I ask with a smile, stretching one arm above my head.
“I’m not afraid to take charge, Vanya.”
“Oh, I know!” She’s not afraid of anything. “If you’re going to be in town, I’ll make time to see you while you’re here. What day are you coming in?”
“I get in on Tuesday afternoon.”
My brain pushes into overdrive as I try to remember our schedule for next week. Game on Monday and practice on Tuesday and Wednesday before we head out of town on Thursday. “Tuesday afternoon is perfect. I’ll probably be home around five.”
“I’m so excited,” she gushes, bubbling with happiness. “It’ll be perfect. Right before my meetings in New York.”
“Wait. Are you’re coming here just to see me?” I ask, confused.
“I’m a busy woman, Vanya. If I want to see you, I have to make time for it.”
“So, you have no other obligations in Detroit than to be with me?” Excitement makes my voice raspy and thick.
She takes a deep breath, seemingly just as excited by the thought of it. “That’s correct.”
“Where are you staying?” I ask.
“I figured you could help me find a hotel when I got to Detroit. I don’t know the area.”
“Why don’t you stay at my place.” I want to spend every second with her, but I also know that’s the excitement talking. I need to play it cool.
“Vanya,” she says, finally showing a bit of restraint.
I get off the couch and walk back into the kitchen. “Katya, I don’t mean it in any other way than giving you a place to stay. I have a four-bedroom house, and it’s just me. You can stay in one of the guest rooms.”
“A guest room, yes?” she teases.
“Take a cab to my house from the airport. I’d pick you up, but I’ll be at the rink. I’ll leave a key in the mailbox. We can grab dinner when I get home, and figure out where you will stay.”
“Sounds good. I look forward to it.”
“I’m excited to see you, Katya.” I say before hanging up.
5
Katya
As I sit in the cab on the ride to Vanya’s house, butterflies rage in my stomach. I’m staying at his house. It seems so casual—a friend offering their home, but we both know it’s more than that.
Out the window, I read every road sign waiting in anticipation as we approach the destination. My first impression of Detroit isn’t a good one. It’s dirty, desolate, and people drive way too fast on the highways. Then again, I suppose I would, too. I wouldn’t want to be in this city very long. I hope Vanya lives in a suburb and not in the city.
Suddenly, the car turns onto a street named Iroquois, the road Vanya lives on. It’s definitely still in the city, but it’s a picturesque street lined with trees and gorgeous houses. I suppose that’s a good compromise.
At quarter to five, the cab arrives in front of a huge, brick house with columns on each side of the porch. It has so much character and depth to it, unlike the cookie-cutter neighborhood in Florida where I live with my parents.
Vanya told me he’d be home around five. Which means I have about fifteen minutes to calm the swirling in my stomach. I run up the walkway, take the stairs two at a time, then reach into the mailbox for the key. As I fumble with the lock, I realize it’s going to be harder than I thought. The butterflies only get crazier. As soon as I’m inside, I shut the door behind me, lean against it, and take a deep breath.
The house is obviously old, but the bright white walls stand out against the dark woodwork around the doors and windows. I’ve never seen such a charming place. It’s beautifully decorated and so immaculate, I wonder if he has a maid come in or if he keeps it this way on his own. A silly part of me can’t wait to figure it out. I want to learn all the little things about him.
I glance at the small, leather watch on my wrist, I’m so nervous—which is weird because being around Vanya calms me. Must be the anticipation of seeing him again.
Slowly, I walk around the living room, brushing the soft beige sofa with my fingertips. I sit gingerly on the couch, cross my legs, and put my hands in my lap. Then I uncross them and grab a magazine from the coffee table.
Vanya arrives home at exactly 5:03 p.m. I know because I’ve been sitting on the couch, absently flipping through a hockey magazine, and checking the clock above the television every five seconds. When he walks through the door, he looks even more handsome than I remember. It seems as if he’s gotten a haircut recently, too.
“Katya!” he says, smiling as he enters.
I jump up and rush to him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Vanya!” Excitement hides the nervousness.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says as he scans my body from head to toe. He doesn’t seem nervous at all. He’s all confidence and compliments.
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and look up at him. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you found the place all right. Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, placing his keys on the table next to the door.
“No, thank you.” My hand moves to my stomach, which rumbles with hunger instead of butterflies. “I’m actually starving. I haven’t had a thing since breakfast.”
“The guys keep raving about an amazing hot dog place not too far from here. Their specialties are chili dogs and fries. Wanna check it out?” he asks. There’s so much enthusiasm in his voice, I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. And I certainly don’t want to.
“I’m going to turn out like my dedushka if I keep hanging around you, Vanya,” I say moving my hand forward as if I have a huge belly like my grandfather.
For two people who must maintain top physical condition, we seem to gravitate toward junk food when we’re together. I’m not complaining. I love treating myself. I eat healthy ninety-five percent of the time. If five percent is junk, my workouts will take care of it.
“Don’t pin that on me, Sunshine,” he says, placing a hand on my back and guiding me out the door. “You were the one wolfing down a massive milkshake the last time I saw you.”
I laugh and follow him to his car.
The hot dog place is right next to another hot dog place. In fact, they share a wall. Vanya picks the one called Lafayette where you can see the food being prepared through the front windows. When he holds the door open, I go inside. It’s a small place with a long counter and a few tables. And it’s completely packed.
“Wow,” I say, slightly surprised at the crowd. The food must be great because the décor is nonexistent. The walls are the weirdest thing. It looks like bathroom tile going up about three quarters up the wall. On top of that, they’re lined
with framed photos of people—many of them autographed. “This must be the place to be.”
Amid the photos, there’s a black sign with the scant offerings in white plastic letters. If you don’t like hot dogs, fries, or chili, there’s no reason to stay. Good thing I like all of them.
“What’s a loose hamburger?” I ask Vanya, reading the menu out loud.
He shrugs.
“Well, then I have to try it,” I say stepping forward to order. “Hi,” I greet the man behind the counter, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’ll have a Coney Island, a loose hamburger, and chili cheese fries, please.”
After Vanya orders two Coneys and plain fries, the mustachioed man behind the counter looks at me as if he’s trying to figure out if he knows me. “Are you—you’re Ekaterina Novikova!”
I nod, flattered to be recognized. I can’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. “How did you know?”
“We know our sports here.” He points to the walls with his thumb. I notice the multiple posters of Detroit sports teams proudly displayed. Many of the photographs must be sports stars.
“That’s Ivan Kravstov with her!” one of the cooks behind him says.
“Kravstov?” he addresses Vanya. “You’ve been in Detroit for years! How have you never been here before?”
“You are hidden gem,” he tells them.
The man walks around the counter and throws one arm across my shoulders and the other across Vanya’s. “Jimmy! Get the camera. We have two of the best athletes in the world right here. We need a picture for the wall!”
I can’t stop smiling through the fuss. I have fans, and I’m used to being recognized on tour, but to be fussed over at a random hot dog place in Detroit is exciting. After we pose for a few photos, Jimmy clears two places at the counter for Vanya and I.
“I didn’t expect that kind of welcome,” Vanya says. “Makes me glad I waited to eat here.”
Despite just getting settled, Jimmy places our plates in front of us. It’s the fastest service I’ve ever had in my life.
