by Dylann Crush
“Feel free.” I stepped away from the door. “But I’ve got to warn you, I’m in a towel. I don’t want to scare you off again..”
She groaned as she pushed the door open and stepped inside. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry for running out on you last night.”
I closed the door and turned to face her.
“Things happened so fast. Talking about the nursing position and then…” Her teeth closed over her bottom lip and she glanced up at me. “I got spooked.”
The tension left my shoulders as her eyes went glassy. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?” She cocked her head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Sure I do. You told me about what happened at your last job. I’m sorry for giving you the impression I’d be willing to hire you. I have no interest in having you as my nurse.”
“What?” Her hand went to her hip, like she was a little offended. “Why not? I’m a great nurse.”
“I have no doubt you are. The way you handled Cassie left no doubt in my mind that you’d make an excellent addition to my staff. But I can’t hire you.”
“I don’t understand.”
I took a step closer. “I can’t offer you a job. Not when I’m absolutely crazy about you.”
A tiny crease bisected her forehead. “You are?”
I nodded. “Yes. And I’d never put you in a position where you’d have to choose between your personal and professional life.”
“I’m kind of crazy about you too.” Her cheeks pinked at the admission and I wanted to pull her against me. “And I might have a lead on a new nurse for you. One of the gals I used to work with wants to leave that practice, too.”
The guy who’d hurt her before had done a real number on her, and in that moment I vowed to do everything I could to make sure she would know what it felt like to be treated like the amazing woman she was. I reached a tentative hand toward her. When she didn’t pull back, I cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes and snuggled against my palm.
“Just to be perfectly clear, I don’t think we jumped in too fast. Sometimes when you’re sure something’s right, you have to go for it.”
She blinked, and any lingering hesitation left her eyes. “I guess I know that now.”
“I’d be happy to prove it to you again.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Oh yeah? How do you think you’re going to do that?”
I nudged my chin toward the laundry closet. “I’ve got a load of whites I was about to put in. You want to help?”
Her eyes widened just a bit, but held the hint of a sparkle. “Whites, huh?”
“Yep. Super dirty. I figure they might need an extra rinse and spin.”
“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Her hand went behind my neck and we came together, lip to lip and hip to hip.
And for the first time in a very long while, I let myself hope. That maybe it wouldn’t be another blue-balled holiday. And that maybe, just maybe, my Christmas wish might come true.
Also By Dylann Crush
Holiday, Texas Series
All-American Cowboy
Cowboy Christmas Jubilee
Cowboy Charming
Lovebird Café Series
Lemon Tarts & Stolen Hearts
Sweet Tea & Second Chances
Mud Pies & Family Ties
Hot Fudge & a Heartthrob
Tying the Knot in Texas Series
The Cowboy Says I Do
Her Kind of Cowboy
Standalone Romances
All I Wanna Do Is You
About Dylann Crush
USA Today bestselling author Dylann Crush writes contemporary romance with sizzle and sass. A romantic at heart, she loves her heroines spunky and her heroes super sexy. When she's not dreaming up steamy storylines, she can be found sipping a margarita and searching for the best Tex-Mex food in Minnesota.
Although she grew up in Texas, she currently lives in a suburb of Minneapolis/St. Paul with her unflappable husband, three energetic kids, a clumsy Great Dane, a lovable rescue mutt, and a very chill cat. She loves to connect with readers, other authors and fans of tequila. You can find her at www.dylanncrush.com.
Part V
Jingle Ball Bender: An Aviators Hockey Short Story
By Sophia Henry
About… Jingle Ball Bender
Jingle Ball Bender
An Aviators Hockey Short Story
Viktor
I didn’t realize Lexie Graham, bartender from my favorite local dive, would be working the Jingle Ball, Charlotte society’s most anticipated event of the year. But when I catch her eye from across the room, her bright smile falters for a second and she swallows hard.
Pride pumps through my veins. Though I enjoy making her tense up with lust, I’d rather make her scream.
That’s the moment I know I’ll have Lexie in my bed tonight. She might not realize it, but I do.
Lexie
Tomorrow, I’ll blame it on the stress of being short-staffed or the holiday music that got me feeling sentimental.
But tonight, I’m throwing caution to the wind.
One night with Viktor Kravtsov, hockey’s most eligible bachelor is exactly what I need to blow off some steam before the stress of the holiday kick in.
I’ll consider it an early Christmas present to myself.
Prologue
The Commons Family
would be honored by your presence at the Annual Jingle Ball
to benefit testicular cancer awareness.
Saturday, December 5th
8pm - Midnight
The Grand Resort and Spa
Magnolia Ballroom
Charlotte, NC
Black Tie Attire Required
1
Viktor
Evidently, the Jingle Ball is the most anticipated event of the year in Charlotte. As someone who’s been to my share of extravagant parties, I’m curious to see what the fuss is about.
Harris and Cookie Commons, who host the event, own the Charlotte Monarchs NHL team. They invite the entire organization to their annual holiday fundraiser—which is the only reason I got a spot.
There aren’t many places here where I feel at home, but the Grand Resort hotel is one of them. Everything is elegant and high class, enveloping you with luxury from the moment you walk in. For a city growing as fast as Charlotte is, you’d think there’d be a lot more places like this, but I haven’t been impressed since I’ve been here.
Though, it beats being in Detroit any day of the week. I really hope the Monarchs keep me this time. It’s not that I mind playing for the Aviators. The organization is top-notch and the fans are amazing. But if I have to go back to that depressing hellhole of a city, I might beg for a trade.
Spending the first fourteen years of my life there was enough for me.
“Hey,” Pavel Gribov, one of the veterans on the team, nudges me with his elbow, nodding toward the enormous bar in the corner of the room. “Isn’t this the girl from the Beaver?”
I swivel my head. Sure enough, Lexie, the bartender at The Flying Beaver, a local dive we descend on after games, stands behind the bar filling empty flutes with champagne.
The Beaver is one of those places where we can have some anonymity. If anyone recognizes us, they’re respectful enough to give us space. Even though the city has had a team for years, Charlotte isn’t exactly a hockey-town, so it’s fairly easy to go unnoticed. I imagine it’s quite a different story for football and basketball players.
The first time the boys took me to the Beaver was last season after I scored my first goal with the Monarchs. While I definitely remember the goal, I have almost no recollection of the celebration.
It must have been a combination of things: lack of a proper meal, dehydration and exhaustion on my flight from Vegas (which is where I was playing when the Monarchs grabbed me), and drinking a shit-ton of vodka after the game with my cousin, Kolya. That’s all I can think of, because there really wasn’t a re
ason to get blackout drunk. It’s not like it was my first ever NHL goal.
It was one of the few times I’ve been completely out of control in my life. My father would not be happy. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Lexie glides the tray off the bar carefully and enters the crowd. She looks completely different than I’ve ever seen her, but still gorgeous. Normally, she’s wearing a tight gray T-shirt, cut-off jean shorts, and scuffed cowboy boots with her curly, blonde hair loose and wild. But tonight, her gorgeous hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. With the curls tamed and the monotone uniform—a black, button-down dress shirt and matching pants that hug her ass and thighs—she looks almost stern.
All the other servers are women dressed in a sexy version of a Santa suit. I wonder if she wishes she were gliding around in a full, red miniskirt with fluffy white trim or if she thinks she dodged a bullet on that one.
Every detail of the ballroom drips with luxury and class. Which is why I’m honestly surprised the Commons have something so tacky as the Santa servers. It doesn’t fit with the high-end location and theme of the party.
Lexie stops next to a small crowd of guests, greeting them and offering champagne with a radiant smile and a sparkle in her light eyes. When a blue-hair who has to be triple her age slides her cash, she thanks him, then tucks it into her pocket with a wink.
She looks out at the crowd, and our eyes meet. Her bright smile falters for a second and she swallows before walking toward us. Pride pumps through my veins. Though I enjoy making her tense up with lust, I’d rather make her scream.
“Well, well, well. Look at you guys all gussied up,” she greets us, balancing the tray of drinks like a pro.
“We could say the same for you,” Luke Daniels, the Monarchs Director of Player Development, answers.
While all the other guys nod or raise their hands in a wave, I reach out and tuck a chunk of loose hair behind her ear. It’s unacceptable for her to look so disheveled at an event like this.
Her eyes widen in surprise, but I shrug it off. “Your hair is a mess.”
“Um, thanks, Viktor,” she dismisses me with a frown and side-eye as if I’ve offended her. “I’ll have to run to the ladies’ room and pin it back when I get a minute. Mr. Commons doesn’t like loose hair hanging all over.” She waves her hands around her head as if we need a reminder of how big her hair is. “But mine can be a little unruly sometimes.”
The sexy, unruly hair that matches her personality—wild, free, and untamable. A challenge that makes my mouth water and my dick swell.
“Such a double standard,” Pasha shakes his head. “He don’t care if we have the flow.”
The boys laugh, but Lexie looks confused.
“Flow?” she asks.
“Hair hanging out the back of our helmets.” I brush the back of my neck. “Flowing out, if you will.”
“Ah, I see.” She nods in understanding. “Interesting since he’s a very proper man. I’m surprised he lets you have flow and facial hair. I can see him running a tight ship.”
“Actually, he tried to put a style code in place once, but he nixed it,” Luke says. “He finally realized we’d have a harder time attracting top talent if there were such harsh restrictions.”
“Well, he’s right.” I shrug.
Lexie glances to her side, where Harris Commons gathers with a group of people near us. “You guys should probably take a glass, so it looks like I’m working and not having a conversation about the man who signs all of our paychecks.”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.”
“Absolutely.”
We each grab a flute of bubbly, emptying her tray.
“Where are your better halves?” Lexie asks, glancing around the room looking for wives and girlfriends. “Did I catch you guys during a group bathroom trip?”
Luke laughs. “No. The ladies are manning the silent auction table.”
“This is what they are supposed to do now,” Pasha pipes up in his broken English. “But Kristen keeps running in here and dragging people out there. She think it her personal mission to get everyone to buy something.”
“She can be very persuasive,” Kolya muses. Other than Pasha, he knows Kristen the best, since he spent a few weeks living with the Gribov’s the first time he was called up to Charlotte.
Gribov’s wife has a larger-than-life personality. Which says a lot because he’s quite the big shot in his own right. His mouth never stops. I can’t even imagine what their life is like behind closed doors.
“I bet she can,” Lexie agrees. “How about you, Viktor? Where’s your date?”
“Didn’t bring one. Wanted to be single in case I ran into a beautiful bartender.”
She swallows thickly and blinks once, then plasters on a smile and shakes the empty tray. “As much as I’d love to stay and shoot the shit with you boys, we can do this at the Beaver because I’ve gotta get back to work.”
When she turns to go, she bumps my shoulder, and the tray falls to the floor. We both stoop to get it immediately, slamming heads on our way down.
“Sorry! Sorry!” she says, grimacing as she stands up.
I grab the tray and get back to my feet. “Here you go.” When I hand it to her, our eyes lock. That’s the moment I know Lexie and I are definitely hooking up tonight. She might not realize it, but I do.
She accepts it, saying, “Thanks. Thank you. I gotta, you know—” She tilts her head to the corner.
“Go pin that wild hair,” I call out as she walks away. She looks over her shoulder, pressing her hand to her head as she dashes back to the bar.
“Smooth, Kravtsov. Real smooth.” Luke gives me a double-thumbs up.
“You have no game. Like zero,” Pasha shakes his head.
No game? What the hell is he talking about? I ooze game. I’m game personified. In the dictionary, there’s a photo of me next to the definition of game.
“And what’s with the creepy shit?” Blake asks.
“What? What was creepy?” What the hell had I done that these guys think is so wrong?
“Tucking her hair behind her ear.” He reaches out with exaggerated slowness, looking at me with half-closed eyes as if he’s in a dreamy haze, before mocking how I fixed Lexie’s hair. I bat his hand away.
He laughs. “That’s a boyfriend move, man.”
“No. No. No. You guys are interpreting it wrong!” Kolya waves his hand. “It wasn’t a tender move. He was trying to be dominant,” he explains, then looks at me pointedly. “Surprised you didn’t pee on her.”
“That’s a territorial thing, not a dominance thing.” I correct, brushing off the comment with an eye roll. “Maybe it seemed intimate, but I knew she’d want her hair fixed. I was just trying to help.”
Sometimes I don’t think before I act. I had an overwhelming urge to touch her—so I did.
Luke agrees. “He’s right. It looked very rom-com.”
“Whatever.” I shrug off their teasing and down my drink. “I gotta hit the head.”
On my way to the restroom, I set the empty glass on a small table along the wall of the ballroom.
Unlike some of the other guys, who are constantly tugging at the tightness at their collars, I feel completely at ease at lavish parties like this.
My family owns The Russian Dining Room, a historic restaurant in New York City. We spent many evenings celebrating well into the night. Russian celebrations can last for days. Though, I’m not sure if that’s normal or just us. Either way, we know how to party and it’s always done with elegance. That—I know—is one of the special things about my family.
My father made international headlines when he defected to Detroit from the former Soviet Union to play hockey. Ivan Kravstov was the first player from the USSR’s Central Scarlet Army to leave without permission. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Though I’ve been able to pry some details out of him, most of what I know is from articles on the internet. It was well-documented for the time since i
t was major historical news.
Kolya’s parents, Kirill Antonov and Anastasia Antonova, escaped a short time later. Their story, though not documented like my father’s, is just as thrilling. Mafia, money, murder—the background of how everyone got to America sounds like something straight out of a suspense novel.
They came here to have a better life and to raise their children with opportunities and freedoms they didn’t have.
Which brings me back to lavish parties. They celebrate the difficult choices they made and good fortune that came from those choices at every opportunity. And they raised all of us—my sisters and my cousins—to appreciate every luxury we enjoy here in America.
As I exit the bathroom, I’m fiddling with my cufflink, and accidentally bump into someone. When I look up to apologize, it’s Lexie. Her head is down as she smooths her shirt against her trim stomach. Her hair glistens as if she had to wet it to get it to lay flat.
“Sorry,” I say, bracing her by placing my hands on her biceps.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I—” she stammers before looking up. Once she sees me, a relieved sigh escapes her lips. “Oh, it’s just you.”
I lower my arms. “Just me? What does that mean?”
“It means I have more leniency bumping you.” She pats my shoulder as if consoling a child before sweeping past me. “No need to get so offended, Viktor.”
“Someone’s going to get hurt if we keep running into each other like this,” I call out. “I can think of much better ways to touch each other.”
She shakes her head without turning around.
Dropping my original mission to rejoin the guys, I spin around and follow her. The urge to have Lexie in my bed tonight is greater than the urge to listen to Luke rehash last night’s game against Philly.
