The Czar: A Standalone Hockey Billionaire Novel

by Selena Laurence

  She leans her shoulder against mine and turns to watch me. “I liked her very much. Thank you for taking me to meet her.”

  “It wasn’t too much? I know it was an unusual choice for a first date.”

  She laughs, and the sound of it makes my heart ache. “It was an unusual choice, but I feel kind of honored that you took me.”

  I bump her shoulder with mine. “You should be. I haven’t taken a girl to meet Baba in years.”

  Her eyes widen, and her breath hitches for a beat. But before she can say anything we arrive at my building and Vanya is opening the back door for us. I take her hand and lead her to the elevator inside. We ride up in silence, and it’s not exactly uncomfortable, but more like charged. We’re on the brink of something here—I know it and she knows it. The question is will she take the leap with me?

  When we get to our floor, I walk her to her door.

  “Mick,” she starts immediately.

  “Sshh,” I hush her, placing a finger over her soft, plump lips. “Let me have a turn first.”

  She nods silently.

  “I don’t think either one of us planned for something like this. And I realize I don’t have a lot to offer—I’m practically crippled, I’m out of a job, and I’m a pissed off bastard most of the time. But there’s something here, Solnishka. I know you feel it too. And it’s something I haven’t felt in so long I can’t remember the last time—hell, I haven’t been on board with anything more than a fuck buddy in years—” I see her flinch and immediately regret my frankness. But in the end, it’s the only way to convey the truth of this to her.

  “I don’t know why, but I want to be around you. I want to talk to you, to know you, to see you. I have no idea what I’ll be doing next week let alone six months from now, but if you’re willing to put up with me for a while, I’d like to see where we go.”

  She swallows nervously and I watch as the muscles in her throat move up and then down. It makes me want to run my lips along that thin skin and feel the beat of her pulse with my tongue. My dick twitches and I shift to lean against the wall as I gaze at her.

  “I’m not sure how much time I can give you,” she says quietly. “I just started this job. I work crazy hours, I have to prove myself over and over again every day. But it’s what I’ve dreamed about and prepared for since I was sixteen years old.”

  I realize I’ve never even asked her where she works. We’ve talked about our childhoods, our pasts, but so little about our presents. Maybe it’s because I don’t really have much of a present. Instead I have a past that dominates everything, and a future that is completely uncertain, but my present is mostly just this, right here, with her.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper as I rub the little crease that’s formed between her eyebrows. “All we have is time. When you’re working, work. When you come home let me take you to dinner, watch a few movies—” I lean down and run my lips along the shell of her ear, eliciting a sweet gasp, “—show you some of my darker talents. All I’m asking for is a little slice of your life. I won’t interfere with the rest.”

  Before I know what’s happened, Solana has plastered herself against my chest, as she hitches one leg around my good hip and her hands dig into my hair.

  “God, I’m going to regret this,” she gasps as her lips seek mine.

  I probably will too, but for now, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it.

  14

  Solana

  I’m not sure what comes over me. Maybe it’s the relief that my fears about Mick’s grandmother actually being psychic seem unfounded. He obviously didn’t hear anything from her that made him hate me. Maybe it’s the tension that’s been building between us since that first day we met. Maybe it’s just the general stress I’ve been under from a new job and this forbidden lust that’s taken over my every waking thought. Whatever the cause, I suddenly can’t live another minute without Mick’s lips on mine. And he keeps talking. Yes, it’s sexy talk, but I don’t want his words, I want his hands all over me.

  So I attack him. Like a crazy woman, right there in the hallway of his apartment building. I throw myself against him, practically climb him like a tree and demand that he kiss me. Fortunately, he complies, and the next thing I know he’s taken charge. I should have known he wouldn’t be the type of guy to let the woman lead. Within moments he’s managed to turn us so that my back is against the wall, and his big, hot, hard body is covering mine from lips to knees. His mouth slicks over mine as I gasp, and then his tongue is there, demanding that I give access.

  I open to him and he slides his tongue over mine slowly, eliciting a current of heat that shoots straight to my core. I dig my hands into his hair but he grunts and pulls them away, pinning them against the wall with one of his hands wrapped around my wrists. His knee pushes between my legs, and I gladly comply, unable to stop from grinding against his thigh.

  “Jesus,” he rumbles as his lips leave mine and travel down my throat. “So fucking hot.”

  “More,” I gasp as I cant my hips forward seeking more contact, more heat, more pressure.

  He releases my arms then puts his hands on my waist, beginning to lift me up against the wall. My legs automatically rise to wrap around his hips but before I get there his weight shifts to one side and a grunt that definitely isn’t from passion erupts from his lips.

  He stumbles to one side, and my back slams against the wall, as I try to catch him and myself at the same moment. My feet land on solid ground, but he falls into the wall next to me, one shoulder hitting it hard while he scrambles to get his good leg under him.

  “Fuck!” he cries out as his entire body twists with the effort.

  “Oh my God, Mick!” I push off the wall and reach for him. He’s hunched over, his back to me as he leans against the wall, his bad leg at an awkward angle, his hand clenched in a fist at his side.

  I reach for him, but the moment my hand touches his back he snarls, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  “Okay, okay. Tell me what you need. Can I help you into the apartment? Do you want me to call Vanya? Do we need to get you to a hospital?”

  He straightens, the effort visible in every movement that he makes.

  “I’m fine,” he grits out, not even turning to look at me.

  “Mick,” I say softly. “Please. Let me help you get inside.”

  He takes one deep shuddering breath before glancing at me over his shoulder. His face is taut and pale, his pain obvious.

  “I said I’m fine,” he answers. Then he turns away and slowly, deliberately, limps to his door. He goes inside his apartment without another word, leaving me alone in the empty hallway.

  “He did what?!” Marissa says as we grab lunch from a street vendor outside my office building the next day.

  “And so far today, nothing. No visit or note on the apartment door. Radio silence.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Male pride,” she says with disdain.

  I gesture to the fountain we’re walking by and we sit on the edge, watching the floods of tourists wandering by, interspersed with street performers, office workers, and maintenance crews.

  “It’s for the best,” I tell her. “I’m risking everything seeing him. The whole thing was built on a lie, it had no future anyway.”

  “Not a lie,” she corrects. “An omission. A big one admittedly, but still not a lie.”

  I sigh. It’s nice that she’s supportive, but in my mind it’s a lie. A big one.

  “Either way, he wouldn’t have wanted to have anything to do with me after he found out, and if he told his father I’d be out of job, so it’s just as well that he’s not speaking to me anymore.”

  She watches me for a moment, and I purposefully chew my hot dog with my mouth open to irritate her.

  “You’re disgusting,” she huffs, turning away.

  “So don’t watch me eat, creepy girl.”

  “You like him,” she states without turning her gaze in my direction again.

  “Have you seen
him?” I try not to cough as a swallow of water goes down the wrong pipe.

  “Of course, but what I mean is that you like him. The person him, not the pinup, sexiest man him.”

  I shrug, not wanting to examine what she’s saying too closely. “He’s interesting. And he can be very charming when he puts his mind to it.” Then I look at her until she finally gives in and faces me again. “But he’s got a lot of baggage. His injury has really thrown his whole life off course. He’s not very happy. I don’t need all that right now. I’ve got my shot at the career I’ve always wanted, and really, what if we parted ways and he decided to screw with my livelihood? He could have me fired faster than you can say Vodka.”

  She sighs. “There’s more to life than a job, Solana.”

  I stand, crumpling my hot dog wrapper and picking up my water bottle.

  “Yeah, but being a top notch executive will make the rest of my life so much better. No matter what else happens I’ll always have the career. If I don’t start on it now though I won’t get a second chance. I’ll get around to looking for Mr. Right eventually. One thing at a time.”

  “One of these days you’re going to have to stop selling yourself short, chica.”

  I squint at her, not knowing exactly what she’s talking about.

  “That corporate office can’t take care of you when you have the flu, or hold your hand while you have your first baby. The fancy title can’t laugh with you at your mom’s Christmas dinners. You need a Mr. Right just as much as the rest of us.” As she turns to walk to the street so she can Uber back to work she calls over her shoulder, “And maybe he’s sitting in the apartment next door.” She winks at me, then strides off, her tall platform sandals eating up the pavement at an alarming rate. I raise my middle finger to her back and I hear her yell, “I saw that,” as she disappears into the lunchtime crowd.

  15

  Mick

  The pounding at my front door is like a thousand hammers exploding in my head. I burrow deeper under my pillows and try to block it out, but the throbbing pain persists, and so does the incessant knocking.

  “Fuck!” I yell as I sit up, my stomach lurching. My leg brace is lying on the floor next to the bed, but I don’t put it on, opting to grab the crutches leaning against the dresser instead.

  The pounding starts up again. “I’m fucking coming,” I rage as I hobble into the living room and swing open the door.

  “It’s two pm, Sunshine,” Deke says as he shoves past me, a bag of groceries in his arms.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I groan, running a hand through my tangled hair.

  “Is that any way to talk to your bestie who brought you food?” he asks as he sets the bag down and begins unloading all kinds of crap—steaks, vegetables, ice cream and the biggest bottle of wheat grass smoothie shit I’ve ever seen.

  “Deke, what the hell are you doing?” Although I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s been doing it once a week for the last five months—stopping by, bringing me groceries, cleaning up the apartment. He’s like a regular Martha Stewart.

  He raises an eyebrow at me as he starts to put stuff away. Honestly, I think he knows where things in my kitchen are better than I do.

  Then he stops and turns slowly to look at me, his eyes huge and round. “Jesus, have you been drinking? You smell like a fucking distillery.”

  I grunt and move to the couch where I collapse, lifting my bad leg onto the pillows I keep there for the elevation.

  “You can’t do this forever, man,” I tell him. I don’t deserve to be rescued, and he needs to get on with his own life.

  He appears next to the sofa, a glass of tomato juice in one hand, and a can of beer in the other. So, while I don’t drink, but I keep booze in the apartment for friends who come over. I’m not an alcoholic—yet—so it’s not like the shit is a temptation normally. However, last night between the humiliation, the disappointment, the blue balls, and the pain in my hip, a few shots of whiskey seemed like the only real solution. I deeply regret it now.

  “Hair of the dog,” Deke says, popping the beer and pouring half of it into the juice before he hands it to me and sits down. “And I know I can’t keep doing this forever,” he answers, “which is why you’re going to start working my community project with me in the mornings at seven.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Whatever, Sunshine. You’re doing it. Starts tomorrow. We’re coaching a group of middle school kids at the Southside community ice arena.”

  I stare at him, and incredulous doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling.

  “Look. I get that you need to do it, team community service requirements and everything, but why in the world would I? And exactly what is it you think I can contribute given that I can barely walk across the room much less skate across a rink?”

  He sighs and takes a swig from the remaining beer in the can he’s still holding. I get the feeling that dealing with me drives Deke to drink. That’s okay, I apparently now drive myself to drink as well.

  “You’ll contribute the coaching. You’re the head coach, I’m just the assistant. You tell me what to do and I’ll go on the ice and do it. And you’re not going to be off the ice forever. In a few more months you’re going to be strapping skates on and getting out there with those kids.”

  I snort. “What were you smoking before you came over here, dude? Because whatever it is I’d love some. Maybe it would tame the fucking pain that’s been stabbing through my hip since last night.”

  Concern washes over his bearded face. “What happened last night?”

  I sigh and lean my head back against the sofa cushions and close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him while I say it. “I went on a date. Things got a little heated in the hallway as we were coming home, I forgot that I can no longer lift a hot blonde who weighs in at a buck fifteen.”

  Deke releases a slow breath. “The knee?”

  “Seems fine. It’s the hip that twisted.”

  “And now?”

  “It still hurts but not as badly.”

  “You need to see the doctor.”

  “I called, they said they don’t think it’s serious, probably just pulled the ligaments that are still tight around that new joint.”

  He tips his chin at the tomato juice concoction on the coffee table and I grab it and chug a bunch more. Nasty shit. But I have to admit it’s working.

  “You can’t resort to drinking,” he tells me quietly.

  I close my eyes. I know he’s right. My mother’s disease ate her alive, I have that blood running through my veins.

  “Who was the hot hallway girl?” he asks.

  “Next door neighbor.”

  “You really think fucking the neighbor is such a good idea? When it turns south she’ll be right there every day.”

  “She’s just housesitting, won’t be here forever.”

  He grunts about crapping where you eat or some such thing.

  “Well, it’s irrelevant anyway because my fucking hip gave out in the middle of the party last night, so I won’t be seeing her again.”

  “You’re kidding! She dumped you because you couldn’t fuck her against the wall?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t blame her if she did.”

  He scratches his head and leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t understand then. Did you want to see her again? You seem sort of fucked up over it.”

  “Just because I didn’t give her a chance to dump my ass doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have. Jesus, Deke, I’m unemployed, I can barely walk across a room by myself, I can’t drive a car, I can’t skate or run, or sit on an airplane except the left side in the aisle seat. No one wants to deal with my shit—not even me.”

  Deke, the gentle giant who brings me groceries and hangover concoctions suddenly leans forward and grabs the front of my t-shirt, pulling me up to his face.

  “What the fu—”

  “Shut. Up,” he commands. “Just shut up for once, Mick. I’ve been
patient, I’ve babied your ass, tried to go easy on you, put up with your tantrums, your messes, your constant damn whining, now your drinking, and most of all your self pity. But I’m done. And you’re done. You’re not some pathetic unemployed loser, you’re Mick fucking Petrovich, heir to one of the world’s biggest fortunes, hockey superstar, Olympic gold medalist, and voted sexiest man alive three times in the last decade. Quit. Fucking. Feeling. Sorry for yourself.”

  I stare at him as his hand loosens and he shoves me back onto the sofa. That was interesting. And also, my head hurts.

  He stands and points a finger at me threateningly. “Sober up, shower, and don’t drink again. I’ll be here at six thirty in the morning to take you to practice, and you’d better have a plan for what drills you’re putting them through because you’re the head coach, not me.”

  With that proclamation my now former best friend marches out of my apartment, slamming the door on his way.

  Six thirty comes really damn early. I did take Deke’s advice and got a good night’s sleep so I feel better. I spent the better part of the evening online researching where most young teens were in their hockey skills development. It helped me remember playing at that age, the types of things my coaches were teaching me, the way it felt to master new skills and conquer opposing teams. Hockey was the biggest rush I could get at that age, although I admit girls were rapidly catching up to it.

  Hockey’s always been my happy place. I think I didn’t realize just how much it was until I could no longer play. Without it I’m a big pile of anger and darkness. Solana helped, but now she’s off the table too. But as Deke and I ride silently to the Southside community rink, I’m excited about the chance to help some of those kids find that same rush that I did playing hockey.

  When we pull up to the rink, it’s obvious just how out of place it is in this neighborhood. This is a rough part of town, things aren’t maintained, yards are run down, cars are abandoned along the curbs, tires flat, windshields busted out. But the ice arena is new. Brand spanking new, with pristine landscaping, and fancy signage.