"What is funny?" I ask.
"We’re a hot mess," she says, cracking herself up even more. She sits back and gestures between us, her bra around her upper chest, tits out, my cock hanging out of my pants.
I can’t help but smile. "We look like two people overcome by passion, I would say."
"You can say that again," she says, practically wheezing as she tries to get her laughter under control. "Christ on a cracker, this was hot. I think maybe we should rethink the keep-it-professional thing. At least be friends with benefits, right?"
She’s so forward. It turns me on. A lot. My cock twitches at thoughts of having her in my bed, spread out, ready to take all of me.
Still, I don’t really do casual, and it’s what she’s suggesting.
"Talia, I don’t…I am not really into doing the casual sex thing." Someday I will need to explain to her the reason I feel the way I do, but not tonight, not now.
"It wouldn’t be a one-night-stand," she says. "And I’m not interested in being with anyone but you."
"So?"
"So, it wouldn’t be casual. It would be a consenting, mutually beneficial, exclusive sexual relationship. It’s clear we’re compatible, and it’s clear we both need the release."
"But I do not want you to feel used. That would be the last thing I would want."
"Look, Boris, I trust you. You are good and kind. I would never worry about feeling used when I’m with you. It doesn’t have to be serious, but it wouldn’t be casual either. We can just enjoy each other and see where it goes."
I stare at her for a good minute before standing to tuck myself back in and zip up. I run a hand through my hair and lean down to kiss her on the forehead. "I want you very badly, Talia. Do not mark my hesitation as a sign of rejection. I just need some time to think about this. Okay?"
She gives me a shy smile. "Okay."
I touch her face one last time before heading out of her apartment, and up to mine.
I don't take a shower this night. Instead I go to sleep wrapped in her scent…missing her already, considering her words. It doesn’t have to be serious, but it wouldn’t be casual either. But is that enough? If only I can see longer term, do I take this risk?
Twenty-Four
Talia
WHAT ABOUT THE RUSSIANS?
I get to my office building, unlocking the mailbox and pulling out a stack of envelopes. There at the top, as has been the same for several days, is a blank white envelope. Inside, I know there will be another magazine-letter threat.
Yesterday, I was told to stop pursuing Boris as a client or have my tits cut off. The day before? Sever all ties with Boris or be gang-raped.
It’s been ugly and scary and I’m trying hard to at least act brave, even though I’ve hardly slept since the night my apartment was ransacked.
Well, other than the nights I slept in Boris’s bed.
Today’s note says to stop the transfer of funds before it’s too late. This one is less creative than the ones before it, but no less effective. When is too late, I wonder?
I call the FBI agent who was assigned to my case after the first break-in and note. He tells me he’ll swing by the office to pick it up. I’ve installed a security system in my office like the one I have at home, and the FBI supposedly has surveillance on both locations now. Still, it doesn’t make me feel any safer.
The same internal argument wages war inside me. Do I call and tell Boris about the notes? Do I break ties with him as a client? I’ve asked Harold for advice and he says to stay the course. If I give in, the bad guys win and all that. Of course, he’s told me not to be a hero, not to be stupid. If I sense danger, run. But it seems like madness to take on Russian criminals all on my own, right? It’s not like I have friends here in Vegas, or even colleagues. I’m all alone here and I’m risking my life, potentially, for one client.
A client I care about. A client who doesn’t deserve to have his hard-earned wealth held hostage, taken by the people charged with investing it for him.
I’ll stay the course for Boris’s sake—even though I haven’t spoken to him since our heavy-duty make-out session last week.
It’s been days since we got each other off, since I invited him to be friends with benefits. Days since he kissed me on the forehead and said he would think about it. The same number of nights where I’ve wished I was in his bed…with him. If only to sleep by his side and feel safe.
I feel like I’ve been ghosted, and if I’m honest, it’s the last thing I expected from Boris.
I stalk the Crush web-site and social feeds for signs of him, and they are there. There are photos of him at practice, fiercely competitive in his uniform. There are casual photos and Q&As throughout social, with him telling the interviewer about his career to date and his hopes for the Crush this season. With the season about to begin, the hype around this dream team is getting serious. Las Vegas is getting ready to bring the Cup home, and Boris is at the center of those plans.
I’m totally down the rabbit hole on the Crush social feeds when the bells on my office door chime. I nearly jump out of my chair, but it’s just Ally.
"Hey there." She smiles brightly. "Sorry to interrupt you. You looked like you were in serious thought."
I close my browser and give her a tight-lipped smile. "No bother at all. What brings you in?"
"Oh, my first paycheck? I think we worked out a weekly schedule, right? And I did the online hours the way you told me."
I shuffle in my seat and try to get my head in the game. "Of course. Yes. Let me take a look."
After pulling up the online form I developed, I see her hours listed and they seem legit, so I send the total over to the little QuickBooks application I set up for Boris and have a check printed.
"So how have things been this first week?" I ask.
"Good," she says, her face brightening. "He’s a really sweet guy. We got most of his regular bills set up for ACH debit. We figured it was best since the amounts can fluctuate. We also went through all of his paperwork and got things at least into piles so I can set up files. He wanted a fireproof box for important documents, so we’ve got one on order. I’ll make files once it arrives."
"Sounds like you’ve been super productive already," I say. What I want to say, but don’t is, “Sounds like you spent a lot of time together. Alone.”
"We have. I think we’ll work on a calendaring system next week, if he doesn’t get too distracted by the beginning of the season."
"Hard not to. That’s his job."
Ally nods. "I’m so excited to watch him play. I never cared much for sports but knowing an athlete has made me more interested in watching now."
"I’m sure it will be an exciting season." I can barely keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
"He’s just such a sweet guy," she says again. "I can’t believe he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife."
It’s a lot of effort to keep my face neutral when I want to scowl and tell Ally Armstrong to stay the hell away from my man. He’s not my man, of course, but he’s also not hers. And I’d fight her for him if it really came down to it. She’s gushing all over my office and it makes me want to throw up. As it is, I want to toss this woman out on the street and tell her she’s fired just for saying he’d be a catch. Christ, am I jealous much, or what? I’m guessing so, as I’ve never felt this level of antipathy before.
I take a breath and say, "Anything else you need, Ally? I’ve got a lot of work to do here."
My tone is icy and unwelcoming. I can hear it and Ally sure as hell hears it because her face falls and she just shakes her head. "Sorry to interrupt. Thanks for getting this printed so quickly for me. I’m a poor grad student, so every penny helps."
"Yeah, I’m sorry to be short," I say, realizing what a jealous hag I’m being. "Have a good week, okay?"
She gives a little wave and heads out, and I feel like a total and complete jerk, which is what I am.
I sit, trying to work, for about an hour before I realize h
ow twisted up I am. I need my best friend, so I call Parker.
"Hey Tallie," she answers on the second ring.
"Hey, Parker," I say, without the usual gusto.
"Uh-oh. I know that tone. That’s either the boys-are-dumb or the I-messed-up tone. So which is it?"
"A little bit of both, to be honest."
I tell her every detail. The break-in, my stay at Boris’s apartment, the night we jacked each other off. She listens and makes appropriate noises at appropriate times, but when I stop talking she literally says to me, "Talia, stop being such a fucking dumbass."
"Me? I’m being a dumbass?"
"Get your head out of your ass. If you and Boris like each other so much, you should just go for it. You’re literally inventing reasons why it can’t work, when clearly it could."
"Am not," I pout.
"Just be an adult about it. If he were here, I’d tell him the same thing. You’ve gone seven days without talking to each other after a hot night of sexy fun times. Because why? He’s Mister Moral High Ground and you’re Miss Not Making the Same Mistake Twice?"
"That’s…I don’t even know what to say to all that just now, Parker."
"Well, seriously. You got burned by a married asshole. So what? Tell me, do you like Boris more or less than you liked Cameron?"
"More. Way more."
"And Boris isn’t married, right?"
"Right."
"And he’s as much as said he wants to date you, and not in a casual way, right?"
"Right."
"So you’ve got a hot, unmarried professional athlete who wants you and only you and the best you can do is say let’s be friends with benefits?"
"It’s more complicated than that, Parker. He’s my client. My first major new client since moving here. And we’ve got this weird situation with these Russians—"
"And that man would probably go to the ends of the earth to protect you, let’s be honest."
"I mean, I guess…"
"You guess? He let you stay in his apartment. He installed a security system for you. He would, Talia. I know this in my bones."
"So what should I do, then?"
She sighs. "Natalia Wentworth. You are so clueless. Seriously? You call him right this instant and tell him you care about him and want to give it a go. Like, for real, not some dumbass friends with benefits thing. You want to be his girlfriend."
"Really? I just call him and say I want to be his girlfriend? I mean, why not pass him a note and make him check the yes or no box?"
"Don’t be a jerk."
I groan. "I don’t know how to do this, Parker. I have next to no experience with men and the first serious thing ended up with me leaving town to avoid the crushing mortification." I will never forget the look in my co-workers’ eyes after his wife walked out. I could barely breathe. Could barely see past the well of tears—
"Forget Thompson. Thompson is dead to you. He will never be the poster boy for healthy relationships. So you fell for the wrong guy? It happens to the best of us. But from everything you’ve said about the Ice Dragon, he’s the right guy for you. And you better find a way to not blow it."
"What about the Russians?"
“You leave them to the FBI, but I’m sure the wheel will turn, and it’ll all shake out. And bonus…you’ll feel safer with two hundred plus pounds of hockey god at your side, regardless."
We talk for a few more minutes and then hang up, a plan forming in my mind.
* * *
I text Boris the next night.
Talia: Good luck in the home opener!
He texts me right back. Like, right back.
Boris: Good to hear from you. Thank you.
Talia: I’ve got my Crush shirt ready. I’ll be there to cheer you on.
Boris: Oh? I’ll leave a ticket at Will-Call for you, then.
Talia: That’s sweet, thank you.
Boris: Only the best for my friend and financial advisor.
Talia: Ouch.
Boris: Sorry. I meant to say I'd love to take you to dinner tonight. We can talk. Meet me by the locker rooms after the game?
Talia: Of course. I’d love to see you, too.
Boris: I’ll make us a dinner reservation and text you the details.
Talia: Sounds good. Make sure there’s meat on the menu.
Boris: ;-)
I realize after sending that last text that it sounds a bit dirty. But maybe that’s okay, considering I have big plans to wear my heart on my sleeve and ravage him completely until he says he’ll be my boyfriend. In the back of my mind, I read his texts as a bit cold and worry that he’s about to tell me he’s done with whatever this is between us, but screw it, I’m going all out, even if I fall on my face.
Two hours later, I’m in a very good box seat with some of the players’ wives and significant others. A pretty blonde plops down in the seat beside me, and says, "Who are you?"
It’s not a rude question, just a curious one. She’s got a broad smile and a big chest.
"I’m, uh, Talia Wentworth?"
"Ohhhh," she says, as if my name means something to her.
"Oh?"
She grins. "You’re the one our Boris is all tied up over."
"Oh, he’s not…I mean…I’m just his financial advisor."
"His financial advisor and the person he most wants to date," she answers, grinning like a hyena. "We’ve spent many a therapy session talking about you. I'm Pam, by the way."
"You’re his…therapist?" I ask.
"Physical therapist," she answers.
"Oh, okay."
"And how do you feel about him? Just as twisted?"
"Pretty much," I admit.
"Gonna work it out in a big way tonight?"
"I sure hope so," I say.
"Go big or go home. You should look up the story about how I proposed to Georg."
Actually, I read that story. Pamela Jensen arranged a huge pre-game show and proposed to Georg during the playoffs. It was in all the papers, even up in San Francisco. I loved that story. It made me believe in love. I tell her so and she just winks and says, "Welcome to the family. We all fraternize when we’re not supposed to around here."
The game starts soon after and I’m instantly into it. It’s fast and hard-hitting and the Crush play like a well-oiled machine. Evan Kazmeirowicz scores twice in the first period, just a one-two punch that looks completely effortless. There’s the big guy, Viktor, on defense and he just stops everyone like a brick wall as they come toward the goal. The other team can’t do a single thing to move the puck forward.
There are two fights, mostly on the defensive side. Boris tries to break them both up, which doesn’t surprise me at all. He looks up at the box twice during the game and I wave both times, just to show him I’m really there. I can’t wait to see him after the game. I have so much I want to say. So much.
I get really into the game, screaming and yelling a lot. I apologize to my suite-mates, who all tell me yelling is perfectly permissible and this is a safe space. By the third period, I know all their names and they’ve all given me guidance on how to "go big" when it comes to admitting my feelings for Boris.
In the third period, Boris comes out like a madman and scores two goals, allowing the Crush to win their first game by a hefty four-to-nothing. The arena is a madhouse, it’s so loud. Las Vegas came out for the Crush, and their team did not disappoint. I have to say, I think I am a true Crush hockey fan after this game.
I hang in the box for a bit, talking with the women I just met this evening but feel like I've known for a long time, when I get a text from Boris.
Boris: I forgot about a press event after game.
Talia: Oh, no big deal.
Boris: I suck at press so it won’t take long. Just meet me at the restaurant so we don’t lose our table.
Talia: Are you doing talk to text?
Boris: Yes, duh.
Talia: LOL Okay. See you at the restaurant.
The restaurant is only thr
ee blocks away and it’s a gorgeous night. The streets are filled with Crush fans, off to celebrate the big win on the Strip. I step out into the night, feeling buoyant and excited and ready to see what this thing with Boris will lead to.
Just a half block from the restaurant, though, I stop dead in my tracks, the hairs on my arms standing straight up when a man steps out of the alley in front of me. I turn to go the other direction, but someone is right behind me. A hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream, and my arms are pulled back so hard I think they may jerk from their sockets.
I try to remember my self-defense classes from college. I stomp down hard on my captor’s foot, but he increases his grip as a result. He hisses, "Shut up, bitch," as he pulls me into the dark alleyway. I struggle, trying desperately to get away from him, but his hand is also covering my nose and I can barely breathe. I start to hyperventilate as efforts to escape fade into the sheer terror of trying to catch my breath, trying to stay alert and awake.
I’m dragged and then picked up as if I weigh nothing. There’s a moment of weightlessness, then I’m in the back of a van, the metal cold through my T-shirt and jeans. The doors slam and I scream. I scream and scream but as the van starts, no one comes.
Twenty-Five
Boris
F#CK THE GAME!
Sometimes being the boring one on the team pays dividends. Like now. I scored two goals in the game tonight but the press has already figured out that I’m not good for much more than a quick one-sentence soundbite. Tyler is off being his usual obnoxious self, garnering more attention than me, so I'm able to make quick rounds and then slip away, eager to get to Talia at the restaurant.
I make the walk quickly, but when I arrive, Talia is not here. I start to worry maybe she changed her mind. But in my heart, I know she'd tell me if she couldn’t make it.
Puck Money: A Hockey Love Story Page 15
