“Great,” I say. “Well, then I regret to inform you that I will not be able to be friends with you, Jay from biology class. I simply cannot be friends with a person who obsesses over hockey. It is a personal principle and I make no exceptions.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. If I promise to never talk hockey in front of you, then can you be my friend?”
I give him an amused grin. “I will consider it.”
“I even promise not to geek out if your brother comes around.”
“Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It is a maybe,” I say. “I have to go, but I will see you in class.”
Heading back to the dorm, I take a quick shower and then throw on a pair of black, leather leggings and a sheer, black, sleeveless tunic. I’m working on my hair and makeup when Irina comes through the door.
“Ever hear of knocking?” I scowl.
“As if you have any parts I haven’t seen before, sister,” she retorts.
“What if I had been in here with a man?”
“That is very unlikely.”
She is right, but I do not want to admit it. Instead, I take in her outfit—ripped mom jeans and a Pussy Riot t-shirt with Doc Martens.
“That is not appropriate for this event,” I say.
“Yebat’ sebya,” my sister hisses.
“So hostile all the time,” I say, turning back to my reflection in the mirror. My hair is long and tousled, still sun-streaked from summer. I opt for simple makeup—nude lip gloss and a little bit of mascara and eyeliner.
“You should wear these with that outfit,” Irina says, holding up a pair of red heels. It’s the first helpful thing she’s said.
I grab the shoes and pull them on, then take in the full look. It feels sexy but edgy, and still appropriate. None of my body parts are actively on display, so my brother is unlikely to turn eight shades of red and tell me to go cover up.
Satisfied that at least one of the two Kolochev sisters looks appropriate for a pro hockey event, I shoo my sister out the door, locking up before we head out to see our brother for the first time since we got to the United States.
Chapter 4: Hands Off the Sestry
Tyler
Stupid team events. Stupid monkey suit. I hate it. I hate getting all dressed up and acting like a church boy just for the stupid press. Fuckin’ annoying. It’s not like they haven’t heard eight ways to Sunday what we think of the lineup and how happy we are with the season and blah, blah, blah. It makes my head hurt.
Thank god there’s at least a bar at this thing. I head over and get a beer, wishing for something stronger, then beeline for my buddy Viktor, who stands a head taller than any other damn body in the room.
“Good to see you, jerkface,” I say, leaning in for a bro-hug. “Can’t hang with your best friend these days? Too good for your old pal Tyler?”
“Do not be a baby,” Viktor growls. “I already have one baby to care for.”
“Do not be a Russian robot,” I say, mocking his accent—badly. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya. How’s life as a dad?”
He gives a big yawn, which I pretty much figure is his answer. But then…
“I very much enjoy being father,” he says. “He is smart already. I can tell he is thinking.”
“Babies aren’t that smart,” I say. “Hate to tell you that.”
“No, that is not true,” he pouts. “Our son is old soul.”
“Yeah? An old soul who shits in his pants,” I say, making a face.
“He does do that,” Viktor agrees. “Very often.”
I scratch my chin, wondering if I’m breaking out in hives as the baby talk just goes on and on. And on. Seriously. I think Viktor might be fucking with me, just to make me go comatose or something. I have to hear about the time the baby pissed on him during a diaper change, and about the sticky poop he had the other day. It is a fucking nightmare, let me tell you.
“You know, just fucking shoot me if I ever spend this much time worrying about someone else’s shit,” I say.
“Is part of being a parent,” he says.
“Is making you more boring than usual, which is saying a lot,” I say, mocking his accent again.
“You will find someone some day and you will want to be a father,” he says. “Mark my words.”
“Eat your words, is more like,” I say, shaking my head. “You talking about poop and puke and whatever other body secretions babies make is not a ringing endorsement for the virtues of parenthood, friend. In fact, it’s so fuckin’ boring that I literally want to go jump in front of the Zamboni just to escape the torture.”
“You cannot be man whore forever,” Viktor argues.
“I sure as shit can. I’m gonna take Viagra and be a baller until the day I die. It’s gonna be great in a Hugh Hefner kind of way.”
“I hope that works out for you,” Viktor says.
Just then, I look toward the door and see Kolochev and his wife talking to two super-hot women. They’ve got to be sisters, with perfect, supermodel faces. High cheekbones, pouty lips, long, brown hair. Tall. Legs for days. Holy public erection, Batman. One looks like she’d probably bite my nut sack off. She’s in a Pussy Riot tee, ripped jeans, and combat boots. Her eyeliner is totally goth and she’s got the tips of her long hair dyed bright pink. The don’t-fuck-with-me glare is totally working for her. Total turn-on. She probably has hairy pits and a terrible attitude, but she sure is workin’ it. Yum. Come to papa.
The other smokeshow looks a little younger. A little more demure. Her brown eyes are wide and her lips are full and luscious. Ugh. I have to adjust myself because they really are turning me on.
I rib my friend. “Who are those two?”
Viktor laughs at me. Laughs, can you believe it? “They are hands off.”
“Why?” I ask, totally confused. “Why hands off?”
“They are Kolochev’s sestry.”
“Kolochev’s what? I don’t speak Russian, bro.”
“Sisters,” he spits out. “His sisters.”
“And what? They’re off limits why?”
“Are you kidding?” Viktor asks. “Georg would never let you touch them. He is protective as his father was protective.”
I make a snorting noise of disapproval. “Well, I’m gonna get right past that chastity belt, come hell or high water. Those two smokeshows are invited on my welcome wagon any time.”
Yep, come hell or high water, I’m getting one—or preferably both—of them into the sack.
It is now my life’s mission.
A Request
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Acknowledgments
Katie, Franzi, Luna, Pamela, Marion, Jana: I don’t know where I’d be without your continual encouragement and friendship. Just a very heartfelt THANK YOU from me to you. With a hug. And a ton of sloppy kisses. OxxxxxxxO
To all of the lovelies in my reader group on Facebook, you are my bright rays of sunshine just when I need it the most. Simba, Wendy, Martha, and Miria, thank you so much for your efforts in keeping the ship afloat even when the captain is off on a bender somewhere. (Me! I am the captain!!) Your posts never go unnoticed or deeply appreciated.
Thank you to my loyal, patient, kind, lovely, amazing, supportive readers. You make this whole gig possible. Please don’t ever change. LOL
Blessings et al.
About Brit DeMille
Brit DeMille is the alter ego of NYT Bestselling author, Raine Miller, having an absolute blast writing books quite different from what she writes as Raine.
Stories about sexy billionaires [millionaires make the cut too] who fall in instalove with young women who may or may not be virgins, and then go on to make adorable babies together are her favorite theme
s. In addition to the billionaires, hot hockey players are at the top of her list of favorite heroes, along with royals and ex-military bodyguards.
Most important when she writes a story is a happily ever after. But during the actual writing of the story, the most important thing is a cup of hot tea with a splash of milk (and don’t forget the stash of cherry Jolly Ranchers). A dog or two will likely be in between her and the chair at any given moment, which is very handy, because they are the ones who approve everything she writes.
You can connect with Brit/Raine on Facebook in her Raine Miller Romance Readers group. She’s there most every day.
Also by Raine Miller
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
The PASSION of DARIUS
The UNDOING of a LIBERTINE
The MUSE
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
CHERRY GIRL
PRICELESS
HUSBAND MATERIAL
BLACKSTONE DYNASTY
FILTHY RICH, I
FILTHY LIES, II
THE BLACKSTONE AFFAIR
NAKED, Part 1
ALL IN, Part 2
EYES WIDE OPEN, Part 3
RARE and PRECIOUS THINGS, Part 4
Writing as Vivienne Wilmont
LORD BLACKWOOD’S VIRGIN
Writing as Brit DeMille
CRUSHED, Vegas Crush #1
SIN SHOT, Vegas Crush #2
RED ROCKET, Vegas Crush #3
PUCK MONEY, Vegas Crush #4
SMOKESHOW, Vegas Crush #5
Puck Money: A Hockey Love Story Page 22
