by Raine Miller
She comes in and looks around, obviously uncomfortable. She’s one of those women who still looks like a girl. She’s probably older than she looks but she wears little makeup and usually has her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had a long-term boyfriend but broke up with him recently. She doesn’t say much, so I don’t know why, but I do know he made a really big scene for her at work. I thought she might conjure a hole to bury herself in, honestly. She’s pretty shy. Yet, she’s here today and I was glad. I wasn’t the only single girl, so there was comfort in that.
We finish eating and decide to go to the pool for a swim and some sun before showering and getting ready for the party. Of course, the guys are all there when we arrive. And Viktor is among them. My heart kind of leaps when I see him, but then I remember how pissed I am at him. He looks good though. Pretty impossible for him not to look good in nothing but a pair of board shorts and all those tan muscles on full display.
He saunters up, lips set in that hot perma-scowl of his.
“Hello, Red Rocket.” His thick accent rolling off his tongue like sex dipped in chocolate with not a single care in the world.
“Red Rocket?” What the hell? But then I get it. I’ve heard some of the guys call women “rockets” before. And I have red hair, so… “That’s kind of gross, you know.” I cringe. “Dogs get red rockets when they’re sexually excited. I don’t think I like that name.”
“I assure you it is a term of endearment,” he says softly, his eyes on my lips. “And with dogs, it means they like you.”
“Ah…Viktor? You’re not helping your case, not even a little bit. No.” I shake my head at him. “And thanks for standing me up after the game, by the way.”
“It was not a good night. I was not fit to be good company for you.”
“Well, a hello and a request for a rain check would have been nice,” I snap.
He shrugs, seemingly unapologetic. “We will try again another time.”
“No, we won’t. I don’t get burned twice.”
“It was not a burn. It was a hard loss that I did not take well, but it was not my intention to offend.”
“Whatever.” I raise my hands in mock surrender. “It’s probably for the best. We have a no-fraternization policy and I doubt the bosses would let another one slide.”
He steps closer, looming over me as he lowers his voice to a sexy rumble. “The bosses do not have to know.”
Something about his voice. The deepness of it. The accent. The commanding tone. Whatever it is sends crazy electron insanity to my lady parts. I can’t let him see that, though. He doesn’t get off that easy.
Though “getting off” might be a fun way to spend this party…
No. NO, Scarlett. There are other hot guys out there. You can—and should—go find one of them and stay away from this possible mafia goon who never smiles.
I step away from him and put my hand on his bicep. It’s big. Like really big. This guy is insanely ripped.
What was I going to say, again?
Oh, yeah… “Thanks, but no thanks. Have fun at the party.”
I manage to tear my hand away from his bicep (even though I was really into feeling it) and saunter toward the bar. I get a beer and then find a soft lounge chair to sink into under an umbrella. Daisy, awkward as ever, sits next to me.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Daisy.”
“Oh, I just…Holly asked me to come,” she says, nursing some kind of pink, frothy, girly drink that has a tiny umbrella in it.
“Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll hook up with one of these hot hockey studs.”
She shakes her head. “No, big sports guys aren’t my type.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of guys are your type?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I like guys who like to camp and read and hike.”
“Hipsters, then?” I ask, grinning.
She giggles. “Maybe? What about you? What’s your type?”
This is the most I’ve ever heard Daisy talk. She talks to Holly, but anyone can talk to Holly. I mull the question. “Hmm. Not sure. I don’t think I have a type, per se, but I do know I attract assholes.”
She cringes. “Really?”
I nod, pouting for dramatic effect. “My first boyfriend in high school got my best friend pregnant.”
“Oh, no!”
“Right? My second boyfriend told me to lose an, acceptable to him, amount of weight or he wouldn’t take me to prom that year. He would let me know when I was presentably skinny enough to be his date.”
“Yikes,” Daisy says, wincing. “Did you?”
“I did not,” I answer proudly. “I told him exactly where to shovel his bullshit two seconds after the words came out of his idiot mouth. Those extra two seconds were needed for me to gather my opinion of his absurd proposition.”
Daisy laughs and nods her head. “Oh good.”
“Then my fiancé…he was a wreck. Big gambling addiction, drugs…he committed suicide.” She starts to open her mouth and I shake my head. “Don’t. People always say they’re sorry, but it’s fine. I’m over it.”
“Are you dating anyone now?”
“Nah. I flirt around but I just really want to find someone good, you know? Someone who will treat me right. I’m ready for love but I’m not going to allow myself to fall for someone shady again. No way.”
“Does Viktor Demoskev count as shady?” she asks timidly. “I saw him flirting with you over there.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Yes, he does. Definitely something shady going on there.”
Some of the players wind up over by us and we make small talk with them about their plans for the summer. I didn’t realize it, but many of them apparently go overseas and play summer leagues, often for their home countries. This allows them to stay connected to opportunities to represent their countries in some capacity when the Winter Olympics roll around every four years.
It’s a fun group including some of Pam’s friends from grad school who have come in for the party as well. We all play in and around the pool until late-afternoon, when the wedding planner kicks us all out so she can direct setup for the evening’s festivities.
Pam and the wedding planner converse as the crowd heads back in and up to various suites and hotel rooms. Daisy and I make our way back up to the suite, finding Holly already in the room, in tears.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “I didn’t even see you down at the pool this afternoon.”
She tries to give me a smile, as if I’m the one who needs reassurance. I sit next to her and she sniffles as she says, “I don’t know. I’m just feeling really emotional right now.”
“Maybe you’re PMSing?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I need to get it together. I’m supposed to be here for my best friend and I’m on the couch crying like a baby. And was Evan down there?”
I nod. “I saw him once or twice. Just talking to some of the guys.”
She gives a sad, resigned face. “Good. I’m glad I didn’t ruin his afternoon.”
She doesn’t say any more, and I don’t want to ask. I like Holly a lot, but I don’t know her well enough to be in her marital or parenting drama. I mean, she and Evan are like a totally dream couple. They’re gorgeous and perfect and successful. What could possibly be wrong in their little world?
I decide to jump in the shower before anyone else claims it, and I spend the whole time feeling resentful. Toward Holly, for crying like that when she has a perfect life. A perfect husband. A perfect baby. A perfect career. I lost my fiancé to gambling and drugs. And my father is totally MIA. I should be the one crying, not her.
When I come out of the bathroom, the hairdresser and makeup person have arrived. Pam is still talking to the wedding planner, and Holly has now joined them. She’s put on a brave face, stopped crying, and actually looks pretty and happy for the moment. I hear her ask, “This week, really?”
I wander over to the hair station and the woman’s eyebrows raise as I sit. She leans in and sa
ys, “Hunker down, sister. Looks like you’ll be living at the LINQ this week.”
“Why?” I ask, confused. “What did I miss?”
“Looks like Pam and Georg have decided to tie the knot at the end of this week! They’re moving up to the wedding suite and they’ve asked everyone to hang out all week to party and celebrate up to the big event.”
“Whoa,” I say. “Wow. They literally just got engaged.”
She grins as she combs out my long, wet, tangled hair. “They’re eager to get their lives started, I guess.”
Pam confirms a little bit later, as the stylist puts my crazy hair into an elaborate, braided up-do. “You look so good,” she says. “Did you hear the news?”
“I did,” I say, making a face I hope is a happy one. “This week, huh?”
She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “The hotel is totally up for helping us make it happen. All of our friends are here. Why not?”
“Well, I can’t…” I start to speak but then feel ashamed. My cheeks flush. I push my lips together and breathe in and out through my nose.
“You can’t afford to stay here for a few more days?” Pam asks quietly.
“You got it.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I mean, we’re moving to the penthouse and this suite’s already paid for. Why don’t you stay in this one?”
“Oh, I couldn’t…that’s too much,” I stammer. “Plus, I’ve got my other job to get to.”
“And it’s probably closer to here than your apartment, right? I insist. It’s paid for already. Just use it, Scarlett.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! That way you can let loose and be close to all the events. We’ll do the engagement party tonight, of course, then the rehearsal dinner on Thursday and the wedding on Friday. And you can stay in the suite until Saturday noon.”
“I guess that’s a yes then.” She is making some very good points. Not only that, I need this. I’ve never had luxury, never expected it either. But if my friend wants me to spend a few days in the lap of luxury, celebrating her love? That I can do. Although, that does mean buying another dress or possibly two.
“Yay,” Pam cheers, jumping up and down. “Your hair looks amazing, by the way.”
“She’s got good hair,” the stylist comments. She looks at her watch before telling Pam to move her butt and get in the shower.
Hair complete, I move to the makeup chair, and then finally manage to get into my dress and heels. I feel really good. Sexy. My dress fits like a glove, even though I got it on the sale rack. Devon whistles at me from her perch on the couch.
Of course, she’s ridiculously beautiful with no makeup on. I swear she’s like a Barbie clone or something. I can’t believe she’s a nutritionist counselor for a hockey team and not a supermodel. I don’t know her very well. She’s become friends with Pam, though I heard that Devon and Georg were very close “friends.” So who knows what the story is there. Devon seems cool now and really happy for Pam and Georg.
I realize, as everyone gets dressed and ready, that I feel like an outsider. I mean, Pam and I have definitely hung out before. But Holly is her best friend, and she and Devon seem close. Daisy seems totally in her own world. And then there’s me. I’m social. Sociable. I try to make knowing the office gossip my business, so I know people’s names and faces and stories.
But I feel alone.
I know what it really is.
I’m lonely.
It’s not a new feeling either, but is it actually one that can be fixed?
Eight
Did You Just Smell Me?
Scarlett
I’ve put on my “flirt face.” That’s what my dad used to call it—the face I make when I’m trying to act like I don’t have a care in the world. I try to wear that face at work, because I know I can get bigger tips when I look like I’m even remotely interested in the overweight rich guy who starts playing on tilt and ordering shots for the table. It’s all a big fat lie because I happen to know from experience those kinds of guys usually tip for shit.
I think I’ve had, ohhhh, three beers now? And a tiny plate of delicious appetizers with names I can’t pronounce. Probably need to increase my food-to-alcohol ratio at some point here.
Pam looks amazing. She’s got her blonde hair styled in beachy waves. Her makeup is fierce, a dark liner and smoky shadow on her eyelids. She’s in a sleek, short, black dress and I’ve caught Georg sneaking his hand up her crotch several times through the night. He can’t keep his hands off her, actually. It’s sweet to see people so in love that they can’t control themselves in public.
“Those two are gonna fuuuuuuccckkkk tonight,” Tyler sings beside me at the bar. He’s obviously seen the same little things I’ve seen tonight.
“Indeed,” I agree with a slow nod. “I mean, she’s lookin’ hot.”
“She is, but so are you, lady.”
“Well, thank you, sir.” I take in Tyler, all broad-shouldered, All-American boy. He can’t be much more than twenty-three. He made his debut in the NHL just last year mid-season.
“I see why he likes you,” Tyler comments.
“Who?”
“Viktor. Duh.”
“Viktor doesn’t like anyone.” I sniff. “Plus, he blew it anyway. He stood me up on game night.”
“Well, to be fair, his dumb-ass penalty cost us the game. He would’ve been shitty company anyway.”
I laugh. “Didn’t you also have a dumb-ass penalty as well?”
He just sticks out his tongue. “I did a normal level of dumb-assery. He did an extra level.”
“Okay, whatever you have to tell yourself so you can sleep at night.”
Suddenly, I feel him at my back. Looming. My cheeks heat as Tyler says, “Hey, big guy. Just keepin’ your seat warm for ya.”
Tyler winks and hops off the bar stool so Viktor can take his place. How did I know he was there before a single word was said? Am I that in tune to his body already? No. I can’t be. It’s just that he’s so big. He takes up space.
And right now, he’s taking up all the space right next to me.
* * *
Viktor
* * *
“You look…good,” I say, taking in the luscious sight of her. Her legs look a mile long, pale in the evening light. Her skin is creamy. Especially the swell of her breasts against the green of her dress. I would love to help her out of that little dress. I imagine what is underneath must be spectacular.
“Mmm,” she grunts, clearly unimpressed with the compliment. “Thanks.”
I lean in, closer, and closer still until my lips nearly touch the exposed skin of her long neck. I inhale. She smells fresh, clean, slightly floral. My cock twitches as I imagine if her pussy tastes the same.
“You smell good enough to eat.” My breath hits her skin, raising telltale goose bumps.
She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs. Was that a little squeeze I just detected? Is she as affected by me as I am by her?
“You’re being creepy.” She turns away from me and takes a sip of her beer. “You can’t just go around smelling people.”
I chuckle darkly, without humor. “I think you’re just saying that because you liked it. And I think you would like other things I could do to you.”
“Well, you won’t be doing a single thing, because I still haven’t forgiven you for crapping out on me after the game.”
She sits primly, her back ramrod straight, her legs tightly crossed. Even her rosebud mouth is pursed. I’d like to kiss it into submission. I’d like to make her come until she’s boneless, relaxed, high on pleasure. Since when have I been so fixated on a woman? Or on her pleasure? It has been a very long time.
“But I have not asked for your forgiveness.”
“You’re smug for a guy who’s trying to get into my panties.”
I sigh heavily. I like this woman. She is feisty and beautiful. I want her badly. But I need her to understand that it was not a rejection of her. “Perha
ps it will make you feel better to know I drank myself into oblivion that night. And the next, for that matter. I do not like to lose. I would have been very poor company for you.”
“Georg said that. The last part, about being bad company. Though he also said you’re a stick in the mud and no fun even on a good day,” she babbles. I think she is maybe a little bit drunk.
“He is not wrong.”
“You know, that glowing self-endorsement really makes me want to jump in the sack with you.”
“Sexual gratification does not require fun, Scarlett. It only requires skill, practice, and concentration.”
“Like hockey?” She gives me a little smirk that makes my dick hard.
“Yes, like hockey.”
“Hmmm…still not selling me. Better go try that act on someone else.”
“No.” I lean in close again. I see the hunger in her eyes when she meets my gaze, the dark desire of attraction. She feels every bit of this attraction same as me. “I said I do not like to lose. It is now my mission to win you, Scarlett. At least for the night.”
* * *
Scarlett
* * *
I gasp a little. This guy is a caveman, but something about him is totally revving me up. The way he smelled me; I knew he was thinking about other parts of my body. It made my nipples hard and I was thankful for the strong lining in this dress, or I’d have been putting out signals loud and clear as to just how affected my body was by his naughty act.
He gives just a shadow of a grin. Just one edge of one side of his totally kissable mouth lifts nearly imperceptibly. Damn. He heard that little noise. I look away and attempt to gather my wits again.
“I don’t want to be won for a night.” I take a sip of my drink. “I’m not a prize. I am not a commodity. This isn’t a game. And I’m also not some gross jersey chaser that stands in line hoping to be chosen for a quick bang in the janitor’s closet.”
