by Brit DeMille
Evan: You just want to live vicariously through me since you’re married.
Scott: I’ve got a hot wife. No need.
Evan: Ha. Okay. Gotta run.
Scott: See you at the farm on season opener.
There are two texts from Kacey, which I delete without reading. I move on to the text from Holly.
Holly: Holy cow, you were on fire tonight! Congrats!
Evan: I was thinking about men looking at you. You look gorgeous. It made me mad.
Holly: Bc I look gorgeous?
Evan: No, bc other men see you like that and want you.
Holly: Don’t be a caveman. Besides, they were all pining over my friend Pam.
Evan: Did you get my message? Georg and I want to take you and Pam to dinner.
Holly: I don’t know…
Evan: Just dinner. No big deal. Georg will be heartbroken if you say no. He’s even putting on a clean shirt for the occasion.
Holly: Well, in that case…
Holly: Hey Evan, it’s Pam. We’re IN!
I grin and head to the shower. Twenty minutes later, I’m in a crisp, button-down shirt, dark jeans, and a jacket. Georg, as promised, has put on a shirt that appears clean and somewhat free of wrinkles. He’s got on jeans and dress shoes, and he’s even pulled his hair back into a man-bun.
We head out to the west entrance and find Pam and Holly waiting. Holly smiles broadly when she sees me, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. I walk right up to her and lean in, planting a kiss on her cheek before reaching down and taking her hand in mine. She doesn’t pull away.
“Georg,” I say, “This is Holly’s friend, Pam.”
“Pamela Jenson”—she reaches out to shake his hand— “but you can call me Pam.”
He, of course, takes it and plants a kiss on it. She pulls away, smirking at him.
“So, you’re the famous Georg Kolochev,” Pam says. “Womanizer. Lover of alcohol. Player of hockey.”
“Whoa.” He puts his hand on his chest, and a mock look of hurt on his face.
“Your reputation precedes you, dude,” I say. “Looks like you’ve got some work to do.”
“I can handle myself.”
Pam takes Georg’s arm and says, “Let’s see how you do tonight.”
They walk off ahead of us, chatting easily.
“She seems comfortable with herself,” I observe. “Not falling for his shit, anyway.”
“She’ll be fine,” Holly says confidently. “She’s made of iron.”
“And you?” I can’t resist the question because I need to know where I stand with her.
“Just the usual matter.” She seems a little distant, but almost like she’s fighting it too.
I can’t help but wonder what it means, but I don’t get to ask, as we are quickly at Pam’s car, a convertible Mustang. I can appreciate this car. Holly and I climb into the back seat as Georg asks Pam to pick the dinner location. She checks and app on her phone first, making us a reservation at a place in Malibu, along the water.
Luckily, traffic isn’t too bad. At my request, Pam turns on a classic rock station and cranks the volume as You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC plays. We all head-bang and sing loudly, letting loose, a good energy between us.
Dinner is amazing. We eat on a veranda seemingly hundreds of feet above the ocean. It’s a really gorgeous scene. So gorgeous, I take out my phone and snap a picture of Holly as she looks out over the balcony. Again, her back is to me, only her profile visible, the picture a little hazy in the evening light.
I post it to my Instagram with no explanation and no hashtag before wandering up to stand beside her. Pam and Georg are still at the table. He’s teaching her Russian cuss words. They’ve been flirty and loud all night.
“You doing okay?” I lean down close enough to kiss her, but I won’t. “We really haven’t had time to talk since we went skating.”
“I’m okay,” she says, looking up at me. She reaches out and touches the collar of my shirt, then moves her hand to my chest. “You look really handsome tonight, Evan.”
“Thanks. You’re stunning tonight, Holly.”
She smiles sweetly, the weight of her palm still on my chest. I don’t want her to move it away. I love the feel of her touching me. But finally, she says what’s on her mind. “I had a fiancé in college. He cheated on me. I’m a little gun-shy.”
“And I have a reputation. I get it.” I pick up her hand and bring it to my lips and kiss it.
We stand there, looking out at the ocean, for a long time until Georg and Pam announce we are going dancing. I pay our bill, we load back up and head to a nearby club.
The place is hopping as we make our way in. We grab drinks at the bar, but as soon as they are drained, Pam takes Georg’s hand and drags him out on the dance floor. I hold out my hand and Holly shyly accepts it. We make our way out into the throng of people. The bass is heavy, the music some mix of pop and electronic. It’s not the kind of music I’d listen to on my own, but it has a great beat.
We start to move and it’s hard not to be close. I end up behind Holly, my hands on her hips as we move together. There’s a moment when it feels like no one else is around. She lays her head back on my chest, her eyes closed, her arms reaching up and around my neck. As we move, it’s so sensual that I can’t help but get aroused. I move one of my hands downward, letting it touch the bare skin of her thigh. She moans a little and turns to face me, so I put one hand at her lower back and the other between us, pushing her dress up discreetly, my finger brushing over the soft silk of what can only be spectacular underwear if it’s over her beautiful body.
It’s just a soft touch, nothing crazy, but she gasps, maybe a little surprised to find her panties wet already. She wants me as badly as I want her.
I move my hand and adjust her skirt, putting both hands on her ass, pulling her body against mine as we continue to sway to the beat. I want her to feel how hard my cock is right now. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and shining, her mouth parted. Waiting for me.
“God, those lips,” I growl before putting my mouth on hers.
We kiss, our tongues intertwined, until she pulls away abruptly, her cheeks flushed bright pink even in the dark. “I—I—I need a drink of water,” she stammers.
I nod, and we hold hands as we head to the bar. I order us both another drink as well as her water. We find a little booth being vacated and grab it. We sip our drinks and catch our breath. I peer out at the crowd and find Georg and Pam smiling and laughing, having a grand old time together.
I turn to look at Holly and when we lock gazes, it’s electric. I lean in and brush my lips against hers, only to have her climb onto my lap, straddling me, her kisses furious and hot on my lips, my neck. I return the attention as she rubs herself against me. I wish we didn’t have this barrier of clothing between us. I wish we weren’t in a public place. I want her naked and moaning my name as I make her come. Repeatedly.
But public places are just that, and I can only dream about the time when I can really have her alone. We alternate between the dance floor and this semi-private booth all night, until last call, when Georg and I grab a taxi back to the team’s hotel, and Holly slides in next to Pam in the Mustang. Her lips are swollen from my kisses and I fucking love it.
I don’t know what she’s done to me, but I can’t get enough.
Nineteen
Holly
“So…you and Evan seemed cozy last night,” Pam remarks from the doorway. Her attempt to casually bring up the topic is terribly lame, but I love her for trying.
I’m packing up my things. The team is headed to San Jose for the third game in this away series—our last of the pregame season. I feel my cheeks get hot and shake my hair, so it covers my face as I stuff clothes in the bag. I have to get on the bus with the team in about two hours and I am mortified. How can I face him this morning, after throwing myself all over him last night? I didn’t have a lot to drink, but I guess it was just enough to make me loosen up, to let mys
elf react to this insane chemistry between us. Still, I don’t know how I feel about him. He seems sweet and funny, he’s definitely sexy, and he makes me feel really good. But pictures don’t lie—he’s been with lots of women in the past. And I still can’t date a player without losing my job.
“Not talking to me?” Pam asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Or are you over there overanalyzing things like you always do?”
“The latter,” I admit, “I feel a little slutty. Well, a lot slutty. I crawled into his lap, Pammy jammy. I might as well have had sex with him right there in the booth.”
“Oh, come on! Did you notice how many people were getting it on in that place? It was like a den of sin.”
“That does not make me feel better when I have to work with him. I have to be on the team bus with him today! How can I face him?”
“You think he’s sitting around thinking about how slutty you are?” Pam shoots back. “No, he’s not. He’s thinking how much he wants a second go with you. You didn’t do anything other than make out, and mostly just kissing.”
“And humping,” I say with a rueful smile. “I humped the shit out of him in that booth, and his hands got to be very good friends with my ass.”
She giggles. “I’m totally jealous of you right now, Holls, but the important question here is do you like him?”
I nod. “I do. I can’t explain it because I just don’t know him that well, but I really do like him and it scares the shit out of me.”
“Wow.” Pam looks shocked. “You’ve said shit twice in under a minute.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, because she’s right. Sometimes I take myself far too seriously. I need to just chill and move forward.
After Pam drops me off at the hotel I climb the steps onto the luxurious Mercedes charter bound for San Jose. I sit near the front, expecting Fiona or one of the other media team members to sit with me, but instead, Mr. Happy Hands plops down in the seat beside me.
“Good morning,” he says as he shoves his backpack under the seat in front of us.
“Um, hi?”
He looks at me with a grin. “Was that a question?”
I flush hotly. Stupid cheeks always giving me away. “Hi. Good morning.”
Fiona comes on the bus then, stopping to give us both a pointed look. She purses her lips and gives a snooty-sounding sniff but doesn’t say anything else. She does, however, sit in the seat across from us. Presumably to make sure we keep things professional.
Evan is adept at managing things like this, though. He turns and engages her in conversation about the plan for media at the home season opener next week. I’m actually really thankful for it. They pull me into a strategy conversation, and we get some good planning done. Fiona seems less concerned about my proximity to Evan after that, even moving to go back and sit with Chalamet, claiming she wants to loop him into the media plan.
“Nicely done,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says, pulling a water bottle out of his bag. “That was one hour. What to do with the next four?”
I giggle. “Not what you’re thinking.”
“I was thinking we could play I Spy. What were you thinking? Dirty mind.”
I nudge him with my elbow and he reaches over, taking my hand in his. He leans to the side and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My breath hitches and my voice sounds hoarse as I say, “Same.”
“So, we do have all this time,” he says softly, “let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“Life. You. Me.” He shrugs. “Let’s get to know each other a little. I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?”
“Green,” I say, looking up at his crystalline green eyes, “like your eyes.”
He blinks and bats his eyelids playfully. “Well, then, mine is brown.”
“Nobody’s favorite color is brown, Evan.”
He chuckles. “I think my favorite color is blue. Never gave it much thought, though. What’s the furthest you’ve ever run?”
“Marathon distance, about twenty-six miles.”
He whistles his disapproval. “No thank you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t like getting slammed around while trying to stay upright on bladed shoes, so…”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. What’s your fastest mile?”
My fastest single mile ever was a sub-five,” I say proudly. “I usually run five to five-and-a-half on pace.”
“Wow,” he says, looking both shocked and impressed, “that’s really fast. You never thought about running after college? Like, Olympic trials or something?”
I shake my head. “No, not really. I liked competing, but I didn’t want it to be a career. I really liked my college classes and internships. I was looking forward to moving on from the sport. Now I just run for fun and to relieve stress.” And sexual tension.
“Well, I guess I should be glad. You might not be here right now if you’d chosen a different path,” he says with a squeeze to my hand.
“You played in the Olympics, though, right?”
He nods. “I did.”
“In Sochi? Did you play with Georg?”
“No, he played for Russia. I played for Ukraine.”
“Ohh, a little rivalry?” I ask, nudging his shoulder.
“Nah, we had a good time in Sochi.” He cringes a little. “Probably too good, to be honest.”
“Oh,” I say, my stomach turning a bit. I pull my hand away under the guise of checking my phone. “I’ve got to get some work done before we get to San Jose.”
“Don’t do that,” he says, reaching for my hand and clasping it in his again.
“What?”
“Pull away,” he says, “don’t let whatever you think you know about me come between whatever this is between us.”
“Well, what is it, Evan? I mean, we had fun last night, but…”
“But what? We’ve had fun every time we’ve communicated. We had fun skating. We had fun last night. But I’m not just looking for fun, Holly.”
“I’m not—I just don’t—”
He leans in, his breath hot on my ear as he asks, “You don’t what?”
I feel his nearness all the way through every cell of my body. I have to take a steadying breath before I can even speak. My voice is low and my eyes are closed when I say, “I don’t know what you’re looking for. I’m worried I’m not the girl for you.”
“You’ve said that before,” he says. “What’s that rubbish?”
“It’s not rubbish though, I’m not into casual sex. I’m embarrassed at how I behaved last night.”
“Why would you be embarrassed? Why are your eyes closed? Seriously?”
I open my eyes, ready to cry for some dumb reason. I find Evan looking at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. He probably thinks I’m a total crazypants. I meet his gaze and he gives me a lopsided grin.
“We’ll have to finish this conversation when we’re alone again because that’s happening. And for the record, I love how you behaved last night with me. But if you don’t believe anything else, please believe I really like you, Holly. Okay?”
He pats my knee and says he needs to catch up with Chalamet. He gets up and makes his way to the back of the bus. Fiona returns, giving me a narrowed stare that I pointedly ignore as I check our social media feeds.
Evan comes back near the end of the trip, but we don’t talk much, especially not with Fiona holding court in the seat across from us. I hope I sound professional when I wish him luck in the game. He disembarks, and I wait for the players to get off the charter before I do.
Fiona is on her phone as the media team gathers. She makes a hand gesture that tells us all to hang around. I watch Evan shoulder his bag and walk off toward the arena. Almost as if he knows I’m watching, he turns his head and gives me a sexy wink. Georg turns his head, then, and gives me a goofy grin and a thumbs-up.
Max Terry wanders up, the team’s owner, and pulls on my ponytail. “This ponytail looks familiar,”
he says, grinning.
I blush so hard I can feel it in my hairline and my toes at the same time. He’s smiling, so I’d guess he’s not too bothered. Fiona, on the other hand, finishes her call, levels me with a stare that’s as sharp as a blade.
“Yes. It. Does,” she says.
“It’s not…we’re not…” I stammer.
Max pats me on the back, still smiling. He looks at Fiona and says, “Don’t rock the boat, dear! Look at Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen. That relationship was nothing but good for Tom’s career. Women love a family man.”
“Family man?” I ask. “I’m not even—”
“So, what you’re saying,” Fiona interrupts primly, “is that we’re supposed to flout our no-fraternization policy in order to capitalize with our female audiences?”
“I’m just…going to go work on some…stuff,” I say weakly, “it’s not really…like that…with Evan.”
I pull out my phone and try to focus on our Instagram feed, but Max is not finished apparently. “Look, I know Evan pretty well and I think this is the real deal. He’s on fire right now, and more importantly we need to keep him on fire as we head into the season.”
“Well, you’re the owner, but I just think…” Fiona starts.
“Don’t over think,” Max says, interrupting. “Just let them be.”
I look up at him, my face surely the color of a tomato by now. He winks and strolls off, whistling.
I don’t see him again until we’re up in the box setting up pre-game media. Fiona hasn’t spoken to me since Max’s endorsement of this relationship, whatever it may be, but that’s honestly not any different than any other day. Max, however, sidles up next to me as I’m getting shots of the team as they do their practice drills.
