by Brit DeMille
We sit in tense silence for a few minutes until Scott finally breaks the ice. “So, I will say your girlfriend is a total genius when it comes to managing social media.”
“That she is,” I say. “She was really fair, promoting all the guys who were interested in All-Stars. She pushed me a little more once it looked like I just needed a bump over the edge. She’s really smart with messaging and timing.”
“It’s safe to say she’s got a strong career in sports marketing ahead of her, no matter what else happens.” I give him a sharp look and he says, “I’m just saying, she might not want to work for the Crush forever.”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. She’s loving it right now. Max Terry thinks she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. He’d probably give her a million-dollar contract if she ever tried to leave.”
“She’s doing good things,” Scott says. “My company asked if she was a free agent. They’re looking for someone to promote the talent.”
I feel my eyebrows rise into my hairline. “Really?”
He nods, his face earnest. “They said she’s the best social media manager in pro sports right now.”
“Damn,” I say. My heart swells with pride.
“So, let’s chat about the games. You know the format. We start tomorrow with the skills competition. The division that racks up the most points gets to pick which division it takes on in the semis. Sunday, you’ll play the first semi-final game, and if you win, you’ll go onto the finals. They’re twenty-minute games with two, ten-minute halves. It’s a show for the fans, so make it a good one.”
“Got it,” I say, though I probably know the format better than he does.
“You know, we’ve got major leverage to get you a killer contract negotiation this year. You’re more than halfway through the season. Don’t get hurt and don’t do anything stupid and we’ll be just fine.”
“Scott, when have I ever done anything stupid?”
“Hmm. Let me think on that one,” he says, checking his watch. “I’ve got to run over to look in on my guy at the Lakers. I’ll take care of the bill on my way out.”
“Thanks.”
“Evan,” Scott says as he stands and grabs his suit jacket from the back of his chair, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have been such an asshole. You’re on fire this season and I couldn’t be happier for you.”
He holds out for a fist bump, which I oblige, but only because I’m not letting his comments ruin my mood.
As Scott leaves, I wander over and slide into the booth next to Georg. He’s in full-on flirtation-mode with Pam, and Holly’s engrossed in her phone, working on the team’s accounts.
“How’s Scott-the-agent-extraordinaire?” Holly asks idly.
“He’s a bloody wanker, and other shit I can’t say in a public restaurant.” Holly’s head snaps up, her eyes wide. I shrug. “He is. He thinks our relationship is just a thing for the press.”
“Oh,” Holly says, her face going dark. “That’s not true, though.”
“Who cares about him,” I bite back. “He did also say you’re the best social media manager in sports right now. His company wants to hire you to rep their clients.”
Her face turns to totally shocked. “Uh. What?”
“He represents players for the NBA, the NFL…he’s talking all sports, not just hockey. The best. That’s exactly what he said, Holly. That you’re killing it.”
Pam wraps her arm around her shell-shocked friend. “Hey, girlie, look at you!”
“I wish my boss thought that,” Holly mutters. “But it’s nice of him to say. I still have a lot to learn.”
“Don’t do the humble thing,” Pam says. “You’re awesome. Just bask in it.”
We all chat for a few minutes before Georg and I have to head out for our practice window.
“How about we all go out tonight?” Georg announces. “Maybe do a little dancing? Celebrate?”
“I’m down,” Pam says.
“Sure,” Holly says. “Sounds fun. But not too much alcohol, okay? I need you two feeling good for skills tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mom,” Georg says, laughing.
Our practice session is great. The fans picked a great group of Pacific players. There’s some ribbing about various game moments, and a fair amount of good-hearted shit-talk, but we have good energy and a lot of talent. We work through our drills and leave feeling confident we’ll be able to own tomorrow’s skills competition.
After we finish, we head back to the hotel. The league puts All-Stars up in a much nicer hotel than during the usual season, since we’re all coming in to do this extra thing for the fans, on top of our regular season duties. As a captain, I have a killer suite and all I can think about is bringing Holly back here later so we can christen every surface of this place.
I shower and dress, texting Georg and the girls the plan for dinner. We all meet up and get a car service to take us out to a restaurant in Santa Monica, one Pam says will make us all “spontaneously combust, it’s so good.”
In the back of the SUV, I can’t help but put my hands all over Holly. She’s in a tiny, electric blue dress which shows off her long and lovely legs, all the way up to her thighs. I rub my fingers along gorgeous exposed skin, and by her uneven breathing, I can tell she’s just as turned on as I am. In the seats in front of us, Pam and Georg are flirt-fighting about some show she likes, and he hates. They’re paying no attention to us, so I slip my hand up under her dress, pushing aside her panties and sliding my middle finger into her wet, wet pussy.
She swallows a little sound of arousal and looks at me sharply, shaking her head. I pull my finger out, not having to be told twice, but give her a naughty grin before sticking my finger in my mouth and licking it off deliberately. I lean in and kiss her, making sure our tongues intermingle before pulling away.
“See how good you taste?” I whisper, enjoying the transition as she blushes furiously.
At the restaurant, I make a point to touch her under the table as often as I can. Mostly I just touch her knee and lower thigh, but there is a moment when she spreads her legs just a little, just enough for me to slide my hand up further, to find her clit and strum it idly, all while pretending I’m hearing even one word of the conversation.
Dinner is good, for sure, but it’s not the food that’s ready to make me combust. It’s this gorgeous woman. I want nothing more than to take her to a quiet hallway and fuck her silly. But no, the fun is in waiting. The fun is in going just so far, just far enough to make the wanting so strong we’ll get lost in each other once we’re back in my hotel room. I said it already, I’ve got plans for that suite.
“I’ve got a great club to show you guys,” Pam says as we head back out to the car. She gives the address and our driver heads off.
It’s not too far away, and we’re able to skip the line because the bouncer recognizes Georg and me. “All-Stars, yo!” he says by way of greeting as he unhooks the velvet rope and stops us only for a quick selfie and a fist bump.
Inside, the club is packed. It’s really cool, all decorated with a Middle Eastern flair. It has seating areas half hidden by colorful curtains and covered in patterned pillows. Georg notices none of this, going straight to the bar, but the girls gush over the design. All I can think of is the modicum of privacy which those seats provide. We could have lots of fun here, for sure.
The music’s pumping and the dance floor is full of gyrating bodies. I see one, though, which makes me frown.
“What’s that face all about?” Holly asks, looping her arm through mine.
I nod to the dance floor. “Viktor Demoskev.”
“The guy who injured you earlier in the season?” Her face hardens.
“Yup, the very one.” I turn away from her and toward the bar. “I need a drink.”
We make our way over to Georg, who tries to act like he wasn’t just flirting with the bartender as Pam sidles up to him. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.
“Demoskev’s her
e,” I tell him.
“Etot gryaznyy ublyudok,” he snarls, turning to look out. His eyes narrow as he sees the big Russian.
“Oooh,” Pam gushes. “Russian. Hot.”
“He called Demoskev a dirty bastard,” I translate. “He only speaks Russian when he’s really pissed or really drunk.”
“Isn’t he really drunk most of the time?” Holly asks, almost too quietly to hear.
I ignore the comment because what is there really to say about Georg’s drinking? “I forgot he made the Atlantic team,” I say. “I fucking hate that guy. How did he get the votes?”
“Well he’s not ugly,” Pam says.
“Zatknis’” Georg hisses at Pam. “Do not say that about him. He’s a filthy piece of shit.”
“I’m just saying, women probably did the voting,” Pam says. “Should we find another place to go? I don’t want you two getting in a pissing match. We’re supposed to be having fun.”
“No,” I say with a sigh. “It’s a free country. Let’s just get a few drinks in us and go stake out one of those semi-private seating areas.”
“Sounds fun,” Georg says. He orders us all a round of shots and a round of beers, and we head off to the first open seating area we can find.
Holly and I clink glasses and take a few swigs of beer before I pull her close to me, my arm around her as she leans back against me. The swell of her breast is tantalizing in her strapless dress. My fingers stroke the sensitive, exposed skin and she sighs.
I kiss her neck and she lets my other hand explore between her thighs. We’re somewhat hidden by the curtains and literally no one is looking at us right now. Georg and Pam are on the dance floor.
“I’m going to have you six ways to Sunday when we get back to the hotel,” I say in her ear. “I’ve got lots of plans for you, beautiful.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks on a breathless whisper. “Can I have a little preview, so I know what I’m looking forward to?”
I nod slowly in the affirmative. “I’m going to start us a hot shower. We’re going to undress each other, and then I’m going to soap every inch of that perfect, luscious body. I’ll take my time, maybe massage the parts of you that seem to most need my attention. I’ll make you weak and boneless with want, and then I’ll get on my knees and worship your sweet pink pussy with my mouth. I’ll fuck you with my tongue until you scream my name. And when you do, I’ll pick you up and bury my cock as far into you as I can. We won’t know where I end and where you begin, we’ll be so close. But I’ll go slow, Holly baby. I’ll take my time. I’ll drive you crazy. I’ll make the wanting build and build until you beg me to go faster, to take you harder. And when you come, you’ll forget what planet you’re on.”
“I wanna go to Planet Evan right now, and I love it when you talk all hot and dirty to me,” she says with a bit of a slur to her words. It occurs to me that my girl is maybe a little bit drunk, and I need to take care of her. Keep her safe.
Right after I make her come.
“I’ll speak this way to you whenever you’d like,” I growl, barely realizing I’ve slipped my fingers inside of her while I’ve been playing out this vision in my head. Her eyes are closed, the fact that we’re in public completely forgotten. My thumb strums over her clit as I pump my fingers in and out of her very wet pussy. It only takes a few moments before I feel her clench around my fingers, the rest of her body shuddering in my arms as she comes. Fuck. It was so hot just watching her do that.
I lean over her and kiss her deeply before slipping my fingers free. I pull her skirt back down, and finally, press a kiss to the side of her head. She turns and throws her legs over my lap. I lean in and find her lips for a long, lingering kiss. When we pull away, she looks dreamily satisfied.
“You’re getting so much more later on tonight,” I remind her, reluctantly pulling myself back to reality. A few long moments pass as the two of us stare into each other’s eyes. Holly blinks as Georg and Pam emerge from the light of the dance floor back to our darkened corner, breaking our little spell.
“Hey, who am I?” Georg jokingly shouts while gyrating wildly in Pam’s direction to the music blaring overhead.
“I give up, G.” I turn towards him as Holly straightens in the booth and blushes right on cue.
“Did they see us?” she mouths to me. I shake my head no.
“John Travolta,” Georg answers, grinning like a motherfucker with his left arm up over his head. “I’ve got big time boogie fever!” He spins Pam and flings his arm straight back with a jerk.
Unfortunately clocking somebody standing right behind him in the face as they near our table.
Everybody freezes, whipping eyes around onto the unlucky person Georg just slapped.
Georg discovers exactly who the unlucky bastard is at the same instant I do.
None other than Viktor Fucking Demoskev.
Standing in front of our table, a beer bottle in his hand, a girl at his side, and a slight red mark across on his face from Georg’s impression of Saturday Night Fever. The fucker is huge, with broad shoulders and pecs so defined I can see them through his shirt. He has a wicked scar high on his left cheek, though with a reputation like his it’s a miracle his whole face isn’t scarred.
“So that makes her Olivia Newton John, then?” Viktor says tightly, the aggression in his stance proving he was only coming over to our booth to start some shit.
“Your mind is confused, Demoskev,” Georg says sarcastically, “not surprised you don’t know the difference between Grease and Saturday Night Fever, but I would hope you could’ve left it on the ice where it belongs, asshole.”
“Fuck off, Georgie Boy.” Viktor bites back.
“Watch your mouth in front of the ladies,” Georg snarls.
“You mean these puck bunnies?”
“Don’t talk about me that way,” Pam interjects angrily.
“Let the boys chat, slut!” Viktor says dismissively, insulting Pam.
Pam is over in Viktor’s face before I can even register. She jabs her finger into his chest as she releases a torrent of snarling accusations about what a Cro-Magnon moron he is. Viktor smiles at first but when he tries to flick away her finger, she pushes him. In a blur, he side-steps her and throws a wild haymaker toward Georg. It just misses his nose. Pam loses her balance and goes down in the scuffle.
I leap over the table just as Georg lands a punch to Viktor’s jaw. There’s a lot of swearing happening, mostly in Russian, and as I try to pull Georg away from Viktor, Viktor manages to get a punch in on me which lands squarely on my right eye. I feel it swelling almost immediately.
“Well, damn,” I say, grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it over his head. He turns, blood leaking from his temple, and grabs me, pushing me back into the table. My weight butterflys the table, shot glasses and beer bottles raining down on me as I scramble to get back up, determined not to go down in this fight.
I jump up, landing a superman punch to his cheekbone, feeling it crack under my fist. He staggers backward as Georg pummels him in the stomach. When Viktor falls to the floor Georg hollers down at him, “Don’t get up, yebanko!”
At this point, I look around for Holly and find her clinging to Pam, wide-eyed with her hand over her mouth, horror etched into her features as she scans the scene and realizes there are about seventy people surrounding us, all with their cell phones out. All the color drains from her face as she meets my gaze. Her hand goes down to her throat, and I can see her struggling to breathe. She’s having a panic attack and I need to get her out of here right the fuck now.
Bouncers are trying to get to us through the crowd. As they do, they signal that we’re done. It’s time to go. I grab Holly’s hand and make our way toward the doors, outside, to the waiting car.
It’s not until we’re in and belted and on our way that I am able to look at Holly. Her hands tremble as she pulls out her phone, scanning the social media feeds. “Are you okay, baby?”
“It’s everywhere,” she says, her
voice cracking. “Your eye, Evan.” She brings her fingers up to my chin, turning my face so she can assess the damage. “It’s swollen up badly.”
“Damn.” It’s all I can think of to say to her. That she’s freaked out is an understatement. I’m not pleased either. This is a major fuck up for all of us.
“I’m so sorry, Georg,” Pam says. “It was totally my fault. I provoked him.”
“I’m just really fucking relieved you’re okay,” Georg says. “He started it. He said nasty things about you. And when you schooled him he made it violent. Not your fault, Pam.”
“I’m going to get fired,” Holly says in a soft voice. “And you guys…it’s All-Star weekend. This is really bad. Really, really bad.”
No one says another word the whole thirty-minute ride back to the hotel. We go straight up to my room after saying a brief, terse goodnight to Pam and Georg in the lobby.
Holly pulls a first-aid kit out of my hockey bag. She starts checking out my wounds. Scratches on my hands, a swollen and black eye, a laceration on the back of my neck. Several bruises that will require ice. I’m pretty sure my pinky might be fractured but I’m not telling her that.
“It could be worse,” I say quietly.
“How? How could it be worse?” she snaps.
“I could have been seriously injured,” I remind her. “This is just surface stuff.”
“How in hell can you play with your eye swollen shut? Shit! Why did you get involved, Evan?”
“He insulted you and your friend, if you didn’t notice,” I say angrily.
“Yes, but Georg was there to defend her.”
“So, Georg can get into a scrape the night before All-Stars but I can’t? I’m supposed to just stand back and watch?”
“Maybe,” she says. “You’re a captain for fuck’s sake. You’re a captain for the Crush! You’re their role model. This is bad for you, Evan. And for me. All those people with their phones out…”
“You can literally get a job anywhere else,” I say. “So what if you get fired?”
