by Raine Miller
“That is over the line,” Dale snaps.
I level the guy with a stare that could melt metal. “Who are you?”
“Kellen,” he says, a smug grin on his face.
“Well, Kellen, you just lost your right to attend these sessions.”
“What are you, the principal?” He laughs. “No, you’re not the principal. You’re the hired help. You’re here to serve us, because we’re the moneymakers.”
“Serve us? Did you really just say that to me?” I shake my head to make sure I’m not lost in Bizarro World. I focus on him and cross my arms over my breasts. “I am definitely not here to take this kind of garbage, though, Kellen. I completed a five-year master’s at UCLA in physical therapy to get this job, and there is nothing in my contract that says insolent comments about my anatomy by hockey players are acceptable.”
“But it’s okay for these guys to talk about having your hands all over them?” he counters. “I’m just adding to the conversation. And it’s a compliment. So don’t be such an uptight bitch.”
Some of the other guys start to move out of the space, clearly uncomfortable by this exchange. Georg, who I didn’t even notice, is sitting on a mat to Dale’s right. He jumps to his feet and walks over to stand straight up in Kellen’s face.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Georg spits. “Treat this woman with some respect. There is joking and there is being a creep. If you can’t tell the difference, then you need to fuck off.”
Dale chuckles and says, “Come on, guys. No need for combat. Kellen, your comment was well over the line, and I think maybe Google search #TimesUp when you get a minute.” Snickering from the others in the room breaks the tension a bit but it’s still awkward. “Just apologize to Pam and move on,” Dale insists.
Kellen, eyes blazing with anger, offers up a lame “sorry” in a way that reminds me of some of the kids I babysat when I was in high school. “Not even a little bit sorry” is more like it.
“Whatever,” I say with a big, loud sigh. “I’ve got work to do. Next time, Kellen, eyes up here.” I gesture to my face and he just stares, his jaw tightly clenched, fists balled up at his sides.
I go back to the therapy space and flop down in my desk chair. A moment later, Dale comes in and asks if I’m okay.
“I’m fine. I can handle comments like that, but I’m worried about how fast he went from joking to rage.”
“Kellen?” he asks. “Yeah, he can be a hothead on the ice, but I’ve not seen him like that in real life. I think maybe he was embarrassed at being called out.”
“Maybe,” I answer, but I know I don’t sound convinced.
“If you want, we can go report this whole thing to HR,” Dale suggests.
“Let me think about it. I’m inclined to let it go and report it if something else happens with him.”
“You’re the boss.” He claps his hands together. “I’ll buy you a drink after work—help you calm down from this.”
I give a thumbs up and he walks back out. Georg passes him in the doorway, but only steps a foot inside the space.
“I just wanted to apologize for losing my temper,” he says softly.
“Oh, no biggie,” I say, waving him off. “It was nice of you to come to my defense.”
“Kellen’s a friend, but that doesn’t excuse him being obnoxious to you.”
“I appreciate it, Georg. I really do. But are you okay? You seemed so upset earlier, and your reaction to Kellen definitely escalated quickly.”
“It’s been a frustrating few days,” he admits. “But it will be fine. I’ll try to keep my temper in check. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
He does a little bow and backs out, leaving me with my thoughts. He’s come to my defense before. When Viktor accidentally knocked me to the ground and set off a bar brawl prior to the All-Star games. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by how he interjected with Kellen just now, but it still leaves me with more questions than answers. Why would he get so riled up if he’s not even interested in me?
Is it just that he’s a gentleman and would do that for anyone?
I head home more confused about Georg Kolochev than ever before.
Eight
I’d Love to Give You my Number
Georg
“This is not looking like a good start to the preseason for the Crush.” Kacey King is on-air in the post-game press room. “What happened out there?”
“Well, we didn’t come out swinging, that’s for sure,” Evan says. “We were playing flat in the whole first period. I didn’t see much assertiveness from our offense, and we have to skate to the puck every single time. We can’t wait for it to come to us and we certainly can’t allow it to be taken away once we have it. Control, aggressiveness…all things we’ll work on in this preseason warm-up.”
The questions keep coming relentlessly until the official press event ends. Afterward, Fiona leads everyone to the preseason “meet the press” event, where we all have to be on our best behavior and make nice for the cameras and reporters.
Kacey King, the pretty, blonde reporter who tried so desperately to break up Evan and Holly, finds me in the crowd during the event. She puts me on camera, asking a few questions about our championship season and my thoughts on how we’ll recover from a loss that was so clearly on the shoulders of the team’s defense.
“You’re a first-string defenseman. What role do you think you have in a loss like this?” Kacey asks, playing hard-nosed reporter.
“I made sure to be where I was supposed to be about ninety percent of the time. Other times, I got knocked out of position. They were a tough team, really focused, really ready to deliver a win to their fans. We can’t rest because we won the cup last year. We have to come out hungry, and we didn’t do that tonight,” I answer.
Kacey cuts the camera and mic and then leans forward to whisper, “On a private note, I wanted to tell you that I can really tell you’ve been working out, Georg. Your skating was faster and more powerful than usual. You look good.”
“Aw, thanks.” She’s flirting again. This girl loves to stir up shit with players. And there’s bad blood between us because of what she did to Holly, but right now, I have to be professional and accept her attention. Begrudgingly.
She reaches out and rubs her hand on my bicep. “You’re getting pretty buff.” Her voice is sexy, husky. “I’m hoping you’ll revive your social media feeds soon and post some shirtless pics. We single gals like the eye candy.”
I look across the room and see Pam and the rest of the therapy and training team talking in a small group. They always come to this first meet-and-greet in case the press wants to talk about team training or injuries in any depth. She looks over and first meets my eyes, but then looks to where Kacey’s hand is glued to my arm. Her eyes narrow, but she looks away quickly.
“Well, I’ve got to get some more interviews,” Kacey announces. “But I’d love to give you my number in case you have more to add to what you just said on camera.”
“Okay, sure.”
She comes in close, business card in hand, and shoves her hand straight into my pants pocket. Her fingertips graze the side of my cock just slightly as she murmurs, “We could also meet up and not talk at all.”
Then she’s gone, off to catch Coach Brown. I’m left feeling a little dazed by the interaction, but also marginally interested. I mean, Kacey’s pretty in that too-skinny way television reporters are. I know she’s a viper, from what Evan has said, but who cares. I’m not in a relationship, and I haven’t gotten laid in too many weeks to count.
I look over at Pam and find her staring again. She looks away as soon as our eyes meet. I pull out the card from Kacey and see her cell number on the back. I might call it tonight. I don’t really know what this thing is I feel for Pam. I’m attracted to her, for sure. Who wouldn’t be? She’s sexy, smart, sassy, independent. She doesn’t take any shit. I like that in a woman. And she’s gorgeous. A great kisser. I’ve certainly jacked off while thinking
about her more than once, and while we didn’t do much more than a little making out, I definitely wanted more. Want more. And I feel protective of her, more than I’ve ever felt for any other woman. It’s like there’s still something vulnerable about her under all that bravado.
I can’t have my head tied up like this, though. I need to focus on my play, my team, my game. I need to think about my career so I can ditch Ned and get into a new stratosphere with a new agent. I can’t drink like I have in the past. I need to work out more and eat better. But no one said I have to become celibate.
I get approached by another reporter, who brings up trade discussions.
“Do you think you’ll end up somewhere else this season?” the guy asks.
“I hope not,” I answer. “I really enjoy playing with the Crush. I think this game was a fluke for us, and I want to be right by Evan’s side as we turn things around. We’re a good team—a team that brought home the cup last year. There’s no reason to mess with that.”
“Well, good luck.” He motions to his camera guy and they move on to the next player.
Thankfully, Fiona kicks everyone out about fifteen minutes later, and we’re free to leave. I head out, Ned on the cell phone as I walk to my car.
“You’d better not get me fucking traded,” I say before he can even say hello.
“You’ve got no worries,” Ned says, placating. “No one’s said a thing to me about trades.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not on the short list. You need to get a plan together. Bonus structure, promise top performance. Keep me here, Ned. I’m not fucking kidding.”
He blathers on about how he knows I’ve been upset and how he’s on my side, and I end up hanging up on him. I really need a new agent.
And I need to get Pamela Jenson off my mind.
I need to get laid.
So, I pull out Kacey’s card and save her number in my contacts.
Nine
Wanna Do Some Therapeutic Stretching?
Pam
Holly and I are at her cute little house, both in sweats, eating ice cream and watching post-game coverage. Holly’s a bit obsessed with her job, and she runs checks on her social media feeds while making notes on how each press segment goes, how each player did in interviews. All with her big-ole belly protruding like a basketball, her tiny tank top riding up under her breasts. Breasts which, by the way, are humongous.
“Does Evan like that your tits are so big now? He must, right?”
She looks down at her chest. “He doesn’t hate them, that’s for sure. And they’re really a lot more sensitive than they were before. So that can be fun.”
I laugh at this. Holly is usually not so open about her sex life. She’s always been a bit of a goodie-goodie. And she worries about me because of my “issues.” I play it off like I’m kinda slutty but we both know that’s my running joke. I’ve never explicitly told her I’m a virgin, but I think she suspects. Holly’s a very intuitive friend but she doesn’t pry. She’s supportive and I love her for it.
“Is it weird having sex while you’re pregnant?” I ask, since she’s being so open.
She laughs. “It’s a logistics challenge, a little. I mean, yeah. It’s a little weird. But fun, too. It’s good.”
“You’re so lucky. You won the guy lottery with Evan,” I comment with a sigh.
“Well, your guy is out there too.”
I give an ambiguous noise in response. “What guy is that?” But I don’t want to focus on me right now, so I ask, “You happy, girlie?”
“Very. Nervous about leaving the team for the first few months of the season, though.”
“They’ll survive.” I shrug. “Just enjoy this time with your baby.”
“Yeah, I know.” Then in a quieter voice, “I know. It’s just…I really love my job. And I only started a year ago. I had no plans to have kids so soon. It’s just…I wish I’d had more time to establish myself.”
“You did, though, Holls. You came in and rocked it, and your reputation speaks for itself, otherwise you wouldn’t get job offers every other week. They’ll be just fine for three months. And then you’ll be back to it with a fresh perspective.”
“You’re right,” she says without conviction. “Of course, you’re right.”
“It’s normal to be nervous in a situation like this. You’re newly married, new in your career, having a baby, in a new house. It’s a lot for anyone, but you’re you, and that means you’ll be perfect through it all.”
“That’s just crazy,” Holly says, making a face. “No one is perfect. Especially not me. Oh look, there’s Georg.”
“Squirrel,” I yell jokingly. But she’s right, Georg is on the television screen, so I turn up the volume and we watch his short interview with Kacey King.
“He really is very handsome,” I swoon after we’ve watched his whole segment.
“He did better on camera than I thought he would,” Holly comments.
“Probably because he was ogling Kacey.” I sound bitter even to my own ears.
“I do not like her. She’s not a very nice person,” Holly snaps. If anyone knows firsthand just how not-nice Kacey King is, it’s Holly. Even as reserved as Holly is, Kacey ended up with a well-deserved slap to her conniving bi-otch face last spring after trying to break up Holly and Evan’s relationship.
“Of course we don’t like her. I could say more but I’ll leave you to your imagination.” I take another bite of my cherry vanilla ice cream and try to forget about Kacey King. “She was very flirtatious with Georg at the meet-and-greet,” I mumble, my lame attempt to put Kacey and Georg out of my mind an epic failure.
“Oh, I saw that. Does it upset you?”
I shrug. “We’re not together. He can do what he wants. She can flirt with him if she wants.” She can probably fuck him if she wants. And she’s probably just his type. Beautiful. Experienced. Available.
“That sounds like a yes. You’re upset,” Holly insists. “Why don’t you just tell him you like him?”
“I don’t know.” My continuous dilemma is back front and center. “I feel like if he was into me, he’d have approached me back at your wedding. And I don’t want to lose my job over someone who’s probably not a long-term thing. I like my job. I’m good at it.”
“Okay,” Holly answers. “But those things all have a way of working out, if they’re meant to be.”
“You want to switch gears and watch a rom-com instead?” I ask, desperate to change the subject to anything not-Georg.
“Sure thing, Pammy.” Pammy. My mother never called me Pammy growing up. She never called me much at all, really. And not having siblings meant I was often alone, and therefore didn’t often have anyone to talk to about my shit-tastic life. When we first met, Holly was cautious around me. I was insecure, sarcastic, and sometimes cruel. I hadn’t seen a psychologist or accepted that what had happened to me for those forty-eight months wasn’t my fault. Yet somehow, Holly had snuck under my defenses and found a friend she thought was worth loving. I’ve often feared that she hasn’t received as much as I have in our friendship, but it’s moments like these when there are no barriers, just pure acceptance and deeply rooted trust and love, that I know we’re good. Holly’s heart is pure and good, and her intuition, her ability to read my mood, know I’m done talking Georg Kolochev, makes me love her even more.
We end up cuddled up on the couch watching Four Weddings and a Funeral. The baby kicks a lot, which is totally fascinating to feel and watch. Holly requires snacks about forty times through the movie, which still amazes me. She is so not a snacker normally. Pregnant Holly, on the other hand, is an eating machine. Where it all goes is a mystery though. She’s still as thin as before except for her basketball baby belly and melon-sized tits. I know I won’t be so lucky if a miracle happens and I get pregnant someday.
Evan joins us about halfway through, and it does something funny to my heart to watch her curl herself up against him. He kisses her head and rubs her back, alm
ost absently, as if it’s simply an extension of his being, to care for her.
Ugh, I want a love like theirs.
But it probably won’t happen for me.
I know this.
Because I always do the same thing. I flirt and I kiss, and when it comes time to go further, I kick the guys to the curb and act like I don’t care. And, usually, I don’t. I’ve never met anyone who made me feel like I should try going any further for.
So why does this thing with Georg feel so unfinished?
When the movie ends, Holly is completely lights-out asleep. Evan bids me goodnight and carries her up the stairs to their bedroom. I take that perfect opportunity to let myself out, and once I’m in my car, I pull out my phone.
I bring up Georg’s number and before I can talk myself out of it, I press the green call button.
“Hello, Pamela.” He answers on the second ring in that sexy Russian-accented voice of his.
“Hi…I wanted to call and check in after the game. You played super hard and I thought I’d ask if you wanted to do some therapeutic stretching tomorrow.”
His lengthy pause reminds me why I was an impulsive idiot for calling him.
“You called me at midnight to ask me if I want to do some therapeutic stretching tomorrow?” I can hear amusement in his tone.
“Well, I…” I’m at a loss for words. A rarity, I know.
He chuckles softly into my ear.
“I’m so sorry. God, I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll catch you at the arena, whenever you want to stop in.”
I hear music in the background. Georg says something but it’s muffled. I realize he must be out partying. Maybe Kacey King is out with him.
“I’ll let you go,” I say, feeling stupid. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No, no.” His voice is insistent. “It’s good hearing your voice.”
It is?
