by Raine Miller
“Oh, look who’s got jokes,” I retort before blowing a raspberry at her.
She giggles. “I was thinking we should go down on the Strip and have a little fun tonight. You got anything going on?”
“I do not. Sounds fun.”
“Cool,” she answers. “I’ll text you in a bit and we’ll figure out a plan.”
I finish cleaning up my space and head home to shower and change. Scarlett sends me about seven texts to let me know she’s starving and that we need to eat before we go out drinking. Okay, maybe not seven, but definitely a few. I decide to keep my look simple rather than risking a hangry Scarlett, slipping on a clingy pink dress, nude peep-toe heels, and a long gold necklace. I wrestle my long hair into a fishtail side-braid and throw on a little makeup. Enough to look sexy, but not so much that I’ll have to worry about keeping it updated all night.
Scarlett shows up in a ride-share, looking cute with her very long red hair trailing down her bare back. Her halter top is emerald green, low in the back and baring some serious skin. It also amplifies her curves, making her breasts look huge in comparison to a tiny waist. She wears dark skinny jeans and black heels to complete her killer look.
“We look hot,” she exclaims as I open the door. “Now let’s go before I eat my arm off.”
“Oh, no need to do that. Plenty of real food to eat in this town.” We link arms and head out to the waiting car.
Holly meets us for dinner, looking adorable in a black wrap dress and red flats. We talk about the team’s week, our jobs, and the nursery Holly’s been pulling together for baby Kazmeirowicz. We beg and beg her to join us out dancing but she declines. Personally, I think it would be worth the cover charge to see her get down with that big belly.
“No way,” she insists, no matter how hard we beg. “I’m too tired and my ankles are already on the border of being cankles. It’s like ten o’clock and waaay past my bed time.”
I get a little teary as I hug her and put her in a cab home. I don’t know why. I guess I’m just really happy for her. She’s so beautiful and so happy and so good. I want to be like her.
Scarlett and I head to a crowded dance club, pacing our alcohol intake by spending plenty of time on the dance floor. Several men, and a couple women, try to dance with us, and while Scarlett is loving the attention, I don’t feel like hooking up with anyone tonight. I think about calling it a night, but then a bunch of Crush players, and a few staff members, show up and take up space at a couple tables with a view of the dance floor.
Of course. Georg is with them, but he looks a little different. His usually unruly hair is pulled back in a man bun. His black dress shirt looks pressed and sharp. He surveys the crowd and while others head to the bar, he stays back, watching the dance floor. It takes a while for him to notice me in the crowd, but when he does, our eyes meet and it’s like electric sparks fly between us.
Prince’s Kiss comes on, and people go nuts. It is a sexy song, for sure. Scarlett is dancing with some big hunk of a guy, so I focus all my attention on putting on a show for Georg. I dance like no one is watching, feeling every beat, while Georg watches from his seat, a sexy smirk on his face.
When the song ends, he claps from his seat, still grinning. He turns to the group of people and says something that makes their heads turn. When they see it’s Scarlett and me, they all wave and motion for us to join them.
We head up for a drink. Everyone is more buoyant since we seem to have busted through our losing streak. They get a little rowdy, though I notice Georg never drinks anything other than bottled water. He seems more reserved than usual.
A group of young women come to the table, all asking to take selfies with the players. They oblige, but Georg doesn’t engage with them the way he normally might. One offers to buy him a shot and he declines. She asks if he wants a beer and he declines. She tries to sit on his lap and he gently tells her, “No, thanks.”
Kellen levels an accusatory, “What the fuck’s wrong with you, Kolochev? Hot chick wants to dance around on your lap, you should let her.”
“Meh,” is his only response, though his eyes are on me.
I’m only seeing this in my peripheral vision, as I pretend to be listening to one of our team’s accounting officers talk about how much money went into a recent locker room renovation. But I can feel the weight of his stare, can feel it in the heat that pools between my legs. Something about having a brooding Georg Kolochev staring at me is enough to make me combust.
Several of us head back on the dance floor but Georg stays put, his eyes always on me. I dance with the accountant, though it’s at a safe distance. He’s a terrible dancer, goofy as hell, and steps on my feet several times. After three songs, I excuse myself to get some water. Georg meets me at the bar.
“Do you want to take a walk?” he asks. “Get some air, maybe?”
I push my lips together and give a quick nod. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me in weeks, and I’ve missed his sexy growl more than I realized. I’ve missed him even though we’re not really even friends. He takes my hand and we wind through the crowd, getting our hands stamped before heading out into the night.
The Strip is filled with people and lights and noise. Georg keeps hold of my hand as we walk, not talking, until we find the fountains at the Bellagio. We find a bench and sit, watching the lights and water dance.
“You doing okay?” I finally ask. “You seem distant tonight.”
“I’ve been sorting some shit out in my life.” He rubs his palms over the stubble on his cheeks.
“Is something going on?” I really hope he’ll tell me this time.
“My agent is terrible. I have always thought of him as a joke and I realized last season I need a real agent, who will fight for me. He is too wrapped up in his own drinking to care. It’s frustrating.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“It is not just him, of course. He does not make me do the things I do. I have to change myself, too. Last year was so good. It was fun working with Evan, playing so well. But even he thinks I am in the toilet now.”
“I doubt he thinks that,” I say. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who just writes people off for having a few bad games.”
“He’s not,” Georg agrees. “But he is unhappy with me. To say the least.”
“It’s his job to be unhappy with you. He’s the team captain. And your good friend.”
Georg laughs lightly. “Yes, yes, he is a good friend.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re having trouble lately,” I say, not sure how to comfort him. “I wish I could help you through this. I enjoy watching you play, and I know other fans do as well. Everyone is rooting for you to get out of this slump. You and the whole team, I mean.”
He looks at me for a long time. So long that it makes me blush. And not a lot makes me blush, so that’s saying something. It’s the most he’s said to me, and I feel…privileged. Although, he has probably already talked this out with Devon, so my heart pauses in its inflation of this time with him.
“It’s nice to know someone is rooting for…us.” His eyes move to focus on my lips. He forces his gaze back up to meet mine. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, Pamela Jenson?”
“I…uh…n-no,” I stutter.
“Well, you are. Beautiful. Smart. Sexy. Sassy. Not just tonight, though you look spectacular tonight. Always.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.” My response is breathless, caught in my chest.
He looks away and takes a deep breath. “I am not a great man, Pamela. I wish I could say I was good, but I never have been.”
“But we’re all works in progress.” Ain’t that the wicked truth. “No one is perfect.”
“Regardless. I want to be better. And I’m working on it.”
“I believe that, Georg.” And I mean it. I’ve seen it. I’m experiencing it now in this quiet moment.
He takes my hand and kisses it. The feel of his breath on my skin nearly set
s me on fire.
“I’d like to get to know you better,” Georg breathes against the skin of my wrist. It’s painful how this one thing can fill me with so much desire.
I force myself to say real words, when I really want to sigh or moan or let out some other noise of arousal. “Me too. I’d like that, too.”
He looks at me again, a lopsided grin on his face. “How about dinner, then? We can enjoy a meal and start this getting-to-know-each-other thing.”
“I’d love it.”
We stand and he takes my hand in his again as we start wandering back toward the club.
“I’m a little worried people will think we…”
“Snuck off for sex?” Georg says, finishing my question.
“Well…yes.” Here I am, blushing again. What is it about this guy?
“If they think it, then they think it,” he says with a shrug.
“I don’t want to lose my job. You know, there’s a strict non-fraternization policy.”
“Did you see how many staff-members came out with us tonight? Trust me when I say people break that policy all the time.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him about Devon. Whether he’s broken policy with her already, yet is wanting to spend time with me. But I can’t do it. Not now. Not here. His lopsided grin is full-on naughty now, which of course, distracts me completely. “It will be fine.”
We head back in to find Scarlett dancing with another player. We join them on the dance floor, Georg looking much lighter-of-mind than before. We dance close but not too close. Just the proximity of him, though—
All I can think about are the kisses we shared last spring. I want more of him and this just feels so dangerous. I don’t know how I should feel about it.
Still, I throw myself into the music, the laughter. I enjoy the feel of his hands on my waist as the crowd gets tighter. We catch each other’s eyes every so often. He gives me wicked and private grins that melt away any resistance I might have still held on to—into oblivion.
When he puts Scarlett and me into a cab at the end of the night, he says he’ll text me about dinner.
As I wave to him through the window of the cab, I admire how truly handsome he is standing there with his eyes on me, the warmth of his lips on my cheek where he kissed me goodnight still detectable.
Twelve
Trades Happen all the Time
Georg
I’m waiting in the bar, sipping a club soda, when Pam walks in. She’s in a red dress with a low-cut neckline. It’s flowy at the bottom and not too tight, so the focus is totally on her full breasts. Her stride is confident in high-heeled sandals, her skin sun-kissed and warm, her hair in long waves around her shoulders.
She makes me want to fall to my knees. I want to beg her to make me a better man. I want to get lost in her.
I stand, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek once she’s close.
“You smell good,” she says.
“Took a shower,” I respond with a grin.
“Well, it’s working for you. And an unwrinkled shirt, two times in a row. I’m impressed.”
“I discovered the concierge in my apartment building will send clothes out to be dry-cleaned. It’s life-changing.”
Pam looks like she might laugh at me. Thankfully, she’s distracted as we’re led to our table. The restaurant is on the top floor of a high-rise casino. I made sure to reserve a table near the windows, and the view of the Strip is magnificent.
“Nicely done.” She gestures at our panoramic view of the city lights. “I’m captivated.”
We sit and I can’t help but stare. I clear my throat and ask, “How are you liking Las Vegas?”
“So far I love it. I lucked out getting Holly’s old condo and it’s in a great neighborhood. I’m really enjoying my work with the team, too. I don’t think it can get much better than it already is.” She smiles shyly and asks, “How long have you been here?”
Oh, I can make it a lot better, baby.
“Four years?” It’s more of a question than an answer. “I’ve lost track of time.”
“You grew up in Russia, though, I know that much.”
“Was it the Russian swearing that gave me away?”
She laughs. “Might have been.”
“Yes, I was born in Russia. Played for the Kontinental Hockey League of Asia, or the KHL, as it’s known. Went through Olympic trials and played for my home country in Sochi Olympics.”
“And how did you end up here?”
“My Olympic coach connected me to my agent, Ned, and he got me a rookie contract here with the Crush. Evan and I started the same year.”
“Well then, I guess that’s one good thing Ned has done for you, right?” She tilts her head at me and gives me another one of her sexy smiles.
I want to lean across the table and take her mouth, but of course, I don’t. “I suppose, yes. Playing for the NHL has been good fun.”
“Your extracurricular activities look like they’ve been fun, too.” Pam has a sarcastic, knowing look on her face now.
I cringe. “Some things should not be on Instagram.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed, still grinning. “But look, we’ve all got a past. We’ve all done dumb things and then regretted them. It’s not the end of the world.”
I don’t want to talk about the ways I’ve failed as a human right now, so I change the subject. “So, Pamela, what made you want to be a physical therapist?”
She mulls this over as the waiter comes to take our orders. I’m pleased to see her order a steak and she asks, “What?” at my approving look.
“Red meat, potatoes. I like it. I thought you might order a salad or something.”
“That’s kind of sexist, isn’t it?”
“No, not really. I’ve been out with…”
Aaaand I need to shut it. She does not want to hear about dates I’ve been on with other women any more than I should be telling her about them. I curse myself and redirect the conversation. “Back to the original question. About your chosen career?”
She gives me a little smirk before she starts talking. “Well, I started college thinking I wanted to go to medical school, so I majored in biology. I got into my junior year and had a heart-to-heart with my advisor about the cost and the number of years and so on, and she suggested I do a minor in exercise physiology and then maybe go on to get a master’s in PT. There wasn’t any triggering reason; I’d just always been interested in medicine, and in helping people.”
“Are you glad you switched?”
“Definitely. I’ve never been much of an athlete myself but I did have athletes as friends, and I could see how hard they had to work to get back to their sports after injury. I liked that I could help them achieve that.”
“Very admirable.” I like that she’s so confident about what she wants.
“What about you, Georg? Did you ever think about doing something other than hockey?”
“No. Not really. I have played since I was three. My father is a youth coach. He pretty much put me on skates the moment he was sure I’d stay upright.”
“Was he tough on you?”
“He was hard on everyone,” I answer. “His job is to find and train talent. Many of his players start playing in pre-professional leagues before they get to secondary education. I started when I was sixteen. But yes, I think he was harder on me, because I was his son.”
She gives me a sympathetic look as the waiter brings our salad courses. We spend a few minutes eating before she says, “Is your mother still alive? Sounds like your dad is still around and coaching.”
I nod. “Yes to both. My mother is a teacher.”
“They must be proud of you, for getting so far in your career.”
I shake my head. “My mother is maybe, and my two sisters. My mother worries I’ll get injured and not have a backup plan. My sisters worry they’ll never get to come to Las Vegas for holidays while their big brother is playing in the NHL. They’re nineteen and twenty, and still at u
niversity. They’re not allowed to travel here until they both finish school. My parents are…strict with my sisters.”
“Seems like very normal things for a mom and little sisters to worry about,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“And your father? I mean, this is what he trained you for, right?”
“My father will probably never be satisfied with anything I do,” I say bitterly. You’re nothing. Talentless. Slaboumnyy!
Pam opens her mouth to respond just as I feel my phone vibrating on the table.
“Sorry.” Not sure who would be sending me texts in bulk, I pick up my phone.
Pam makes a face at her bag and pulls her phone out too. Her head jerks up and I can hardly meet her eyes.
* * *
CRUSH Admin: Defensemen Viktor Demoskev and Tyler Lockhardt have been acquired.
* * *
They’ve picked up two defensive players. This can’t be good for me. I’ve got to be on my way out now, for sure. I feel my jaw clench as I look out the window, at the cityscape that I have come to view as my home. I do not want to be traded.
But Pam isn’t thinking about what this could mean for me. No, she instead says, “Viktor...”
I shrug. “Trades happen all the time. He’s big, hard to get past. I get why they’d want him. And this Lockhardt kid’s a rookie, but he looked good in preseason.”
“Can you play with him?” she asks. “Or is there still too much animosity?”
“Remains to be seen, I guess.” What I’m thinking is that animosity seems likely, but I doubt we’ll have to play together anyway.
Ugh. I feel sick.
Our entrees come but I can hardly eat. Pam tells me about her upbringing but I’m hardly able to focus on what she’s saying. Her mom got divorced several times, I guess? She never met her real father and is an only child? These are important revelations, but I simply can’t find my way past how devastated I feel knowing the trade is about to come. Also knowing I’ll probably not be able to see much of Pam once I’m playing and living somewhere else.
