by Raine Miller
Frustrated, one of Anaheim’s defensive players plows Viktor into the glass—a truly ugly check that starts a battle on the ice. But Viktor actually uses his words like a big boy—even though they are nasty Russian curses—still, it’s not at all how I expected him to react.
The Anaheim player swings at him, knocking his helmet off his head. I skate over and get in between the two of them, pushing them apart, telling them both to simmer down. The ref joins us and sends the Anaheim player to the penalty box, putting the Crush on a power play.
Viktor gets benched for the last few minutes of the game and the rookie Tyler comes in. We make the most of the power play as I end up with the puck. Anaheim knows Evan and I work as a unit, so they focus their entire defense on him, leaving Mikhail uncovered. I whip the puck over to him and he strikes, scoring his second goal of the night.
With a five-one win, we leave Anaheim feeling the beginning of a good thing happening. The slump we had in the preseason now seems like a distant memory.
In the locker room, I get a head-nod from Viktor, a thank you for coming to his aid in the game. I nod back, feeling some of the tension of our past melt away.
Tyler suggests a group of us go out for drinks to celebrate. Evan, of course, declines. His days of partying are over. Holly is due in just a couple weeks, and he wants to FaceTime her and make sure she’s okay. I haven’t been drinking much these past weeks, but I do want to go out. I feel antsy, with pent-up energy from our game. Pent-up energy after the night I spent making Pam cry out my name as she came on my tongue.
I hate to admit how much I want her. It scares me. I’ve certainly dated, but nothing has ever felt serious. And I don’t know if this thing with her is serious, but it certainly feels different from other flings. It feels like a much deeper connection. I want to know her…and please her.
I want to be her first.
I’m still actually floored by her revelation. There’s certainly more to the story of why she’s still a virgin. Damn. And strangely, I hope we get to the point where she wants to tell me all of it.
At the last minute, Viktor decides to join our group and we end up walking from the hotel to a small dive bar. Classic country music plays on an old-school jukebox as we sidle up to the bar. Viktor draws a lot of looks from his sheer size. When he opens his mouth and a thick accent comes out, he draws more than looks. Two attractive women, probably a bit older than all of us, make their way over to ask us where we’re from. Tyler’s South Boston accent is just as much of a hit, and the two guys flirt hardcore, both clearly in need of some physical release after a fast-paced game.
I pace myself, joking that I’m the “party dad” for the night. I alternate between sipping a beer and putting more money in the jukebox. I have a thing for Garth Brooks—don’t fucking judge—and I play all the songs they have of his, starting with the classic Friends in Low Places. Of course, everyone in the bar sings along.
“You remember that junior league game where Kuztnetsorov broke his ankle?” Viktor asks me after his third or fourth beer. He’s slurring a little, definitely feeling pretty loose.
We’ve moved from the bar to a booth, and both Tyler and Viktor still have the rapt attention of the two women from earlier. I’ve only just started on my second beer and pretty clearheaded. I do remember that game. “It was crazy. The most violent game I’ve ever played in, hands down.”
“I think only his skate prevented his foot from coming off.” Viktor laughs. “It was gruesome.”
“Sounds awesome,” Tyler chimes in.
“In the way disgusting things are awesome,” I answer. “I think I got a black eye in that game. It was a joke.”
“The after-party was no joke, though,” Viktor recollects. “Champagne. Women. Crazy sex. I think there were seven people in that room. Naked. You were there, yes?”
“Uhh,” I groan, making a face as the other three at the table go wide-eyed. “I may have been.”
“You were,” he says with a knowing, amused look. “Your scrawny ass was tits-up with at least two women that night.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“There is no fifth in Russia. Admit you were a wild one.”
“Okay, I admit I was a wild one,” I say reluctantly.
“And admit you liked it. It was fun,” he orders.
“I admit it was fun…”
Viktor looks satisfied. “And Sochi…” he says, his eyes glazed with alcohol and nostalgia.
“I hated you in Sochi,” I say. “You were like that blond dick in Rocky IV.”
Viktor howls at this. “You were just jealous I was so pretty.”
“Yes, that’s totally what my issue was,” I say with an eye-roll that makes everyone laugh.
“It’s my job to be an asshole,” Viktor answers, still laughing.
“Well, so far so good, then. Awesome job.”
He gets serious for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You know, I did not mean to hurt your girlfriend.”
I meet his stare and contemplate. “I know. I don’t know if she knows, though. And she’s not really my girlfriend.”
“She’s working for the team now, yes?”
“Yes, she is a physical therapist for the team.”
“I will apologize. Tell her I am working on my temper. Working on being better.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that…after she gives you a tongue-lashing,” I say. “She’s a tough lady.”
“You are not with her anymore?”
“We weren’t really together. We went out a few times, then we didn’t talk. We had dinner the other night, though.”
“Romantic dinner or friend dinner?” he asks.
“Hey,” I say sharply. “Pamela is off limits to you, fucker.”
He puts his hands up and grins. “She is very beautiful. I had to ask.”
He then makes a big show of making out with the brunette who’s all snuggled up to him. Tyler and the blonde disappear into one of the restrooms, and I’m left thinking about Pam. Wanting Pam.
I excuse myself and make the quick walk back to the hotel. I undress and flop onto the bed, turning on the television and flipping through the channels before deciding to text her.
* * *
Georg: Hey sexy. I miss you.
Pam: Well hello to you, too. Good game tonight.
Georg: It was a good win. Maybe I will make it another day on the team.
Pam: I hope so.
Georg: I need to see you when I get back.
Pam: Oh?
Georg: Naked. I need to see you naked when I get back.
Pam: You’re making me blush.
Georg: Your body is so perfect.
Georg: Luscious, full breasts that are totally real. Perfect nipples.
Georg: Tiny waist. Legs for days. Gorgeous ass.
Georg: Don’t get me started on your bare pussy. I can still taste you.
Pam: Well then, Georg. You certainly know how to rev a girl up.
Georg: Are you turned on?
Pam: Yes…
Georg: Can you touch yourself?
Pam: Oh yes…
Georg: What are you wearing?
Pam: Only a T-shirt. No panties. I’m so wet already.
Georg: Spread that pussy apart, Pamela. Dip your fingers into all that wet honey.
Pam: What are you wearing, Georg?
Georg: Nothing. I’m alone in my room. My cock is in my hand. So hard.
Pam: Are you stroking yourself?
Georg: Yes. Of course. Though I’m imagining your mouth on me.
Pam: Yes. I liked that. I liked having you in my mouth…
Georg: Are you fingering yourself?
Pam: Yes…yes
* * *
We go back and forth, the sexy texts hotter than almost any encounter I’ve ever had. I ask her to send me a picture, and she does one better by FaceTiming me. She gives me peeks of her gorgeous tits as she twists the nipples in her fingertips. She even gives me a shot of her wet puss
y as she slides her fingers in and out while arching back on her bed.
She is fucking beautiful.
She wants to watch me jack off, so I give her what she wants, and when we’re both close, we focus on our faces, making sure we have the chance to see each other orgasm. All I see are her brown eyes as I start to come, making a right mess all over the sheets of my hotel bed. I’ll be sure to leave something extra for housekeeping when I leave. It must suck having cum-cleanup as part of your job.
It takes us both a moment to calm down before we can talk again.
“That was fun,” she says after a few long moments, “but I’d rather it be the real thing.”
“Me too.” I drape the sheet over my lap and talk to her again. “I…I need you, Pamela. All the time I think about you.”
She gives a soft smile that makes my stomach do a weird flip thing. She bites her lip. “I feel the same, Georg.”
We talk about dumb things, meaningless things, until the wee hours of the morning when we finally hang up.
But instead of feeling relaxed, I feel my heart might beat its way out of my chest. It’s anxiety. Will I get traded? What is this thing between Pam and me? Is it fair to start something I probably won’t be able to finish? I told her I wanted to stay and I do, but what could there possibly be between us in the long-term? I am not Evan. I am not the man who plans elaborate ice-skating dates and long summer holidays in the mountains. I am not the man who rushes home to his pregnant wife. I do not know if I want a wife. Or a family. I only want to get through the next day. That’s all I can do at the moment.
I am not the right man for her. She deserves more. She deserves the world.
I am no good, no matter how hard I try. You’ll never be enough, or good enough, for hockey or anything else in your life. Anyone. Vy takoye razocharovaniye. Such a disappointment. But even though I know it’s the truth, I still want her.
I still want her.
Sixteen
Mafia Hockey Players?
Pam
There’s been no word on any trade talk related to Georg, but his role in the solid win at Anaheim certainly can’t hurt his case to stay. The Crush are back home for three games in a row this week, and I’ve seen many of the players on my therapy table as they work through their various pains, injuries, and preventative processes.
I was surprised to see Georg go to Viktor’s aid in that last game. I mention this to Georg while I help him stretch out in the hours before the game.
“He apologized to me for being an ass and I forgave him,” he says. “He still owes you an apology, though, and he knows it. I think he was going to try to get in your good graces and then ask you out.”
“Not my type,” I answer as I work a knotted muscle in Georg’s calf. “I have my sights set on someone else.”
“Oh, do I know him?” He gives me a smirk, green eyes flashing in classic Georg fashion.
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” I answer playfully.
“Well, he’d better be good to you or he’ll have my fist to answer to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say with a laugh.
We finish up and just as Georg gets off the table, Viktor walks in. Well, more like he looms in the doorway and stares. He’s a really big dude.
“Comrade,” Georg says, giving Viktor a silly, mock-salute. “We were just talking about you.”
“About how attractive I am?” Viktor asks in his thick accent.
“About what an ass you are, actually,” Georg answers, deadpan.
“I have never claimed otherwise.” Viktor turns toward me and gives a slight nod. “However, Pamela, it has been my intent to tell you I did not mean to harm you during our skirmish last spring. I am sorry for my actions and for losing my temper.”
“Thank you, Viktor, I appreciate that but it wasn’t just your actions, it was also your words. You were a bit of a pig that night.”
“I was,” Viktor says, his head bowed. “Please accept my sincere apology.”
I must admit he apologizes nicely. Viktor Demoskev might look menacing but he seems sincere, and I can’t fault his method for making things right. “Okay, apology accepted. Thank you. Now, are you my next appointment?”
“Yes,” the big man confirms. “I am having some shoulder pain.”
“Let’s work it out then,” I answer. “Time for you to beat it, Kolochev.” I point my thumb at the door and wink at him.
Georg makes a face. “Fine. I’ll go, but you tell me if this guy bothers you. I know people.”
He turns and leaves, a bit of a spring in his step. Viktor just laughs.
“Face down on the table please,” I tell him, hoping like hell he doesn’t break it.
Scarlett and I are having drinks at a club a few blocks down from the arena. The Crush just won their second home game and are seemingly back on track after a rocky preseason. We watched most of the game from the stands but left in the middle of the third period.
“I can’t decide which one is hotter,” she’s saying as her fingertip slides through the condensation on her wine glass. “Viktor or Tyler. I mean, Tyler is cute in a young way. Like, an American boy way. You know? But Viktor is, like, a grown man. You know? Like a very big, hulking man. He probably has a big penis.”
“Big man, big hands…” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “It seems okay to speculate on that one.”
“Do you think he’s in the mob?” Scarlett’s on her third or fourth drink and even though we’ve been stuffing ourselves with fried appetizers, the food can’t keep pace, so she’s definitely feeling the effects of her alcohol.
“Who, Viktor?” I ask.
“Or Georg,” she says. “They might both be.”
“Mafia hockey players? That’s just dumb, Scarlett.”
“It’s not dumb,” she insists. “I have a second job as a server in one of the casinos and there’s been all these scary-looking Russian men in gambling every night since Viktor started on the team.”
“Probably just here on holiday like a million other people. Besides, hockey players can’t be involved with gambling. It’s forbidden in professional sports.”
“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Scarlett answers before letting out a little hiccup. “I mean, the players don’t have to gamble to be part of the mob anyway. The Russian mafia has tentacles everywhere. And how else to explain there’s all these scary-looking Russian dudes appearing suddenly, just when Viktor arrives on the scene?”
“Oh, I don’t know, coincidence maybe? I’m sure he doesn’t travel with an entourage of mobsters, Scarlett,” I say, heavy on the sarcasm.
“Well, he’s pretty scary. And they do call him The Mad Russian.” She takes another drink and seems to think for a moment. “He is kind of hot though.”
“You have an unusual definition of hot.”
“That’s true, actually,” she says with a big nod of affirmation. “It gets me in trouble sometimes.”
“Why do you have a second job?” I feel like a change of subject is needed.
“Oh, I mean, my job with the Crush doesn’t pay very much. A little more while I fill in for Holly, but not enough. I have some money I have to pay back.” She sighs heavily. “Long story. But listen, I know a mobster when I see one.”
“Wow, okay,” I say carefully. I assume the money she owes and the mobster comment aren’t connected. At least, I hope they aren’t.
“Hey, did you hear about Daisy?” she asks.
“Daisy?” I can’t place the name.
“She works in the cube across from Holly,” Scarlett explains.
“Oh, yes, Daisy. No, I hadn’t heard anything about her. You forget I work in the therapy and training dungeon. I don’t know most of the office scoop.”
“Well, she and her boyfriend broke up, and I guess he wouldn’t stop calling the office. He sent a bunch of flowers, then he called a lot, and then he sent cookies. It was nuts. Fiona told her to tell him to stop it or she’d be fired,” Scarlett says. “It
’s not Daisy’s fault, though. She didn’t ask for all that.”
“Well, I’m sure Fiona’s just trying to keep the office drama to a minimum.”
“Fiona’s uptight,” Scarlett says. “But Daisy told him to stop. She said he cheated on her and she kicked him out of the house. He was trying to get her back. She’s super embarrassed and angry that Fiona threatened to fire her.”
“I’m sure she is.” But I don’t know Daisy, so I don’t really care about this story, so I have no problem changing the subject. “How’s the job now that the training wheels are off?”
“Well, Holly might be resting at home, but she still checks the social media feeds a million times a day. And her plan is so specific that I think a monkey could do it. It’s more like I’m executing her vision, not actually managing the social media for the team.”
“It is still her job,” I answer sharply, feeling defensive for my friend. “I mean, you’re doing it in the interim, but she’ll be back. And she worked super hard to get the following the team has. She won’t want to risk that when she’s only going to be out for three months.”
Scarlett, even in her drunken state, must see that she’s close to crossing a line. We may be work friends, but Holly is my best friend. She’s like a sister to me.
“You’re right, Pam. Of course, you’re right. I’m looking at this the wrong way. It’s a really good opportunity to learn.”
“Holly’s really good at what she does.”
“She is. Really, really good. How much longer before the baby?” I decide Scarlett is a sloppy but sweet drunk.
“A week, maybe? Not long.”
She grins. “That’s so exciting. That’s gonna be one cute baby. They’re both gorgeous. He’s a hunk. Ugh. She won the husband lottery.”
I nod. “I can’t disagree. He’s really sweet to her. It makes my heart hurt to watch them together.”
“Why can’t we find amazing, hot guys like him?” Scarlett whines. “I mean, the list of deadbeats I’ve had in my life is like a mile long.”
“Same,” I say. “But I kind of liked it that way. Easier to push them away once I got tired of them.”
