by Raine Miller
In fact, my ears are still ringing when I walk into the post-game press conference. Evan handles most of it, as he usually does, and he gives big props to the defensive line. The questioning goes to Tyler and Viktor, who are asked how they feel about getting traded to the Crush. They’re both gracious, happy to be playing with the defending champions. Then they turn to me, saying there’s a lot of talk I might be traded soon. I only answer that I’m hoping to stay, that our line is really gelling, and that I think it would throw off our balance to trade now. I talk about how hard I’m working for the team, how I’m in better shape than I’ve been in a while, and how I’m totally committed to being a strong player, no matter what.
Evan pats me on the back, so I know I used the right catchwords. Near the end of the conference, though, I see him check his phone. He looks at me, eyes wide, and says, “I gotta get out of here. I’m about to become a dad.”
The press folks go nuts, and Evan races out the door to head to the hospital. As Fiona closes things out, Kacey King approaches me. She’s in a tight purple dress and high heels and looks like she’s moving in for the kill.
“You played really well tonight, Georg.”
“Thanks.”
“I got all dressed up hoping you might want to go out for a drink?”
“I’m good,” I say. “Not really drinking these days.”
“Oh. Well, we could grab a bite to eat. Or, cut the preamble and just head back to my place?”
“I’m not…available right now, Kacey. I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment and no time for socializing. Sorry.”
Kacey’s face looks like she just sucked on a lemon. She takes a big, dramatic breath, flips her blonde hair and says, “Well, call me if you change your mind.”
I definitely won’t, but I don’t tell Kacey that.
Only one person can calm the absolute fucking anxiety I have about being traded. I need to hear her voice even if it’s just for a minute.
Once I’m in my car I pull up Pam’s number and press the green call button. She sounds sleepy when she answers, but the words that come out of her mouth are golden. “Yes, Georg?” I do love it when she says my name.
“Did I wake you up?”
“Evan did just a few minutes ago. Holly is in labor so I guess I’ll just stay up now and wait for news that I’m an aunt. I’m giving them their space at the hospital right now, but as soon as that baby arrives, I’ll be heading over there to meet the little master or miss.”
“He got the call in the postgame press conference. It was quite the scene. I can’t believe Evan is going to be a dad. I’m sure it’s on all the sports news channels as we speak. Didn’t you watch the game?”
“I fell asleep in the second period, I must confess,” she says, yawning softly. “Did we win?”
“We did.” I chuckle a little. She’s cute when she’s half asleep. “Lightning struck in the third. The first two were boring from a scoring perspective. I might have fallen asleep, too.”
“Sorry,” she says with a sexy, hoarse laugh.
“No need to be. I worked hard. No need to have anyone cheering me on.”
“Oh, don’t be a baby. I’m sure there were a hundred women out there, cheering just for you.”
“Only one I was interested in, though.”
“Oh.”
“Pamela, can I take you out again?”
“Umm... Sure?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. I’d love to.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
“Perfect. Sweet dreams, lovely Pamela.”
Eighteen
Linq’d & Licked
Pam
“I can’t believe we hit that,” I exclaim on a stifled yawn. I didn’t get much sleep once I knew Holly was in labor at the hospital. Evan was over the moon like all new parents must be. God, I can’t even imagine how I’d be as a new mom. Adulting is hard enough on a good day, but add in another human being you’re now responsible for meeting their every need on top of their very existence? Off-the-charts-terrifying.
But Holly took it all in stride like a pro she is when she delivered their baby girl in the early hours of the morning. They named her Danya, which is very Russian and also the name of Evan’s grandmother. I’m predicting she’ll be a great beauty and Evan and Holly will have their hands full in about thirteen years with all the boys lined up to be her special “friend.”
Tired or not, I had no intention of canceling our date. After that sweet phone call from Georg last night asking me out? No way. I’ve missed him.
As we take our winning chips to the counter to cash out, I ask, “How much did we win?”
“Three thousand,” Georg says. “You are the roulette queen.”
“What’s next? Blow this money on tattoos?”
“I’m down.” He gives me one of those mischievous grins of his that should be illegal and says, “But, I have something else to show you first.”
He looks at his phone and nods to himself. “Yes, the timing is good.”
We walk a few blocks. The night is balmy for Las Vegas. People are everywhere. There are women in wedding dresses, people in costumes, tourists with fanny packs. The Strip really hits the jackpot if you’re into people-watching.
“Have you been on the LINQ?” Georg asks.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Great,” he says, taking my hand and leading me toward the big Ferris-wheel thing. It’s not a traditional Ferris wheel, though, as it has dangling, glass pods that allow riders to remain comfortably inside while getting a great view of the city.
He tells me to hold on a minute, and then about ten minutes later, comes back and takes my hand again, leading me through the crowd. We’re ushered into one of the pods, our only company a young man in a tuxedo.
“I feel underdressed,” I comment, gesturing to my short black skirt, houndstooth flats, and sleeveless, black top.
Georg gestures to his own dark jeans and blue, untucked dress shirt and laughs. “Don’t mind him; he’s not paying the bill for this thing. We can wear what we want “
There’s a table inside the pod, set with a variety of finger foods. A bottle of wine chills in a bucket. There’s some sexy-sounding music playing. I don’t recognize the band, but it mixes heavy electric guitar with an electronic bass drop that literally makes me want to sway in Georg’s arms.
“Can I pour for you?” the young waiter asks.
“Sure, thank you,” I say. “Georg, did you rent out this whole thing for us?”
“I did,” Georg says. He gives me an adorably shy grin. His cheeks even look a little pink. “I wanted to make up for flaking out the last time I planned a romantic meal with a view.”
I smile back at him. “That’s really sweet.”
The waiter pours our wine and then, surprisingly, steps out of the pod. Shortly after, we’re alone and the wheel is moving.
We each make a plate of food and then head to the glass, taking in the view as we rise higher and higher into the sky.
“This is breathtaking,” I say. “Thank you for this experience.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Any news on the trade talk?” I ask after a few minutes.
“I think my performance has been good enough that I will stay. I have talked to Bud and requested a meeting with Max about it. They know I want to stay, that I’m committed.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Well, no relief yet. But I’m hopeful.”
“Me too,” I say. Georg puts his arm around me and I lay my head on his shoulder as we take in the lights of the city below. After a few, long moments, I ask, “What do you love so much about the Crush? Why do you want to be here, specifically?”
“I love this city. I love my teammates. We are like brothers…the good, the bad, and the ugly, you know? We have each other’s backs. I don’t want to have to recreate that again, in another place, with another group of players.”
“I
hadn’t thought of it like that. I guess I’ve always imagined it would be kind of fun to pick up and move. To meet new people, try new things. But I can see your point.”
“You did that here, though your best friend was here, too. Security blanket of sorts. Imagine moving across the country and knowing no one.”
“Yes, it was easier because Holly was here. But I would have done it either way.”
He smiles softly. “I have moved many times for this game. There comes a point when it feels time to settle down a bit. Put down some roots, so to speak.”
“That seems reasonable, certainly.” There’s a brief, awkward silence between us. “So…I heard there was a bit of prank the other day…”
He chuckles. “I totally stole the idea from YouTube. There’s a joke about Tyler, how he spends a lot of time doing his hair. So while he was in the shower, I kept sneaking more shampoo on his hair, so he could just never quite get it all out. And he couldn’t see because he wears contacts and he had them out after the game. He was so pissed. It was hilarious.”
I can’t help but laugh because it’s such a silly prank, and Georg is so gleeful as he tells me about it. He’s like a big kid. It’s one of the things I love most about him.
Like. Not love. One of the things I like about him.
Okay, changing gears seems like a good idea, and I know just the thing that’ll do it.
“I have a weird question for you, Georg. It’s so bizarre there’s no way to ask it without just being really direct, so please forgive me in advance.”
“I am intrigued, Pamela.”
“Scarlett was talking about some shady Russian guys who’ve been around the casinos a lot since Viktor started with the team. And she’d had a bunch of alcohol, so this is probably really stupid, but do you have ties to the Russian mafia?”
I feel my cheeks go flaming hot. What a ridiculous thing to ask him.
Georg’s eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s not a question I was expecting.”
“Sorry,” I say, rueful.
“No, no, it’s okay. I thought it was going to be about my drinking. But no, I don’t have ties there. In Russia, especially hockey, there are certainly very powerful influences and people, but I left all of that behind when I came to the United States. I am in no way connected.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Georg faces me and takes my hands.
“I’m not a perfect man, Pamela. You know it. I know it. I’m trying, though. I’m no longer getting drunk. Taking care of my body and my career as best I can. I’m trying to be better. I want you to trust me, to know that I want to be good for you.”
“But you don’t owe me a thing.”
“I know but…that’s not the point. Owing. What does that even mean here?”
“I’m just saying that we’ve only hung out a few times.”
“So? That means nothing to the fact I care about you.”
I turn away because I don’t want him to see the tears in my eyes, the way my face contorts as I swallow back the lump that’s formed in my throat. I know he cares about me. I can see it. But he’s Georg. And I’m me. And neither of us is any good at making anything that will really last.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, forces me to face him again. He hunches over a little to get in my face. “Pamela,” he says, “Please. Talk to me.”
I look up and he’s so earnest. Everything about his expression is open. The way he calls me “Pamela” feels so intimate and special.
The song that’s playing, one I realize later is called I Feel Like I’m Drowning by Two Feet. It’s sexy, thick with desire and hurt. I feel like I’m drowning. You’re holding me down and…you’re killing me slow…so slow, oh no… It’s perfectly sexy. Perfect for whatever is happening here.
I can’t speak, so I just lean in and kiss him. At first, it’s just a sweet meeting of lips. But then his arms are around me and that heat is between us again, burning between my legs. My mouth opens, his tongue slides in. Our bodies are completely aligned, and I feel him hardening as the desire for more overtakes me.
We’re in this glass bubble, hundreds of feet in the air and exposed for all the world to see, and I want nothing more than for him to touch me. Indecently. And he must read my mind because he obliges, putting his hand beneath my skirt, eagerly pushing my panties aside, dipping between my legs, feeling the want there as I clench around his long fingers.
He falls to his knees, then. We’re very high up. I think we’re on our second or third rotation now. I’ve lost track of time and hope we stay in here forever.
He pushes my skirt up, his hands on my rear as he pulls me forward, pushing my hips toward him, his face pressing between my legs, his tongue exploring up and down my pussy. He’s like a starving man, his noises carnal and gruff. His fingers dig into my backside roughly. He’s way more intense than the other time he did this.
I come without warning, and quickly. I cry out and sag against him as the orgasm shoots deliciously through my body. I’m tingling. I can hardly hold myself up. I can barely remember my own name.
When the aftershocks subside, he stands, grinning like a cat, pulls my skirt back into place, and kisses me on the lips, my scent all over him. I like it.
“That was…unexpected,” I say shakily.
“Spur-of-the-moment decision.” He’s still grinning.
“Proud of yourself?”
“Very,” he says smugly.
I don’t know what else to say, so I grab my wine and hide my returning smile behind my glass.
We have maybe four rotations of the wheel. During the two hours we’re in that bubble, I manage to repay the favor to Georg, who swears a blue streak in Russian when he comes in my mouth.
So hot.
I’ll never look up at the LINQ again without blushing.
We exit the wheel, thoroughly relaxed after our orgasmic ride together, and are immediately approached by three young women.
A brunette in bright pink booty shorts asks, “Don’t you play for the Crush?” She looks barely above her teens. The other two look even younger.
“I do,” Georg answers.
“I knew I recognized you. You’re the defensive player, the one who’s friends with Evan Kazmeirowicz.”
“Georg. And yes.”
“Oh my gawd!” she squeals. “I watch every game. Can I get a picture with you?”
“Sure.” He gives an ambivalent shrug, looks at me and says, “Forever to be known as Evan’s friend.”
The girls hand me their phones and line up. I take a few quick photos but on the last one, the brunette licks Georg’s face. He laughs but pulls away quickly, wiping where she licked him with the back of his hand.
The girls thank him and run off. He looks at me, and I can see he was blindsided by that girl just now, but it still irritates me to have to see it happen. “That was gross,” he says, clearly annoyed.
“A little,” I agree. “No, actually a lot.”
He looks around and says, “I’m going to go wash my face and hands after that. Be right back.”
I nod, pulling out my phone while I wait. I pull up Instagram and scroll through the feed. I’m shocked when I see a photo of Devon, planting a kiss on Georg’s cheek. The caption reads, “This guy!” followed with three heart emojis.
My heart sinks into the floor. Why did I believe him so easily? He had chuckled that day. He’d looked me in the eye, but with a smile, and said, “There is nothing between me and Devon.” And I’d believed him. The lunches. I haven’t spoken to Georg every day and night since Anaheim. Far from it really, so he’s had a lot of time on his hands… God, I’m so stupid. This photo was taken two days ago. And she’s very beautiful… Very together… And not me.
Suddenly, breath won’t come. My heartbeat is not what it should be I’m sure. Clammy. I need to get out of here.
I should have known. Should have known that this wasn’t real. Wasn’t more than flirtation and making out. Should have known he wouldn�
��t be able to be committed to just one woman. Should have known that I will never be enough for a guy like him. Even the misbehaving teenage licker pissed me off and he wasn’t even into her. Devon is a whole different story.
As much as it hurts admitting to myself, I know I can’t do this with Georg Kolochev.
I don’t think about what I’m doing, because it’s automatic behavior for me when I feel scared. I do the thing I always do in a relationship that starts to get messy.
I run.
I run as fast as I can and jump into the first cab I see.
Nineteen
Remember to Count to Ten
Georg
“So, wait,” Evan says. “You gave each other oral on the LINQ and then she jilted you?”
“Yeah,” I answer, still perplexed by the whole thing. “It was so strange. We had a great time together, both of us—umm—enjoyed ourselves. It was all very sexy and then…poof…she was just gone. Won’t text me. Won’t pick up my calls. It’s fucked up.”
“Did you do something?”
“No,” I say, offended. “Nothing.”
“Well, something must have spooked her. Was there anything weird on social media? Any past girlfriends or sex partners who might have messaged her?”
“I don’t think so.” No girl has really chased me enough to be a problem. I’ve always told them the score, and no one would even know about Pam yet.
“Hmm,” he ponders. “Well, from what Holly tells me, Pam has some messed-up stuff in her past and she’s never really been in a serious relationship. So maybe her baggage just got in the way.”
“Yeah, maybe…” I say, but I’m not so sure. “How is Holly? How’s the baby?”
Evan gets a very sappy look on his face. I almost think he might cry. “They’re good. Holly’s a champ. Having a baby is no joke. It requires a superhero, I swear. I had no idea.”
