by Raine Miller
So, I put the finishing touches on my second gift. I’ve gathered a pack of playing cards, some Texas hold ’em chips, bar snacks, and other fun, Vegas Strip-related items in a basket. The main item, though, is two passes to ride the LINQ.
I wrap up the basket and tie it with a bow, then call to have it delivered to Georg as soon as he gets off the plane when the team returns from game five.
I get a text from Holly as all of the pre-game activity is happening, telling me Georg came on the ice and immediately scanned the crowd and the owner’s box. I know he’s looking for me, hoping I’ll be there.
As it is, I haven’t really watched many of our games from the stands. It makes me too nervous, so I prefer to watch from home still. Also, I yell a lot and it’s less embarrassing to yell in my own home than in a stadium full of people.
The game is really exciting to watch, meaning I do a whole lot of the aforementioned yelling. Evan and Georg are a machine out there, working hard to keep the puck in range of our goal. But despite a flurry of shots on goal and a big power play early in the first period, we don’t manage to score, so we sit at zero-zero heading into the second period.
The second period is fast and furious, too, with both teams playing dynamic offense. There’s a short fight between Mikhail and an opposing defenseman after Mikhail gets checked while making a breakaway toward the goal. Both players get sent to the penalty box for the outburst as the DC fans scream for blood.
Two quick shots on goal after the melee result in one goal for our opponents, and we head into the second break with a deficit.
When the team comes out for the third period, I can see on their faces the resolve, the will to win. The camera focuses on Evan and Georg as Evan puts his gloved hands on the sides of Georg’s helmet. Their foreheads press together as Evan says something to his friend, who nods sharply in response.
Suddenly I find myself in tears and shaking with anxiety. I pull out my phone.
Pam: I ‘m such a jerk. I didn’t even text him to tell him good luck in the series.
Holly: Yep, that’s pretty jerky.
Pam: Not helping. You’re supposed to be my friend.
Pam: I’m freaking out, here.
Holly: As your friend, I’m also here to tell you the truth.
Pam: He must hate me. I’ve really screwed this up.
Holly: You can text him now.
Pam: What good will that do?
Holly: He’ll see it after the game. He’ll know you’ve been thinking about him.
Pam: Ugh. I’m an idiot.
Holly: Hang in there. Stick to your plan. GTG
I pace the room, crying like a baby all through the third period. When the Crush lose, two to nothing, I fall into a heap on the floor. It’s not about the loss, though that sucks. It’s really this awful realization that a person who loves another person should have at least reached out with well wishes. I’m horrible for not even supporting him with a “good luck tonight” at the very least.
I don’t recognize myself anymore and it makes me sad. Hurting Georg makes me sad.
I grab my phone, starting and stopping several texts. Coward much?
Finally, I shut the thing off, take two Melatonin, and force myself to get some sleep.
Holly’s right. I have my plan, and now I just need to see it through.
Twenty-Nine
Miss March…So Hot
Georg
The team is quiet, sullen, on the flight back to Vegas after our loss in game five. Now we’re in a corner. We absolutely have to win game six or we’ve handed the series to Washington, DC. Evan’s sitting at the back with the offensive coaching staff, talking about how to better capitalize on our shots on goal.
When we land, all I want to do is to crawl in a cab, go to my apartment, and sleep for the next fifteen hours. But as I walk down to get my bag, I’m greeted by yet another Playboy Bunny in a skimpy costume. She’s holding a dry-erase board with the words: “Some-bunny really, really loves you, Georg Kolochev.”
She hands me another basket, and I sigh as I take it. The other guys are looking at me like, “What the fuck?” but I just grab my bag and leave, not even bothering to look inside this new basket.
We have a full day off before game six, and I end up spending it with Dale in the gym. We work on stretching and strength training, and then I alternate from an ice bath to a hot tub. When I get home, there’s another stupid basket sitting in front of my door. I bring it in and heft it onto the table, next to the one from the airport, realizing I never even looked inside.
When I dig into the second basket, it has a bunch of card games and snacks. There’s a card and if I was hoping it would be signed, I’m disappointed. Inside, there are passes to ride the LINQ.
“Weird,” I say out loud.
This third basket has some funny stuff in it:
A new men’s dress shirt.
A sexy green dress that looks vaguely familiar.
Boxing gloves.
Mix tape with a random assortment of songs ranging from techno to country, including Night Fever by the Bee Gees.
And then it all makes sense. Holy shit. This woman…
The baskets are all from Pam. She’s the ‘bunny’ that loves me.
These things represent different times we’ve hung out. Different moments we’ve had together.
The first basket was a nod to our time in the bathtub, the moments we spent together making love, expressing our love. The second basket, silly little reminders of the Strip and our fun night on the LINQ. The third basket, a story about clean shirts and dancing and the fight with Viktor. She hasn’t used words, but she’s shown me how much she loves me. God, I fucking love her. It’s been miserable without her, especially before our most recent game. But this? Her gifts intended to prove her love to me? Hell, yes, I’m smiling. Like an idiot. But who the fuck cares?
I pick up the phone to call her but my finger hovers over her name and I find myself unable to make the call. Maybe I should text her. I don’t know. I mean, she hasn’t reached out once since we broke up, or whatever that was when she broke my heart. Nothing. Not even a “good luck” as we headed into the series.
But the thoughtfulness of these baskets, the story they tell…it makes me want to go straight to her apartment, tell her I love and forgive her, and make love to her until my dick stops working. As much as I want that option, I know it’s not what I should do. The way we left things was fucked up sure, but we both knew how we felt and what needed to happen in order to move forward. Pam needs to make these gestures for herself. She’s the one who must take the first step back to us, and she knows where I am. And I don’t mean that in a selfish way at all. Her past has left her with a lot of baggage to unpack and move on from. I get it. Only she can make that happen. This is her way of telling me she’s working through it I suppose.
I need to keep my head in the game, though. We need to advance to a game seven, and I need to stay focused. So I don’t call. I don’t go see her. I don’t text. But I do go to sleep with a smile on my face. I’m going to get my Pamela back, because she does love me after all.
I can wait for her as long as it takes.
The next night, we’re suiting up and Tyler is babbling about some woman he took home the night before.
“I just need to bury my sorrows in pussy,” he’s saying. “She was okay in bed. Hot chick. Great body. Amazing tits. But, you know, kind of boring in the sack. But whatever, I got off. That’s what’s important.”
“Was I like this before I got married?” Evan asks, making a disgusted face.
“Maybe not quite so bad,” I answer, side-eying Tyler, “but I probably was though, huh?”
“You were definitely like this,” Evan agrees. “Pam got your whoring ass straightened out.”
“Yes, and then smashed my fragile heart to pieces.”
“I thought you said things were looking up with you two, G?”
“They are. Just trying to focus on the game. O
ne thing at a time, you know? But I am hopeful.”
Holly has set up a social media staging area in the previously mirrored tunnel. There are pre-recorded messages for all of us to watch on screens lining the walls, and cameras on each of us to capture our reactions for social media as we watch our personal messages.
I’m far back in the line, so it takes a few minutes. I bounce from skate to skate, trying to stretch out, limber up, preparing myself mentally for my job. Some of the guys have funny messages from fans, some have sweet messages from family.
When I finally get up to the screen, there are two messages with my name on them. I push the prompt for the first and am astounded when my father’s face pops up. He’s got hair like mine, but his is gray, thinning. His eyes still have the sharp look of a longtime coach.
“Privet, syn,” he says before switching to broken English. “I—hearing good things of your recent…agreement…of the Crush team.”
I let out a little laugh and mutter, “Contract. The word is contract.”
“Las Vegas is very far from home, but we are to pay attention to your…work…there in the America. I am coach of past and proud of your playing. Also, I am your father and proud of my son.”
I feel a little crunch in my chest, the want to cry, which I will absolutely, totally, never, ever do in front of my teammates. But this is really something. I call home sometimes, but my father has never told me he was proud of me.
As the message ends, I push the button for the second message. As soon as it opens up, I let out a loud bark of surprise. Because there’s Pam, in one of those satin bunny costumes. She has a pair of ears on her head, a tiny little puff of a tail on her rear end. Her curves are on full display, and she definitely looks better than the real bunnies who delivered those baskets.
“Hey, Georg,” she says. “Through this series, you’ve received several messages from a special bunny who loves you. Hopefully you’ve figured out that it was me. And hopefully you’ve figured out that I am fully aware of what a total idiot I was.”
Evan pops up at my shoulder and asks, “Is that Pam?”
I nod vigorously.
“Hot,” he says.
I just keep nodding.
“I love you, Georg. And I got permission for us to see each other. And I get to keep my job. I was an idiot for not fighting for this sooner. But these past weeks, I’ve realized that loving you is really real. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever known in my life. And I want to be yours. Always, if you’ll have me. I have a proposal for us, and I can’t wait to tell you. I’ll see you soon.”
The video message ends with her blowing me a kiss, and I’m frantic. That can’t be it, right? There’s got to be more. I look around, at every angle of the tunnel. The opening music is playing, and the players are about to get announced. I have to skate out onto the ice with the team, but I need to know where she is, if she’s really here. I need to see her with my own eyes.
After most of the players are announced, the starting offensive line gets announced with a video of their best goals all season. Following that, there’s a montage video that plays, showing Viktor, Tyler, and me making a bunch of crazy saves. We all hold up our sticks as they announce our names, and the crowd goes crazy. But then, an even crazier thing happens.
A song starts playing. And it’s live. There’s a platform being pushed out to the center of the ice, and red carpet rolled out to meet it. A guy with a big pompadour starts singing a song about the Vegas lights.
“Panic at the Disco,” Evan yells into my ear. If I thought the crowd was crazy a minute ago, they are breaking the sound barrier right now. “Holly arranged this, because she’s a big friggin’ music nerd. He’s from Las Vegas.”
The guy has a great voice and a big-band, Frank Sinatra-like sound that mixes with a pop, dance, alternative feel. It’s hard to describe, but the crowd is up and moving as he sings.
When he finishes the first song, he gives a speech about how proud he is to be here to cheer his hometown team toward a second championship. Then he says, “Now, I have a special guest joining me for my next song.”
And out comes my Pamela, in full Playboy Bunny getup, high heels like skyscrapers, her blonde hair down her shoulders the way I like it best. She looks amazing, and I literally let out a groan of want and desire.
“Easy there, big guy,” Evan says with a chuckle.
The singer hands Pam the mic, and she starts to speak. “I have an important proposal to make, and the answer will determine Brendan’s next song. She turns to me and, to my total surprise, she falls to one knee. My heart is going to bust out of my chest I’m sure, but I don’t even care, because I only have eyes for my beautiful sexy bunny.
“Georg, I told you earlier that I had something important to share. As you know, I love you. I realize I can be annoyingly stubborn sometimes, and I make the worst decisions because I’ve lived most of my life avoiding commitment. Before I met you. Then you came along and broke down every one of my walls with your love and your charm, teaching me that what we have together is something very special. I don’t want another day to go by without you, so…with team permission, I’d like to fraternize with you every day for the rest of my life. You once told me that your younger self wanted to marry Miss March someday, so, Georg Kolochev, wonderful man that I love with all of my heart, may I be your Miss March?”
I don’t know what I expected to happen next when I saw Pam’s video message in the tunnel, but a marriage proposal during the pre-game was not it. I love it though. I love her. And now the whole world knows that she loves me enough to lay her heart into my hands for all to witness. During a nationally televised game in the Stanley Cup Finals no less. She did that to show me I’ll never have to doubt her love for me again. And I don’t. I won’t, ever.
My face feels like it might break in half from my smile, but it feels so fucking good because she’s here and I can see her. I pull off my helmet so she can see me too and nod my head so there’s no doubt about my answer. A big, mute, stunned dummy. That’s me. Nodding up and down over and over and over. Yes. Yes. Yes, baby, yes.
Evan gives me a push at my back and one foot goes in front of the other until I’ve reached the base of the platform where she’s still kneeling. I pull her off the platform and give her a quick spin on the ice before dipping her back and kissing her fiercely. I don’t want to stop kissing her, and I couldn’t care less that so many people are watching. The crowd absolutely explodes.
The cheering is so loud my heart is literally pounding along with the thumping beat coming from the Crush fans. When I can finally bring myself to release her back up to standing, she gestures to the singer, who breaks into a song about The Death of a Bachelor.
It’s perfect. I grab her again and skate her to the gate. Once she’s off the ice, I can’t resist another kiss, before murmuring against her lips, “I love you, Pamela Jenson.”
“I love you.” She puts her hand to my face and smiles at me with happy tears shining in her dark brown eyes. “Now go out there and win this game, and then afterward I can show you just how much. I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“The six best words I’ve ever heard.”
Thirty
And He Scores!
Pam
Even the high of proposing to Georg, being engaged to Georg, can’t override the feeling of total exposure in this skimpy bunny suit. I make a beeline down the tunnel, high-fiving strangers as I head down to slip into something a bit more comfortable. The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins. I can’t believe I just proposed to Georg at a game. In front of so many people. But I did, and I have the puffy lips to prove that my Georg said yes. Oh my God, he said yes!
Still shaking as I remove the bunny costume, I switch it out with a fitted black dress and heels before heading back up to the owner’s suite. I’m greeted with hugs and words of congratulations as I enter, and I can’t wait to get a drink to calm my nerves. I want to just sit and watch the game and let it al
l sink in for a while. I think I’m still in shock to be honest. Out of body experience, anyone?
Max Terry approaches me, clinking my glass with his as we look out on the start of the game.
“So, there must be something in the water here, huh?” he muses. “First Evan and Holly, now you and Georg. Who’s next to topple our fraternization policy for the sake of true love?”
“I don’t know, but I’m really grateful to have this job despite it. Thank you for giving me a second chance. Thank you for giving Georg a second chance, too. This team means the world to him.”
“He’s really grown into a valuable player,” Max says. “And you did amazing work getting him back on his feet after what could have been a season-ending injury.”
“Well, thank you, he was worth the effort.”
We’re quiet for a few moments, watching the action. Max lets out a frustrated groan as we miss a shot on goal. Then, very casually, he asks, “Why the bunny costume?”
I take a deep breath. “So last year, remember when Georg, Evan, and Viktor got in that bar fight?”
“Ugh. Yes, I remember. Stupid boys.”
I nod in total agreement. “Indeed. Well, that night, I went back to Georg’s hotel room. I was a little post-traumatic I think, from getting knocked down, but Georg was in a rage about it. So it took a really long time for both of us to calm down enough to have any kind of intelligent interaction. I started asking him random questions. Like, if you could be any kind of animal, what would it be? And, when you were a boy, who did you want to marry?”
“What kind of animal did he want to be?” Max asks.
“Oddly, an orangutan,” I answer. “And he said that his thirteen-year-old self really thought he would grow up to marry Miss March from the Playboy he stole from under his dad’s mattress.”
