Sin Shot: Vegas Crush #2 Read online

  "Don't be a pig," Evan snaps. "You know she's not some dummy. And seriously, why are you so sweaty? Or is that booze sweat?"

  "It's not booze sweat," I answer, glad the conversation has turned in a new direction. "There's a new trainer, too. He's a hard-ass."

  "You were in the gym? Doing a workout?"

  "You're being a cunt." I toss a shoe at him.

  He laughs again, putting his hands up. "Okay, okay. Sorry, friend. I'm just messing with you. You look good. Fit. Been working the weights while I've been on holiday, yeah?"

  "I thought we were all working the weights on the off-season. Some of us got fatter, though, I see."

  Evan narrows his eyes and lifts his shirt. "Abs of steel. Can't be talking about me."

  "Sympathy weight since your lady is seven months pregnant?" I jibe.

  He scoffs out a curse and pulls on his jersey. "Come on, Mr. Universe, let's go see what your new buff body can do on the ice today."

  He tromps out of the locker room while I finish pulling on my gear. I have to admit that winning the cup, being in the All-Stars…it really put things into perspective for me. I want to win. I want to play well. And I can't get past where I am now if I don't focus on keeping my body in shape.

  Of course, seeing Pamela Jenson at work is a motivator, too. We had a few hot moments last spring… But I think she thinks I'm an alcoholic loser. It was awkward as hell seeing her at the wedding this summer. I couldn't stop myself from staring at her like some B-class creeper. See? Awkward. Probably more for her than me, as I enjoyed the view.

  Once I'm laced up, I head to the rink. Everyone's doing warm-up laps, stretching out. I take a few laps before heading to one end of the arena, where the defensive coaching staff and our GM, Bud Bellikowski, are gathered.

  "Nice of you to join us, Kolochev," my teammate Kellen says under his breath. "Did a hockey honey make you late?"

  "Mudak," I spit at him.

  He smacks me in the calf with his hockey stick. "I don't speak Russian, but I'll bet that wasn't a compliment."

  I give him a fake smile. "I called you an asshole."

  He grins. "I've been called worse."

  "And I was only one minute late. I was in the gym."

  "With a honey?"

  "Athletic trainer, fuckface."

  "Guys," yells Bellikowski. His combover is wonky. He must sense it because he awkwardly runs his hand through it, putting it mostly back in place. "Stop the side chatter and pay attention."

  "Sorry, sir," Kellen and I both answer in unison.

  "I was explaining that this is an important season for us," Bud says. "Teams will be out to prove that our championship year was a fluke, that we can't make it to the playoffs again. We've got seats to fill and we fill them by winning. So I need my defensemen to be vigilant. I need you blocking shots on goal, controlling the neutral zone, and keeping the puck in front of our wingers." This is not new strategy or information. It’s how we’re to play our game. What’s new is the additional pressure to prove we’re worthy of the cup we won. And that we can win it again.

  Everyone mumbles assent and he tells us to have a good practice before bumbling off, his soft-soled, cheap dress shoes sliding against the ice as he toddles the few feet toward the gate.

  We start drills, Kellen and I next to each other as we work on pass accuracy.

  "Did you see Kazmeirowicz's old lady?" Kellen asks. "Looks like she's gonna pop."

  "Couple more months," I say. "She looks like she's supposed to look for being seven months pregnant."

  "I can't believe he settled down, let alone has a baby on the way."

  "Meh." I give a shrug. "He's in love. Leave him be. Holly's great."

  "She's hot, that's for sure," Kellen says. "Speaking of hot. I've been having shin splints so I went to the therapy rooms. There's a smoking-hot blonde working there now. Have you seen her?"

  "Yes, I have," I answer nonchalantly, despite the urge to go crazy ape-man on his ass. I don't like him talking about her.

  "So hot. Rack I'd like to smother myself in," he says wistfully.

  "Aren't you dating someone?"

  "Yeah, but a man can always look."

  I roll my eyes and skate over to Evan so we can drill several new plays. The relaxed first few days of practice have suddenly become a lot more intense as we work through several complicated plays and speed and agility drills. By the end, I wish I hadn't worked out at the gym this morning. I also wish I hadn't had that fourth drink at the club last night, but who was counting? Unfortunately not my dumb ass when I should've been.

  After showering off, I head out and decide I should go to the therapy rooms to at least welcome Pam to the team. I mean, we had a…moment. Or whatever. It doesn't mean we can't be professional. I'm all about professionalism. All day long. Yep, when it comes to my job, I keep things straight.

  She's working with our second-string goalie, who pulled a muscle in his shoulder during our defense intensive today. She's got him facedown, his arms pulled up and contorted in a way that looks like it must hurt.

  "Don't break the players," I say as I walk in.

  "It's what they pay me for," Pam shoots back.

  "Yeah, Kolochev," my teammate jumps in. "Don't you have a bottle of vodka to drain or something?"

  "That's real nice," I say lightly, even though the words smart a bit. "Thought we were on the same team."

  "Did you need something, Georg?" Pam asks, still pulling on the guy's arm.

  "I just came down to welcome you to the team. It's good to see you here. And…I know you will do great."

  Well, that was painful…and lame...and fucking stupid.

  "Thanks," she says softly. She won't even look at me, so I stand, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, until I realize I'm making things weirder.

  "You're welcome." My response just cranks up the weirdness another notch until it feels unbearable and I'm compelled to make it stop. "Then…okay. See you around, Pam."

  I leave, feeling like a major asshat. What was I thinking? She'd just throw herself on me? That we'd just fuck on the therapy table like two horny teenagers? No, I mean, we haven't fucked, so that wasn't likely anyway. But maybe she might flirt with me a little—that didn't seem so far-fetched. Obviously, that’s incorrect. Professional Pam is exactly that. Professional.

  And me?

  My team thinks I’m a drunkard, so maybe I really do have a bottle of vodka to drain.

  Three

  Pam

  HEARTBURN MUCH?

  I finish with the goalie and give strict instructions for Ibuprofen with alternating heat and ice as he gets off my table. Wincing as he hobbles out, he mutters something about not being sure whether to propose marriage or curse my name. Seems about right.

  Georg was so weird though. It's sweet that he came down to greet me or whatever, but he was so frigging awkward. It was kind of cute, I guess. I don't know.

  I head upstairs to meet Holly, who's big belly looks so out of place on her skinny little body. Crazy lady still ran miles until recently. She's fitter than most non-pregnant ladies. Show-off. She pushes herself up from her chair, her extremely efficient cubicle filled to the brim with photos of her and Evan now. They've made a happy life together in a very short period of time. It's sickening, really. Especially to women like me, who have no serious interest in settling down or finding "the one" or whatever.

  "How's it going?" she asks, grabbing her purse.

  "Good," I answer. "I really like the work a lot. Georg came down to say hello."

  Holly's eyes go wide and smirk plays on her lips. "You ever going to tell me what happened between you two in LA?"

  "My lips are sealed," I say, as a gorgeous redhead wanders up.

  "Hey, Holly? Before you go, could you approve this plan for preseason on Snapchat?"

  "I took a look at it earlier," Holly answers. "I've got some thoughts, but can I share them with you tomorrow? It's nothing major, but I want to brainstorm for a second.
"

  "Oh." The redhead looks slightly defeated. "Okay, that's fine. I was just hoping we could give it to Fiona tomorrow."

  "Shouldn't be a problem," Holly tells her. "By the way, Scarlett, this is my very best friend in the whole world, Pamela Jenson. Pam, this is Scarlett Woods."

  We shake hands. "Hey. What do you do here?"

  "I'm an interim communication team member," she says. "I'll be filling in for Holly while she's on maternity leave."

  "Ah." I nod. "Cool."

  "And you?"

  I take in her curvy figure, sky-high heels, and perfect makeup. She's pretty, I'll give her that. But she seems unsure of herself, or her work or something. I guess being an interim anything would probably take a person down a peg professionally.

  "I'm a physical therapist."

  "Oooh," she says with a smile. "Get to be hands-on with the players?"

  I laugh. "Indeed I do. It's not a bad gig. I get to fix them and inflict pain. It's like a non-sexual S&M shop."

  "Jesus, Pam," Holly says with an eye-roll.

  Scarlett just laughs. "I like her. I mean, you married the hottest guy on the team so don't pretend you didn't notice the abundance of muscles around here."

  "Okay, time to go," Holly says. "See you tomorrow, Scarlett. We'll work on that plan first thing."

  We head out and down to the pub outside the arena. Holly orders a Sprite and complains of heartburn, then orders like three fried appetizers.

  "Counterintuitive much?" I ask after the waitress walks away with our order.

  "Can't help it. Baby wants fried cheese sticks," she explains. "And jalapeno peppers."

  "Yikes. This is crap you wouldn't have eaten if someone had paid you before you got pregnant."

  "I know." Her face wrinkles into an adorable cringe. "I don't know, I just want it all the time now. Evan says I should let myself indulge every once in a while, so…"

  "So you're loading up tonight, got it," I say with a shrug. "I won't judge. As long as you don't judge the giant margarita I'm going to drink."

  "Of course, I wouldn't. So you said Georg came down today?"

  "He did. Didn't seem to have a purpose. I’ve never seen such a hulk of a man so…uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be cute, because he’s a giant, but it was. Very odd."

  "He likes you, Pammy."

  "He didn't seem to like me at your wedding. And I haven't heard a thing from him since LA, really."

  "Well, that doesn't mean anything. I mean, I saw the way he looked at you in Colorado."

  "Like he wanted to chop me to bits and bury me in the back yard?" I ask.

  "No, it was less stalker and more smolder. I saw it." Holly lifts her chin as if to dare me to argue with her. She's feisty now that she's preggo.

  "He smolders, no doubt," I agree. "But if he wanted me, he'd have come and got me. Besides, he's not long-term material anyway. He parties way too much. He probably needs rehab."

  "That's not a lie," Holly says. "But what do you care about him being long-term material anyway? You kick dudes to the curb the minute they start to get serious."

  "My mother raised me well." I try not to sound bitter.

  "Your mother just rid herself of her fifth husband."

  "Your point?"

  Scarlett wanders in as we're talking. She walks over and says hello, and Holly scoots over, inviting her to sit for a minute. She looks relieved at the invitation, but says, "I don't want to impose."

  "The more the merrier." I gesture to the seat next to me. "Please sit."

  "I was just going to pick something up to take home," she says.

  Holly shrugs. "We just ordered. Feel free to join us. I was just grilling my friend here on her visit from Georg Kolochev."

  "Oh, he's super sexy," Scarlett says. "That long hair. The scruff. He's such a bad boy."

  "Oh, he's bad all right." With the sarcasm dripping off my words like the mozzarella in Holly's cheese sticks, I give her a smirk.

  "Are you…dating?" Scarlett asks.

  "No, definitely not. We hung out a time or two in the spring. Besides, the non-fraternization policy and the nature of my job means I couldn't date him even if I wanted to."

  Scarlett's face falls. "Yes, you're right. Of course. I mean…I wouldn't step over a line. You know. I get it. Just looking. No touching."

  I don't say it, but I want to get in Scarlett's pretty face and tell her I don't give a flying crap if she screws players—she just better stay away from Georg. I know he's not mine, but the thought of him with someone else just—well, it really upsets me.

  "You okay there, champ?" Holly asks, breaking me from my thoughts. "You look like you're the one with heartburn."

  "Speaking of heartburn," I state as the waitress comes back and unloads a tray worth of appetizers. I look at Scarlett and say, "She's having grease for dinner tonight."

  "It's just an appetizer," Holly retorts as she stuffs a cheese stick into her mouth. Mouth full, she says, "I'm haffin' dinner wif Eban later."

  I feel both of my eyebrows go high on my forehead as I witness this madness. Holly does not shove cheese sticks in her face. She does not talk with her mouth full. And she does not stuff herself with junk before going to actual dinner. Pregnant women are bizarre.

  "So Fiona seems kind of severe?" Scarlett asks tentatively.

  Holly lets out a little huff. "She can be, but she's a pro at media management. She just takes a while to warm up. Just do a good job and you'll be fine."

  "That's good advice." Scarlett nods earnestly. "I'm sure I won't ever do as good a job as you have. I mean, I followed the Crush accounts all last season. You killed it. I applied for the communication specialist job mainly so I could learn from you."

  "That's sweet," Holly says. "It's not brain surgery. Just be creative. The guys are mostly up for anything."

  "So we don’t manage their personal social media use.”

  "Obviously not," Holly answers with an eye-roll. "Otherwise we’d have too many pictures of players drinking shots from between silicone breasts, right?"

  Scarlett laughs. “I thought that during the interview for the role when I was asked if I believed integrating their personal social media with their professional pages was wise.”

  “I’m glad you obviously said no. They have the right to have their own online presence. The only time we get involved is if there's something illegal or borderline—and usually the guys will take whatever it is right down."

  "Georg Kolochev's account…" Scarlett starts.

  "Tell me about it," Holly responds with a sigh. "He hasn't posted in a while but most of his stuff is party, party, party."

  "Is it true he's an alcoholic?" Scarlett asks.

  "That's probably none of your business." It comes out far harsher than it should have.

  Both women stare at me from across the table, looks of shock on their faces.

  "I don't mean…I mean, I'm sorry if I…" Scarlett stammers.

  "I'm just saying that we shouldn't make assumptions about people. And we shouldn't judge them just because they have pictures of themselves partying on Instagram." I try to tone down the aggression as best I can.

  Scarlett nods, looks at her phone, and comments, "Oh, well, I'd better be going. Thanks for letting me hang."

  Scarlett leaves in a hurry and Holly stares at me, a look of mild amusement on her face.

  "Jealous much?" my friend asks. "You bit her head off."

  "She was annoying."

  "Man, you are a crab today," Holly says. "Have another drink. Chill out."

  "I mean, there's a policy. We can't date the players," I comment, as if this is even remotely connected to why I was so mean to Scarlett.

  Holly opens her mouth but then shuts it again. She reaches out and grabs some fried nonsense and pops it in her mouth.

  The benefit of being here in Vegas is having my bestie around. I missed seeing her and being able to throw all my chaos her way when needed. And I think that Georg Kolochev falls under the categor
y of chaos. Yes, I’m attracted to him, because as Scarlett said, he’s super sexy. But there have been moments where I’ve seen more in his expression. More than the party boy manwhore. More than the man who drinks vodka for dinner. More than the embarrassed confusion on his face earlier. Just…more.

  "I like him, Holly," I finally admit. But I just don't think it could work. I'm, well…me. For one. And for two, he's Georg. We're on two different ships, sailing in different directions."

  "Two ships, sailing in different directions?" she repeats. "What kind of horse manure is that?"

  I shrug, grinning. "Change of subject. I need to know if you and Evan still do it while you're preggers, and if so, how is it possible?"

  "That's a very personal question, Pamela." She eats another cheese stick. "But since you're my very best friend, I will simply share that we do indeed make love and that it requires some strategical ingenuity."

  "Aren't you worried he'll, like, poke the baby?" I tease.

  "Do you even know a single thing about human biology?" Holly responds by throwing a piece of fried cheese at me.

  Truth be told, I know a lot about biology. There are many other things I don't know about, though. Relationships. Sex. Long-term commitment.

  Sex.

  And did I mention sex?

  Four

  Georg

  NAKED CONVERSATIONS

  Practice has been good all week. We have a couple of rookies on the team who've been fun to mess with. This one kid, Mikhail, is a total hothead. I love fucking with him on the ice just to get him riled up. I swear, these rookies come in with such chips on their shoulders. It brings me great pleasure to take them down a peg…or five.

  As I'm pulling off my gear, ready for the weekend, I hear two guys in the shower talking about trades. And then I hear my name. So, naturally, I stroll back and turn on a shower, interrupting their conversation.

  "Heard my name," I interrupt. "Know something I don't?"