Puck Money: A Hockey Love Story Read online

  The strokes up and down my shaft become faster, a twist at the end of each pass just to help things along. My thighs and abs start to tense and tighten as the familiar sensations start from my balls, signaling that I'm about two seconds away from the blasting orgasm I desperately need right now.

  It's my dirty fantasy but it's so good imagining being inside Talia, my impossibly hard cock filling her deep as I start to come. The stuff jets out of me in a rush, joining the soap suds and water as it swirls down the drain and washes away. The good feelings stay with me though, even later when I'm in bed trying to fall asleep.

  So fucking good.

  But I force myself to sleep before the thoughts become more and I have to get back into the shower to do it all over again.

  Fourteen

  Talia

  Tread Lightly

  Maybe it was a mistake to hire someone for him. At least, someone so pretty. I mean, those green eyes? They were like emeralds. Also, what if Ally takes his money and doesn’t really help him? No. When I spoke to Professor Binnington, he gave her a glowing report, so I could trust in that. But...college students can be so irresponsible.

  No, she seems really on top of things, serious about doing a good job. It will be fine. And that hug? She was probably just trying to warm things up, right? I mean, I’ve hugged clients before and it didn’t mean a thing.

  Besides, what do I care if Ally flirts with Boris? It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have said anything about him not sleeping with her. It’s his business, I suppose. It will be fine. He says he wouldn’t ever cross the line anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about there. I just needed to find him someone to help with all his stuff. I found the person and now it’s on him to figure out their working relationship, right?

  My job is to assure Ally does the job she was hired for. All I have to do is try to make sure Boris is protected while he gets his finances in order—the job I was hired for.

  He’s a client and it can’t happen anyway.

  God knows I don’t want more upheaval in my life.

  But he’s really nice and so, so, sexy…

  No. Can’t have. Cannot have the hot hockey man. He's off limits. O.F.F.

  I decide to take a power walk around the block to get my head in the right place. I call my best friend, Parker, who still lives back in San Francisco.

  "Hey, Tallie." She uses the nickname only she is allowed to utter.

  "Hey, Parker." My voice sounds glum even to my ears.

  "What’s up sister?"

  "Just taking a head-clearing walk. Thought I’d check in and see what’s up with you."

  "The dog-grooming business is just booming. Been up to the armpits in dog hair and shampoo all damn day."

  "Why do you work there if you hate it so much?"

  "It pays the bills as you well know. Dancing is fun but there's irregularity with the paychecks."

  Parker is a professional dancer with the Presidio Dance Theater in San Francisco. She works harder than anyone I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot because I work pretty damned hard, myself. She dances about twenty-hours a week—more when she has a show—plus takes on all the hours she can fit in at her other job. She took the gig at Shi-Shi-Shihtzu because they promised she’d be doing social media and events, and she thought that would help if she ever got to the point where she had her own company or studio. More often than not, though, they’re understaffed and she ends up doing more dog grooming than she ever wanted.

  "How’s Sin City?" she asks. "Are you sinning a lot? Please tell me you’re sinning a lot."

  "Have you met me?"

  "I have met you. You sexed your hot client. That’s positively sinful and I’m damn impressed."

  "Hot, married client," I say, groaning. "Definitely going to hell for that; and being a homewrecker is not something to be proud of. I’ve had more than my share. No more sinning necessary."

  "Whatever, it’s a two-way street. He could have told you about her. Or, better yet, not slept with someone other than his wife." She’s right. I know she’s absolutely right. But there is still a momentous amount of guilt because I should have used my intelligence and not listened to my raging hormones.

  "I don’t want to talk about him."

  "Oh-kay. How’s business?"

  "Really good, actually. I’ve got a good base already, keeping me busy. I think I’ll hit Howard’s target of five new clients this month."

  "That’s good," she says through a clearly audible yawn.

  "Money management is boring, I get it, but I have some fun, new clients. Angie is one of those Vegas showgirls who wear the teeny outfits and the big headdresses."

  "Does Angie wear her costume into the office?"

  "Ha! No. She looks very normal when she comes in. But she’s making bank. Maybe I should become a showgirl."

  "Talia, I hate to tell you this, but you would probably fall on your ass."

  "Yes, probably true." I sigh dramatically. "I’m also working with a hockey player."

  "There we go. Is he hot?"

  "Irrelevant. I am just trying to help my clients toward long-term investment success. What they look like doesn’t matter."

  "So he’s hot then?"

  "He's good looking, yes."

  "Single?"

  "Ugh. Yes."

  "Why ugh?"

  "Ugh because I think Boris is a really nice guy. And he’s really cute. And I think sexy thoughts about him sometimes. But I can’t have him because we all know how the last client sleepover went."

  "Sexy thoughts? Like what kind of sexy thoughts?"

  I make a noise but don’t answer.

  "You’ve got a crush," Parker accuses.

  "Do not."

  "You do too, friend. And whatever. He’s sexy and single. Plus his name is Boris and yours is Natalia. So close to Natasha…you're nearly the Rocky & Bullwinkle Show couple already. I say crush away."

  "He’s a client, Parker. And it’s irrelevant what our names are because he doesn’t find me attractive and I’ve sworn off relationships with clients. Boris already told me he won’t cross a professional boundary anyway, so the point is moot."

  "Not everyone is Mr. Cheating-Ass, Tallie."

  "No, you’re right. But this is a fresh start for me. I can’t have Howard thinking he won't ever be able to trust me to keep my hands off the clients."

  "Okay, okay, you have a point there. But tell me all about hot-hunky-hockey-Boris, anyway, because I need to know everything."

  I take a deep breath in and then let it out before launching into my story about Boris. I tell my friend all about him, about his early rise to the professional ranks, his crummy Russian rip-off investment agents, and his dyslexia. I tell her I hired him an assistant to help him stay organized and then admit that I’m a little perturbed that the woman hugged him at their first meeting.

  "Am I being petty?" I can't help myself from asking for reassurance. "I’m being petty, right? It was just a hug. I hug clients all the time." No, I don’t. I really, really don’t.

  "You’re being petty and jealous, Crushy McCrushpants."

  "Totally not jealous! I just think he’s really sweet and I think people have taken advantage of him. He doesn’t need one more person in his life trying to get something from him."

  "I guess it’s possible she’s a gold-digger just out to get hooked up with a rich athlete," Parker says. "But more it sounds like you don’t want anyone else touching this guy if it can’t be you. Maybe this guy is your guy, Tallie."

  "He’s not my guy."

  "How do you know?"

  "I just…" I groan and change the subject because I don’t actually have an answer. "Are you going to come visit me soon or what?"

  "Are you lonely, my little sexless love bug?"

  "Yeah, kind of. I mean, I work in a tiny office by myself. I don’t get much opportunity to get out and make friends."

  "Aww, that’s really sad. I’m sad for you."

  "You don’t
sound sad. You sound like you’re laughing at me."

  "I’m not, I swear. And you’re in luck because I’ve just decided I'm going to come on down to Sin City this weekend."

  "Ask and I shall receive?"

  "I was already considering it, but I can see that you need me. We’ll go out dancing."

  "Dancing? You have seen me dance, right? And you're sure that’s the best option?"

  "You’ll go out dancing and you’ll like it."

  I laugh at this, shaking my head. "No, you’ll go out dancing and I’ll stand around and look awkward."

  After we get a plan in place, I tell my best friend just how much I love her before hanging up. I really do love her. She’s honest and funny and high energy. She’s way extroverted, which is the total opposite of me, of course, and she pulls me out of my comfort zone when I really need it most.

  Like that time I moved to a new city all by myself.

  * * *

  The next day, whilst attempting to remove yet another food stain from my clothing—this time ketchup on my beige linen slacks—I receive my return call from none other than the Russian fixer himself, Mr. Vlad Nechaev.

  "Vlad, good to hear from you."

  "Do not say that just yet, little firecracker," he says in his thick accent.

  "What a strange thing to say. Do you have bad news for me?"

  "Are you sure you want to poke this bear?"

  "What bear?" I can feel my face scrunching up in annoyance as I tap my pen on a notebook. "This is just business. We all want what’s best for the client, right?"

  Vlad chuckles darkly. "Yes, I suppose. Well, you can speak with Tolya Popov about Boris’s accounts. Tread lightly, is my advice to you."

  I snort at this. What is this, the Russian mafia? Jesus Christ. "I just want to talk to him about transferring Boris’s accounts. It’s not the end of the world."

  He laughs into the phone by way of a response, clearly amused by me. And I don't like the sound of Vlad's laughter...at all…especially when the sinister chuckling sends a shiver rolling down the length of my back. Can you say creepy as fuck with a side of revulsion?

  "Don’t say I did not warn you, my dear Natalia."

  Fifteen

  Boris

  A Terrible Wingman

  Thankfully, we’ve moved on from the start-series drills Coach had us doing for team building. I think they’ve helped, though, because the guys now joke and talk with me like anyone else. I'm finally beginning to feel like I'm part of the team.

  I try to think back on my time with other teams in my career and I realize that this is the first team I've played on with so many superstars. Max Terry has assembled a motley crew of ultra-talented players. They've had their issues, though. Evan was a womanizer. Georg had his demons with alcohol. Viktor had major anger issues. But they've all settled down and found support and stability. They were already playing well together and I'm the interloper. I'm the one coming in with something to prove, even though I carried my team as far as we could go in Austin. The Comets were in the process of a rebuild so it made sense to trade me for more talent they could spread out across the team, which hopefully will help them down the line for making the playoffs.

  I have to keep reminding myself the Crush is a winning team, a team that's gone through its own storms in order to become what it is today. I'm a disrupter where I want nothing more than to be another weapon in an already strong arsenal. It’s important to me to gain the team’s trust, to learn to play with them, to play on their strengths. I just want to play and be a strong contributor.

  As we shower and change from the day’s grueling practice, Viktor Demoskev approaches me. He’s scowling, so I’m not sure what to expect.

  "Viktor."

  His eyes narrow as he looks down at me. Yes, he is a big man. I’m a big man and he’s several inches bigger. It’s not intimidating, though he tries to make it so.

  "My Scarlett has insisted I apologize to you," he says, shoving his hand out for me to shake.

  "Oh, she insisted?" I can't resist chuckling as I take his hand in a firm grip. "Well, I accept the apology, regardless of where it came from. And I hope you know I truly meant no harm, only compliment. Sorry I upset you."

  "I am a bit of an ass, she tells me. Too hot-headed. I am trying to get much better because we have a child on the way."

  "You will.”

  "It is Friday. Several of us are headed out to get beer," Viktor answers. "Would you like to join?"

  I can’t help but grin. “Sure, I’m in. Thanks."

  He claps me on the back and heads off to finish changing. We all head down the street to a small bar, sort of off the tourist path. Georg tells me the guys used to all go to big clubs, full of woman. He laughs and shakes his head as Tyler jumps in and adds, "These bunch of old farts are all tied up over their women. How’s a sexy athlete supposed to get laid hanging out with a bunch of dads?" Please, God, tell me I was not like that at his age. An arrogant fetus...

  We all grab our beers—apart from Georg, who orders a soda—and find seats around a table. There are several televisions around, each with different sporting events playing. I nurse my single beer while the other guys down theirs with ease. No one seems to mind that I'm not keeping up, and I’m content to just sit and watch sports while Evan, Georg, and Viktor all talk about their women. I tune in, mainly because I like the idea of having what they have someday—one true love to make a life with.

  Tyler, blond and rowdy, bangs his fist on the table and says, "Stop mooning over these women. What the hell happened to you fuckers?" He pretends to give himself a hand job and rolls his eyes. "You’re like a bunch of old fucking men. This is no fun at all. We used to have women lined up to sit on our laps. Now we’re in here drinking, like, light beer and talking about our home improvement projects."

  Mikhail, also single, laughs and nearly spits out his beer.

  "Well, there’s the door, asshole," Georg says, gesturing to the exit. "Get gone. You know where to go if you need to get your rocks off."

  I sense that this is all normal for this group. Viktor, by all accounts Tyler’s best friend, grins and smacks his buddy on the back of the head. "Don’t come out with us if you are going to complain the whole time."

  "I’m just saying, can a brother get a break every once in a while? One night out to pick up a hot chick in a short skirt?"

  Mikhail, generally pretty quiet, says, "I’m with you. Let’s leave these old men and make some noise."

  "Fuck yeah!" Tyler hoots. He points in Viktor’s face. "You’re being replaced as wingman."

  "I was terrible wingman to begin with."

  "That's a fuckin' truth if ever I heard one."

  They bump fists before Tyler and Mikhail start toward the door. Tyler stops, though, and turns to me. "You got an old lady?"

  "No." I shake my head.

  "Then you’re with us. Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re eye candy. Chicks will talk to us because of you."

  This makes me laugh. I start to say no. I should stay and hang out with the power players, right? Still, it might be fun to go out for once.

  I stand and the guys give me fist bumps before telling me not to do anything they wouldn’t do. I am not sure how far that goes, but I’m positive they have no clue just how boring a guy I am. I don’t think I could match them, even now they are all in solid relationships.

  We get a ride service that takes us up to the Strip and I realize I've never really gone out and explored the single most iconic section of Las Vegas before, even though I've been in town for weeks now. The lights and people are overwhelming in comparison to laid-back Austin. Tyler picks out a nightclub for us to try but when we head inside, it's fairly empty for a Friday night.

  "It’s still kind of early." Tyler checks his phone as he picks a booth near the bar. "We’ll get some food. People will start coming soon."

  We order and then eat, and Tyler's prediction becomes a reality. I think it's safe to say he's done
this a time or two...or ten. An hour later, and a crowd has filled the place. The music starts thumping and the lights are turned down. A couple of women make a beeline for our table, asking if we have a light for their cigarettes. Tyler shakes his head and they walk away.

  "Not interested?" I ask.

  "Smokers? Nah."

  I nod and take a sip of the beer I ordered with dinner.

  "What’s your type?" he asks.

  I shrug.

  "Wow. You’re killing me with charisma, dude.”

  "This is not really my scene. I don't go out often."

  "Surely you stepped out after games in Austin? Got your noodle wet?"

  "Well yeah, of course…sometimes, but one-night-stands aren't really—"

  Tyler and Mikhail's laughter cuts me off. I must look confused because they just laugh harder. Mikhail says, "Brother, this is Las Vegas. Easy sex is part of the perks."

  "Have you even had sex?" Tyler asks. "You’re not some forty-year-old virgin are you?"

  My brows furrow. "I am not forty."

  "You know what I mean. You’ve been laid, right?"

  "Of course. But I am picky."

  "Picky is one thing," Tyler says. "Picky I can deal with. You have a pair of balls and a working pecker, right?"

  "Yeeees?" Where is he going with this?

  "Good. Then it’s time you got christened. Welcome to Sin City."

  He stands and both Mikhail and I follow him toward the dance floor. We stand at the edge, Tyler making eyes at nearly every pretty girl in the place.