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  Sin Shot

  A Hockey Love Story

  Raine Miller

  Brit De Mille

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created by the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  RAINE MILLER

  writing as

  Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved.

  Raine Miller writing as Brit DeMille.

  Cover Design: Designs by Dana

  Cover Image: Lindee Robinson Photography

  Editing: Marion Archer

  Proofing: Proofing with Style

  Contents

  SIN SHOT

  Foreword

  Preface

  1. Vegas Baby!

  2. “That” Pam

  3. Heartburn Much?

  4. Naked Conversations

  5. Thank You, Georg

  6. A Front Loop Intervention

  7. Shut Your F#@king Mouth

  8. I’d Love to Give You my Number

  9. Wanna Do Some Therapeutic Stretching?

  10. Wake the Puck Up

  11. We’re all Works in Progress

  12. Trades Happen all the Time

  13. Let’s Try that Again

  14. The Pretty Kitty

  15. One Big Motherpucker

  16. Mafia Hockey Players?

  17. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

  18. Linq’d & Licked

  19. Remember to Count to Ten

  20. That’s One Way to Hold Off a Trade

  21. Pour Some Sugar on Me

  22. My First Time at a Dude Ranch

  23. Sin-Shots & Cannon Blasts

  24. Decisions, Decisions

  25. It’s Hard Being in Love

  26. This is No Fairy Tale

  27. Some Bunny Loves You

  28. God Love a Feminist

  29. Miss March…So Hot

  30. And He Scores!

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of RED ROCKET

  1: Life Trouble

  2: The Mad Russian

  3: He’s Going to Score

  4: “Good-Mood Viktor”

  Crossover Book Connection

  Filthy Lies: Prologue

  Filthy Lies: One

  Filthy Lies: Two

  A Request

  Acknowledgments

  Join my Newsletter

  Who is Brit?

  Also by Raine Miller

  SIN SHOT

  A Hockey Love Story

  “There’s a lot more to me than what I’ve let on in the public eye.”

  Georg Kolochev, VEGAS CRUSH

  * * *

  No, I don’t drink vodka straight from the bottle, I don’t pour it over my breakfast cereal either.

  I am not in need of an intervention…unless it involves me and a certain blonde bombshell alone in a room with a locking door.

  I’ve done my fair share of partying, I’ll admit. And yes, I’ve built up something of a reputation with the ladies when not on the ice. That’s on me for being careless with my posts on social. And I do know what’s most important in my life.

  Two things.

  Hockey… and Pamela Jenson. My favorite physical therapist needs me so much more than she knows.

  Because I am the guy delivering her SIN SHOT. Yeah, you heard me. I’m her first.

  Sinning with Pam has never felt so good…

  Dedication

  For those who are,

  and always will be…

  VEGAS STRONG.

  Foreword

  This story is my second in the Vegas Crush hockey series. Writing sports romance was something I’d wanted to do for a very long time, in collaboration with my husband—sports fanatic extraordinaire. So, a year and a half ago, on a complete whim, we decided to write a hockey romance instead of a baseball one, and also to set our fictional team in Las Vegas. Since it was brand new territory for the hockey world in general, with the newest expansion team—the Vegas Golden Knights—starting up for their very first season in the NHL, we figured there wouldn’t be a lot of back history to compete with for our fictional Vegas Crush hockey team, and it would be a fun world to place the characters by having them working and living in fabulous Sin City.

  Crafting SIN SHOT was done while watching many a hockey game, but especially while following along as the Vegas Golden Knights won games. And kept winning. And kept on winning; fighting their way to the top of the standings in game…after game…after game. They won the Western Conference in their inaugural season and made Round 1 of the playoffs in their second. It’s no secret that I love “hockey in the desert” with all my heart. Just check out my social media pages and it’s pretty clear who I’m following like a rabid fan-girl. (In a totally nice way, mind.) LOL

  So, writing books about hot hockey players finding their true loves, and building my own true love for the most wonderful sport in the world (it’s hockey in case you’re wondering), has saved me in a lot of ways. Writing these characters and their stories has taught me to love the craft of writing again in a way I’d been missing for a very long time. I still have my beloved characters from Raine Miller’s world, and a couple of them even have a mention in this book, so look for them. I absolutely must have a connection to a character from another of my books in each and every story I write. Always!!!

  I hope you’ll fall in love with Georg and Pam as much as I did. Evan and Holly from CRUSHED are all over the pages too, as well as some new characters you will be getting to know very soon.

  Happy Hockey Reading!

  Preface

  Extensive creative license was applied in portraying some elements of NHL playoffs, awards, schedule, and fan events at games that would not happen in real life. I did this intentionally to create a more enjoyable reading experience within the storyline. This story has been carefully crafted for your reading pleasure and in no way is meant to be a true and accurate representation of NHL best practices and rules.

  * * *

  This is Hockey Romance F-I-C-T-I-O-N all the way!

  * * *

  xoxo

  One

  Vegas Baby!

  Pam

  Mm-mmm. There’s that tall, long-haired Russian. “Curious Georg,” as he’s known on Instagram. Or was known, before his account went stagnant. Kind of a bummer. His account was pretty fun to follow. Georg in big sunglasses and a silly hat. Georg pouring a bottle of Russian vodka over some half-naked woman’s stomach. Georg half undressed, asleep on a purple couch, a mustache drawn on his face in black marker.

  What can I say? I’m a sucker for trouble.

  We went on a date once. Kind of twice. The first time doesn’t really count because we were just the plus-ones to our friends Evan and Holly. The second time, we sucked face up until that big dummy Viktor started a fight and shut down the evening. Fight notwithstanding, I still think the sucking face elevates it to a date.

  Anyway, I saw him at Evan and Holly’s wedding a few months ago but he mostly just stared at me with a brooding look on his face. Which was hot, I guess. I mean, who doesn’t like being stared at intensely by a guy who can rock a suit with no tie while he nurses a vodka on the rocks?

  No one likes that?

  Oh.

  Never mind then.

  Not gonna lie, I totally flip
through the gossip sites looking for pictures of him. I’m a sad little groupie. Not a puck bunny though. More like a Georg-specific bunny. Though I’ll lie if anyone ever calls me out on it.

  My mother would say that I shouldn’t waste my time on a guy who’s probably drunk eighty percent of the time he’s off the ice. And I know I shouldn’t. So, I won’t. I mean, the prohibition on fraternizing with team members sort of stops me anyway, since I’m on the staff now.

  Woo, boy. I’m the newest physical therapist for the Crush. Grad school is done and my best friend and social media guru, Holly, put in a good word with Max Terry, the team’s owner, and got me an interview. Which I nailed.

  Because I am awesome.

  “You excited?” the guy next to me asks. We’re both in athletic polo shirts emblazoned with the Crush logo on the front.

  “About the job? Or the hockey?” I turn my head to look him over.

  He gives me a funny little half-grin. The guy is pretty cute, actually. Blond, blue-eyed, muscular, and fit. He’s wearing black chinos and trainers. “Um…both?” he says with a laugh. He holds out a hand. “Dale Moncrief.”

  We shake hands. “Pam Jenson. And yes, I’m excited about both. The Crush had an amazing season last year, so I’m thrilled to now be part of the team.”

  “What will you be doing for the team?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. It’s short on the sides and in the back, but a little longer on top. Boyish. Rakish.

  “Physical therapy. Just finished grad school at UCLA. I worked really closely with the soccer teams there.”

  “Awesome,” he says. “I’m an athletic trainer.”

  “They really seem to be beefing up the training staff this year.”

  “Well, when you have a championship-level team, you tend to want to make sure they stay in winning form,” Dale says. “Did you follow the Crush before you started here?”

  “I did. My best friend is the social media manager here. She just married one of the players.”

  “Oooohhhh, a breaker of policies.” Dale grins conspiratorially. “Bad girl.”

  I laugh. “More like good girl. Holly’s about the most rule-followingest person you could meet. If you knew her—“

  “What about you?” Dale asks, leaning over and nudging my shoulder with his. “You follow all the rules?”

  I bite my lip and lower my eyelids flirtatiously. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  A crash on the glass turns my attention back to the ice, where Georg and last year’s star rookie, Mikhail, have had a run-in during scrimmage. Mikhail, the hothead, throws off his helmet and starts yelling about penalties, while Georg grins and wiggles his rear end at his teammate, telling him to lighten up. Then he looks over at me and winks. This makes me crack up for some reason.

  Dale notices. “You know him?”

  “Kind of. Not real well, though.”

  “Well, he is known to be a bit of a womanizer. Be careful of that one.”

  “I can handle myself, but thanks.”

  “I’ll bet you can,” he says with a wide grin. “No doubt about that.” I think he believes he’s appealing.

  The head of our team of therapists, trainers, and nutritionists gives us what I suspect is the annual start-of-season pep talk. He talks about keeping our players in top form, and the importance of communicating with each other about concerns that might cross the borders of what we do. He reminds us that we’re always to be professional—with each other and with the players.

  As the scrimmage goes on, he points out different plays and tosses out stories about specific injuries that he’s seen from each type of play. He focuses on concussion protocol and stresses that we are not a team that puts players back on the ice before they’re cleared by a doctor. Dale makes snide comments under his breath every so often. Some of them are funny, but others miss the mark. I think he’s trying to paint himself as a rebel, or maybe he wants to keep my attention off my Russian friend who keeps looking in my direction, much to my surprise. Either way, I wish Dale would just stop while he’s ahead. The guy might think he’s all that, but he’s slowly massacring any attraction I might have felt.

  My mind wanders to Evan and Holly’s wedding. It was so beautiful, set in the mountains, on a vast deck with an incredible view. I’ve never imagined myself settling down with someone like that. My eyes start to wander and my interest eventually wanes. I’m not like Holly, who has always been cautious about relationships. I’m in and out, and always on the lookout for the next shiny boy toy.

  I’m not a slut, though. Seriously. Just want to put that out there.

  First day on the job is in the books as I head out to my new condo, which is really Holly’s old condo in a cute little suburb of Las Vegas. It worked out perfectly for me to take over her place after she moved in with her hubby. I looked at Evan’s apartment complex, too, but decided I liked the quieter pace of the suburbs. After living in student housing for the past six years, I was ready for something private and quiet. Evan’s building was full of young professionals, athletes, and performers, all with a penchant for partying in common. I like to party—don’t get me wrong—but I want to be able to get away from it sometimes, too.

  I didn’t have a lot of furniture that I wanted to lug here from Los Angeles, so my first order of business was to pick out some new stuff. I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress for the past week, so when the delivery truck pulls up with my new bed, I feel like celebrating. I know I’m going to fall in love with that bed.

  Bonus. The two movers are buff and tan. I flirt shamelessly while they unload my new bedroom, living room, and dining room furniture. I probably splurged too much, honestly, but it was time. Six years of communal living, of ramen noodles, of whatever-I-could-scrounge furniture. Now that I was adulting, and creating my own space with my own stuff, it was all part of the evolution. And not items found at the Goodwill, which is stop numero uno for any poor graduate student.

  One of the movers wears a wedding ring but the other, a ginger with bright blue eyes, flirts shamelessly right back at me.

  “New to town, then?” he asks with a teasing smirk.

  “Yep, just moved here. I work for the Crush,” I answer, leaning against the doorframe while he and his partner put together my bed frame.

  “Good gig,” he says appreciatively. “You a cheerleader?”

  “Ha! Hockey teams don’t have cheerleaders.”

  When he smiles, a super adorable dimple appears in his cheek. “I know. You’re just too cute to be, like, their accountant or something.”

  “Awww… Flattery could get you everywhere, my man. I’m actually a physical therapist. So I get to work on muscly dudes all day for a living. Not a bad gig at all.”

  “Well, I’m a muscly dude,” he answers with a grin. “I’ve got this pain in my shoulder…”

  The other guy snorts. “Stop flirting and help me out here. We’ve got two more deliveries before we can be done for the day.”

  I slink away downstairs to start dinner, and the guys head out shortly after. Of course, I find the guy’s name and number on my new nightstand later that night when I go to bed.

  Oh yeah, Vegas is going to be a whole lotta fun.

  Two

  “That” Pam

  Georg

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Georg Kolochev?” Evan asks as I slip off my soaked workout tank and pull on my undershirt and shoulder pads.

  “Trakhat’sya,” I hiss, giving him the middle finger.

  He laughs. “There he is.”

  “Did you see they hired that Pam in the therapy room?” I stupidly change the subject to the one thing that’s been on my mind ever since I heard about it.

  “That Pam?” He shakes his head at me in disgust. “Seriously, dude, as in Holly’s best friend?” He’s more than a little sarcastic as he continues, “Yes, I know she works here now. We put in a good word with the bosses to get her hired.” He leaves off the, you ignorant fuck, but I hear it rega
rdless.

  Loud and clear.

  “Shouldn’t they hire skilled therapists though? I mean, a nice rack is great, but it doesn’t help with a sprained ankle.” The second the words are out I regret them. I don’t even know why I said anything, let alone a dick comment like that.

  “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?”