"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
Georg
REMEMBER TO COUNT TO TEN
“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."
Holly had their baby, a girl, just days ago. Little Danya looks like a very tiny, very angry old lady in the photos he showed me, so her name fits since she was named for Evan's Russian grandmother.
"Why are you even here, Dad? Why not take a game off to be home with them?"
"The team needs me," he says. "And Holly told me she'd burn my favorite T-shirt if I didn't come and support the team. I tried to stay home."
I laugh. "She's the best."
"Yeah, she really is."
We play San Jose tonight, a team that has been losing all season. It should be an easy win but it's obvious from the first few moments on the ice the team is desperate. They're sloppy and aggressive, and on the first period break, Evan tells everyone to look out.
"Play smart and pay attention," he orders.
"These guys are out for blood. Don't bleed for them," Coach Brown adds.
We head back out on the ice and Mikhail scores quickly, the first goal of the game. Our home crowd goes wild, but I can see it on the San Jose players' faces that things are about to get ugly.
I've got the puck at about seven minutes in, and a San Jose player comes out of nowhere, high sticking me to the neck, knocking my helmet off and sending me straight onto my back. I see stars immediately, and I think I might throw up. My vision is wonky, but big-ass Viktor comes to my aid, checking the player into the boards.
Annnnd then all hell breaks loose.
I'm struggling to get up. I roll to my side, then force myself to my knees. No one is paying me much attention, because there's a melee going on against the glass. Everyone is fighting, even Evan, from what I can tell. I stumble to my feet, but I'm woozy as I make my way to the big brawl. I end up getting elbowed in the temple before someone swipes my legs out from under me. I land at a really weird angle, my right leg and foot pinned up under my body. I can't get up a second time.
As the fight is broken up, the officials send the whole first string to the penalty box, and I'm still on the ground. It's only then that anyone realizes I need some help, only then that the medics make their way out to me.
"Can you get up?"
No.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
Don't…know.
Things are blurry as I'm loaded onto a stretcher. The noises hurt my head. The lights of the arena are too bright.
Eventually, though, everything gets quiet. And dark.
* * *
I wake up in a hospital bed. I try to read the white board on the wall to see the date. I have no idea how long I've been out. My head feels like I got hit by a sledgehammer. My tongue feels dry and swollen. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was just totally hung over. But my leg is in a big brace, too, and I've got an IV in one arm and a heart monitor attached to my chest.
"Well, fuck," I say, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears.
"That about sums it up," a familiar voice says from somewhere.
I look around and see Coach Brown sitting in a chair, reading the paper.
"Hey, Coach," I say weakly.
"Strained ankle, torn knee PCL ligament, mild concussion," Coach says.
I sigh. "Length of time for recovery?"
"Six weeks is what they say," he answers. "The docs will be in soon to review with you. Light rehab can start in one week. We'll play the rest by ear."
"I'll be back on the ice in three. I promise."
"Hold your horses," he says. "I want you out there healthy. Don't push it."
He tells me we held San Jose and that Evan scored two rapid-fire goals after my injury. "He was on fire, super pissed," he says proudly. "I haven't seen him fight like that in a long while."
"I couldn't follow what was happening," I say.
"Yeah, ’cause you decided to get up from the first blow and insert yours
elf in the mess. You wouldn't be here if you'd just stayed down, you idiot."
"Sorry, Coach."
He makes a face and folds up his paper. "Well, just wanted to catch you awake. Take your time getting better. We need you out there, Georg."
* * *
Evan visits a bit later, and while he's here he calls Holly on FaceTime. She tells me to get well soon, and shows me baby Danya, who is still a tiny thing but much cuter than in the immediate hours after she was born.
"That was such a wickedly cheap shot," Evan says. "What a bunch of fucking tossers."
I nod. "True."
"What hurts the worst?"
"Head," I answer. "Worst hangover ever."
"Ugh," Evan groans. "Sorry. I saw it coming…tried to get back to you, but it was too late. Viktor leveled the guy, but it was a chain reaction. Craziest fight I've seen in a long time. In any game. We're still all over the highlight reels."
We talk for a little bit longer but after a dose of pain medication, delivered by a distinctly not-nice nurse, I feel myself slipping into sleep. Evan gives me a fist bump and tells me to feel better soon.
When I wake up, someone is holding my hand. I blink a few times, my vision blurry. But there she is, blonde and pretty and smelling so fucking good. She's also crying.
"Hey, now, I'm not dead."
She gives me one of those ugly cry-smiles. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying, really. I just hate seeing you hurt."
"I'll be fine. Nothing some time with a really good physical therapist won't cure." Thank God she’s actually speaking to me. She had gone completely radio silent. But at least she’s touching me…
"I am up to the task," she says with a nod and a swipe at her tears. "That's actually why I came by."
I'm sure it's just the injury or the medication, but that statement really hurts. "You just came to talk about rehab?" I can't hide the hurt in my voice and don't even try.
"Well, I…" She shuts her mouth and looks out the window. "I am here in an official capacity, yes."
Sin Shot: Vegas Crush #2 Page 12