The Trouble with #9

by Piper Rayne

  “What’s up?” she answers.

  “You’re never going to believe what just happened.” I go through everything from how flirtatious Maksim was being to what just happened when he left my room. Then I shove a forkful of cake in my mouth.

  “Why were you going to just do it?” she asks.

  “Because he’s hot, and I was finally rewarding myself with a one night with a hockey god.”

  “Like a birthday gift?” She laughs.

  “Exactly.”

  “Nothing wrong with that except he flipped the script on you.” She sounds amused.

  “Yes! I was going to be a willing participant,” I mumble around another mouthful.

  A very willing participant.

  “Maybe he’s one of those guys who just like the chase, you know? Then when you finally said yes, he bailed. Although I will say that from what I know of Maksim, that doesn’t sound like him.”

  I sulk down in bed. Jana’s right. Most of the time when Maksim is mentioned in the press, it’s because he’s removing Ford from a bad situation.

  “Now I have to get on a plane with him tomorrow.”

  “Just ignore him. I’m kind of pissed he’s playing you like this. I mean, going after you full force and then acting like he has no interest.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Hey, Paise?”

  “What?”

  “Do you like Maksim Petrov?”

  I love Jana, but if I answer honestly, she’s going to insert herself in the situation. Either by cornering Maksim and playing the juvenile game of “do you like my friend,” or worse, she’ll scold him for leaving me high and wet—definitely not dry.

  So rather than admitting I can’t stop thinking about him, I say, “I don’t know. He’s attractive and seems almost sweet sometimes.”

  “I’m not sure anyone has referred to Maksim as sweet,” she says.

  “Attentive maybe. But… errgghhh!” I just don’t know what to think after tonight.

  “Well, if he’s going to act so hot and cold, just ignore him, Paise. Move on. Do the rest of the therapy sessions and forget him after that. You know, my dad mentioned at dinner tonight about fixing you up with someone.”

  My eyes widen. “What? I don’t want to be fixed up.”

  This isn’t the first time Mr. Gerhardt has tried to fix me up. For some reason, he always picks accountants or men with equally boring jobs. Men who have played it safe all their lives and wear three-piece suits to work. And there’s nothing wrong with those guys. They’re the ones you marry for stability, but I’m too young to marry anyone, and for some dumb reason, I have this stupid idea that I want to be with a more rough-and-tumble guy. Someone who knows his way around a woman. And because I know that kind of guy isn’t what’s good for me, my sex life is left in a stalemate.

  Jana interrupts my thoughts. “Just be on the lookout and dodge Dad if you see him.”

  “I will.”

  I hang up with Jana a few minutes later. All I can think about is how Maksim is the kind of guy I’m attracted to and how that long, hard dick I felt might be exactly what I need to get me out of my rut. I try to ease the ache between my thighs, but alas, I think there’s only one person who can.

  Later that week, after practice, there’s a note in my locker.

  See Mr. Gerhardt ASAP

  Blyat. I tear it off the wall, crumple it, and toss it in the trash.

  “Two points.” Ford raises two fingers and heads into the shower with a bunch of my other teammates.

  I sit on the bench and unlace my skates.

  “What’s that about?” Aiden asks.

  “Gerhardt wants to see me.” I groan and take off my skates and socks. “Probably because of the game.”

  Last night we had a home game, and I might’ve crossed the line when a guy on the other team tripped Ford and he almost went crashing headfirst into the boards. You can paralyze a player doing shit like that, and of course, the refs didn’t see it. So I went after Klein from behind to return the favor and was suspended for the rest of the game.

  “I’m not sure why he’s so up your ass lately,” Aiden says, taking off his pads.

  “Me either. I’m not doing anything different than before.”

  Aiden cocks an eyebrow.

  “Okay, maybe I’m a little more aggressive out there,” I say.

  “Does it have anything to do with a certain brunette?”

  I remove my own pads. “No. I mean, I might be sexually frustrated because I do want her, but my job is to protect my guys, and what Klein did to Ford was bullshit. Right? I’m not seeing things.”

  Aiden hems and haws. “It was bullshit, and yeah, you’ve always had our backs. Kept me from being double-teamed ever since we both started playing for the Fury, but…”

  “What?”

  He sits on the bench and rests his forearms on his thighs. “You know even the Florida Fury fans are making up nicknames for you?”

  My eyes narrow. “Like?”

  “I mean, I think they want them to be endearing. They still love you, of course. But do you want to be known as Mad Reaper or Psycho Cobra?”

  “What kind of names are those?” Those suck. They don’t even sound like hockey nicknames.

  “Exactly. You gotta control yourself out there. Maybe talking to Paisley is the way to go. Get your head straight.” Aiden wraps a towel around himself.

  “I don’t need therapy. I’m just trying to make sure people leave you the hell alone.”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s not all on you, man. Why do you think that?”

  I’ve never told a soul about Armen. When I came to the United States, I decided to leave all that shit back in Russia, but since all this therapy talk has come up, Armen’s been in my head late at night when I’m lying in bed. The car crash unfolds in my head in slow motion. His parents’ faces when they heard the news. Nadiya crumbling and sobbing.

  I shrug off Aiden and stand, wrapping my own towel around my waist. “Maybe because you assholes are too big of pussies to protect yourselves.” I laugh and walk toward the showers.

  “You better watch yourself after that comment.”

  By the time we hit the showers, we’re laughing and the seriousness of the moment has passed. Thank God.

  A half hour later, I’m waiting outside Gerhardt’s office. His secretary is giving me the evil eye over her computer screen. She’s old enough to be Gerhardt’s mother, but those rumors were squashed after someone discovered that his mother lived in Boca Raton with live-in caregivers until she passed two years ago.

  Mrs. Turner wears librarian glasses—the ones attached to a chain—and her scowl is scarier than mine. She’s the complete opposite of who you’d think would manage Gerhardt’s daily schedule.

  Gerhardt’s voice comes over the speaker of Mrs. Turner’s phone. “Send him in.”

  Mrs. Turner widens her beady little eyes as if I’m on death row and about to meet my maker.

  “Always a pleasure,” I say to her, walking through the double oak doors into Gerhardt’s office. I stop in my tracks when I see Paisley on the couch.

  What the fuck?

  Did she rat me out after last week in Toronto when I redressed her and left her in bed?

  It was the hardest decision of my life, but I’m not going to sleep with someone who’s clearly waiting for me to hurt her. As though I’m the typical athlete you see on television, getting into public fights with their spouse or openly cheating on them. I would never hurt someone like that. Have I had sex with a bunny? Sure. But there wasn’t anyone at home waiting for me either.

  “If it isn’t the Grim Reaper himself.” Gerhardt’s angry tone is hard to miss.

  “I hear it’s the Mad Reaper,” I say, which is the wrong move because Gerhardt motions to the couch cushion next to Paisley.

  “Sit, Petrov.”

  I do as I’m told because although the trade deadline has passed, he could get rid of me at the end of this season, and I like my boys and living
in Florida. Nadiya needs to stay in Florida for school, so I can’t jeopardize that either.

  “Mad just makes you sound psychotic,” Gerhardt says, picking up his drink and spinning it around before sipping it. “I asked you both in here because I was just informed of something.”

  Paisley’s hands are clenched so tightly, her knuckles are white. I’d do about anything to grab one and hold it to tell her it will all be all right. I can’t deny my own heart is racing while I try to figure out who could’ve ratted us out.

  “What’s that?” Paisley’s voice is soft and innocent, so I’ll let her run this show how she sees fit.

  “This therapy thing isn’t working as we planned. I’ve seen no improvement in your behavior on the ice.” He eyes me over the rim of his glass.

  “Therapy isn’t a Band-Aid, Mr. Gerhardt. It takes time, but…” She glances at me and turns back to Gerhardt. “I’d like to suggest that Maksim sees someone else.”

  Gerhardt waves her off. “No, it’s not you. You’re more than capable.” He smiles at her. They really do have a close relationship. He directs his attention to me. “There’s work to do to make sure your image with the fans stays intact. Everyone loves the hothead to a certain point, but they need to get a sense of you off the ice as well.”

  My forehead wrinkles. “Excuse me?”

  “Florida Fury fans love you. They love how you protect your boys out there, but things have gone too far lately. This guy, Ike Breaner, called me today looking for a sponsor for an at-risk youth hockey team he works with. They need some money to run the team and some coaches to help them with their game.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Gerhardt,” Paisley says.

  “I hope you still think that when I tell you that I’d like you two to head it up.”

  Paisley coughs and reaches for a bottle of water that’s sitting in front of her.

  Interesting. But if I can somehow use this as a tradeoff for therapy, I’m down.

  “I know you’re both busy and Petrov won’t be able to be as involved as you, Paisley, because of his commitments to the team, but from the amount of time you hang out with Jana, it seems you have time to kill.”

  She scoffs quietly, and I bite down my laugh at Gerhardt pretty much saying she doesn’t have a social life except for her best friend. I’m more than happy to find out she doesn’t date much.

  “Well, I do have other clients besides the team,” she says.

  He nods. “I know you do, but you don’t see them on the weekends, do you?”

  “What exactly are we required to do?” I ask.

  Gerhardt sighs, stands, and refills his glass. “I wouldn’t think of it as a requirement. It should be fun. Sure, you’re both there representing the Fury, but this will also let people see another side of you, Petrov.” He sits in his chair across from the couch. “You two would coach them—Paisley being the head coach, because of your time constrictions.”

  Paisley almost spits out her water but manages to swallow it. Bad visuals accost my brain for a moment before I get my act together. “Did you say I’m the head coach?”

  Gerhardt nods. “I have every confidence you’ll do a fine job.”

  “Mr. Gerhardt, I’ve never played hockey. I just enjoy watching it.”

  “And you know your stuff as well as any of the guys on the team. How many conversations have we had about plays and strategies?”

  “A lot,” she murmurs.

  Interesting.

  “And what do you expect me to do?” I ask.

  He turns in my direction while Paisley stares into her lap. So far, she hasn’t glanced at me once.

  “You’ll be the one on the ice, helping to develop their skills. I’d like you guys to make the schedule around the games so you’re there as much as possible. This will be great for you. The Fury fans are going to love you.”

  I thought they already did.

  He takes a file folder off the table and slides it over to us. “Here you go. This is all the information you need. I’ll be at your first game.”

  We both stare at the folder. He can’t seriously demand for me to do this. I mean, Paisley will do it out of the goodness of her heart, but me? My focus should be on hockey. Why is he always trying to control me?

  “Can I speak to you a moment?” I say to Mr. Gerhardt.

  “I know what you’re going to say. You need to do this, Maksim. For both our sakes.” His tone makes it clear this isn’t really a request.

  Paisley picks up the file folder and thumbs through it. She’ll do this whether I involve myself or not. She’s too kindhearted to tell Gerhardt to shove it up his ass, that if he wants everyone to think of him as some great guy who gives to the youth, then his ass should be out there with the kids. And I want to. I want to tell him off so bad right now, but Paisley won’t.

  So for her sake, I nod and say, “I’m in.”

  Gerhardt’s slimy smile almost makes me retract that declaration, but I don’t.

  “Good. Now the two of you can go discuss it. Figure out a schedule that works for both of you.” He heads over to his desk.

  Paisley stands. “Thank you, Mr. Gerhardt.”

  “Oh no, thank you, Paisley. If you need anything, just let me know. Jana said something about wanting to design the jerseys.”

  Paisley nods, but from the look on her face, I’m guessing that’s not going to happen.

  “Get your act together, Petrov,” he says.

  I close my eyes, thinking of my parents and Nadiya and all the friends I’ve made here. I can’t keep pissing off the boss and expect him to keep me here.

  “Sure.” I wave and walk out the doors of the office.

  We both bypass Mrs. Turner’s desk as she snickers to herself. Once we’re in the hallway, Paisley heads to her office and I follow, but she shuts the door in my face. Without missing a beat, I open the door and step inside. Her back is to me and she’s looking over the paperwork. God, her ass in that skirt is delectable.

  My hands clench at my sides, wanting to squeeze it. “Paisley?”

  She holds up her hand. “I’ve got this handled. We can just pretend, like we did with the therapy.”

  “But—”

  She turns around, and the sweet woman I’ve fallen for has disappeared. “It’s okay, Maksim. I’m a big girl.”

  I walk over and take the folder from her grasp. “This is my responsibility too. You’re not going to do this by yourself.”

  She grabs it back, almost giving me a paper cut. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance from each other.”

  “Distance?” I stare at her, stepping forward until I’m centimeters away from her and my hands rest on the desk behind her. “You want distance?”

  “Well, you did leave me shirtless in a hotel room last weekend.”

  I chuckle. Is that what this attitude is about? I was doing the right thing. “I dressed you before I left if I remember correctly.”

  She’s quiet for a beat. “Should I thank you for only partially embarrassing me?”

  “Oh, sweet kotik.” I inch my hands closer to her hips and her breathing shallows.

  “What does that mean? You called me that before.” Her voice is labored.

  “It means kitten.” Her forehead wrinkles, and I say, “Because you’re cute and innocent looking like a kitten, but you have claws.”

  Her eyes widen. I think she likes my pet name for her.

  “Anyway, I simply had to make a point.”

  “And what point were you making?” she asks.

  “That I’m not some player you can screw one time and be done with.”

  She stares at me for a long beat, then she laughs. Laughs so hard, my own mood improves. That’s when I know I’m in too deep.

  One week later, I arrive at the Fury arena with a box of supplies to start the at-risk youth program. We’re going to be called the Fury Juniors and Jana has agreed to help me.

  “Hey, Sid, thanks for coming in,” I say to the security
guard who has to be here on overtime to watch over the building during our practice.

  “No problem, Miss Paisley.”

  Mr. Gerhardt pulled out all the stops to make sure these kids feel like royalty. He hired a bus to pick them up and bring them here. They each have new skates, pads, and jerseys that Jana designed. Not sure how a bunch of twelve-year-olds will feel about polar bears, but it is what it is.

  I’m just getting everything organized when Jana walks in. I raise my eyebrows at her and she stops, looking down at herself.

  “What are you wearing?” I ask, shaking my head.

  She has on pink spandex tights, a leotard, leg warmers, and a pair of brand-new white skates hanging from her shoulder. She holds her arms out to her sides. “What?”

  “The eighties called and you’re wanted in Jazzercise.”

  She narrows her eyes.

  Seriously, I maybe could have understood if she showed up in a sequin leotard like when she was in the midst of her figure skating obsession, but I’m not sure where she got this look from.

  “I see nothing wrong with this,” she says. “I need to be flexible.”

  “All the twelve-year-olds are going to be staring at your ass the entire time.”

  She turns around and wiggles her ass in my direction, then picks up one of the jerseys. “Oh, it turned out so cute. Don’t you think it’s cute?”

  “It’s cute,” I say because it is, and I know she meant well.

  She sits on a bench and looks around. The Zamboni just cleaned the ice and it gleams in shiny perfection. “Where’s your sidekick?”

  “I told you, I have it under control. He needs to worry about other things.”

  “I don’t think that’s your call to make.”

  I ignore her comment until I have everyone’s stuff out for them, then I join Jana. “I’m way too embarrassed to continue seeing him. We have one more therapy session—if we’re going to consider the first two legit, which they weren’t. And that stays between us.”

  She holds out her pinkie and I wrap mine around it.