by Brit DeMille
She cries out my name as we come together. I am speechless as I witness the look of utter possession on her face. I love this woman so much.
Eventually we come down from the pleasure and fall into a wonderful tangle of arms and legs, both of us whispering words of love and commitment in between a thousand kisses.
I am awake for a long time after she falls asleep. Just watching her breathe. I can’t believe I found her. I can’t believe she’s mine.
Crushed from the moment I laid eyes on her for the first time.
Utterly and happily crushed.
The End
Sneak Peek of SIN SHOT
VEGAS CRUSH #2
Please read on to enjoy the first five chapters of Book 2 in the VEGAS CRUSH series as Pam and Georg work out the kinks in their mutual attraction from Book 1. All books in the VEGAS CRUSH series are standalone contemporary romance with a happily ever after, and of course, some sexy hockey hunks burning up the pages.
SIN SHOT-VEGAS CRUSH #2
Coming June 2018.
Chapter 1
Pam
Mmm, 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. 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 vodka on the rocks? No one likes that? Oh. Well.
Not gonna lie, I totally flip through the gossip sites looking for pictures of him. I’m a sad little groupie. Not quite a puck bunny. 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.
Yeah, boy! I’m the Crush’s newest athletic trainer. Grad school is done and my good 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 ask.
He gives me a funny little half-grin. Guy is pretty cute, actually. Blonde, 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.”
I shake his hand. “Pamela Jenson,” I say. “And yes, I’m excited about both. The Crush had an amazing season last year, so I’m thrilled to 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.
“I’m a physical therapist,” I say. “Just finished grad school at UCLA. I worked really closely with the soccer teams there.”
“Awesome. I’m an athletic trainer.”
“They really seem to be beefing up the training staff this year,” I say.
“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. But only because my best friend is the social media manager here. She just married one of the players.”
“Oooohhhh, a breaker of policies,” Dale says conspiratorially. “Bad girl.”
I laugh. “She’s about the most rule-followingest person you could meet,” I say. “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 just 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 and Dale asks, “You know him?”
“Kind of. Not real well, though.”
“Well, he is known to be a bit of a womanizer,” Dale says. “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.”
The head of our team of therapists, trainers, and nutritionists gives us what I suspect is the every-year start-of-season pep-talk. He talks about keeping our players in top form, 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 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 talks about 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 remarks 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 keep my attention from the Russian player who keeps looking my way. Either way, I wish he’d stop while he was ahead.
My mind goes back 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 wander. My interest 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 wanted to put that out there.
After our first day on the job, I head to my new condo, which is Holly’s old condo in a cute little suburb of 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, 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 too–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 go straight to the store and pick out some new stuff. I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress for the past week, so you can imagine how pumped I am when the delivery truck pulls up.
Bonus! The two movers are buff and tan. I flirt shamelessly while they unload my new bedroom, living room, and dining room sets. I probably splurged too much, honestly, but I really felt the need to have my own space, my own stuff. And not stuff I found at the Goodwill, which is stop number one for any poor graduate student.
One of the movers wears a wedding ring but the other, a redhead with bright blue eyes, flirts right back at me.
“New to town, then?” he asks.
“Yep, just moved here. I work for the Crush,” I say, leaning against the doorframe while he and his partner put together my bed frame.
/> “Good gig,” he says appreciatively. “You a cheerleader?”
“Ha,” I say. “Hockey teams don’t have cheerleaders.”
He grins, a super cute dimple in his cheek. “I know. You’re just too cute to be, like, their accountant or something.”
“Awww, flattery will 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 bad.”
“Well, I’m a muscly dude,” he says. “I’ve got this pain in my shoulder…”
The other guy snorts and says, “Stop flirting and help me out here. We’ve got two more deliveries before we can be done for the day.”
I slink away, down to start myself some 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.
Oh, Vegas is going to be so much fun.
Chapter 2
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 say, giving him the middle finger.
He laughs. “There he is.”
“Did you see they hired Pam in the therapy room?” I ask.
“Holly’s best friend?” he asks pointedly. “Yes, I know she works here now. We put in a good word with the bosses to get her hired.”
“Shouldn’t they hire therapists with actual skills?” he asks. “I mean, a nice rack is great, but it doesn’t help with a sprained ankle.”
“Don’t be a pig,” Evan says. “You know she’s not just some dummy. And seriously, why are you so sweaty? Or is that booze sweat?”
“It’s not booze sweat,” I answer. “There’s a new trainer, too. He’s a hard-ass.”
“You were in the gym? Doing a workout?” he asks.
“You’re such a cunt,” I say, tossing 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,” I say. “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 makes a dubious noise and pulls on his jersey. “Come on, Arnold Schwarzenegger. 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 did 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 the gorgeous Pam Jenson here 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. So awkward that I couldn’t stop myself staring at her like some B-class creeper.
Once I’m all laced up, I head out 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 buddy Kevin says under his breath. “Did a puck bunny 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.”
“It was not. I called you an asshole.”
He grins. “I’ve been called worse.”
“And I was only one minute late,” I say. “I was in the gym.”
“With a puck bunny?”
“No, with an athletic trainer.”
“Guys!” yells Bellikowski. His comb-over 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,” Kevin and I both say.
“I was saying 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 into 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 and keeping the puck in front of our wingers.”
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, Kevin and I next to each other as we work on pass accuracy.
“Did you see Kazmeirowicz’s old lady?” Kevin asks. “Looks like she’s gonna pop.”
“Couple more months,” I say. “She looks cute, I think.”
“I can’t believe he settled down, let alone has a baby on the way.”
“Meh,” I say with a shrug. “He’s in love. Leave him be. And she’s great.”
“She’s hot, that’s for sure. Speaking of hot. I’ve been having shin splints, so I went down to the therapy rooms. There is a smoking hot blonde down there now. Have you seen her?”
“Yes, I have,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, even though I want to punch him and act like a crazy ape-man to get him to stop talking about Pam Jenson.
“So hot. Rack I’d like to smother myself in,” he says.
“Aren’t you dating someone?”
“Yeah, but a man can look.”
I roll my eyes and skate over to Evan, so we can drill several new plays. The relaxed first few days of practice becomes more intense as we work through several complicated plays and lots of speed and agility drills. By the end, I kind of 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.
After showering off, I head out and decide I should go down 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.
She’s working with our second-string goalie, who pulled a muscle in his shoulder during our defense intensive today. She’s got him face-down, his arms pulled up and contorted in a way that looks like it must hurt.
“My goodness don’t break the players,” I say as I walk in.
“Just doing my job,” Pam says.
“Yeah, Kolochev,” my teammate says. “Don’t you have a bottle of vodka to drain or something?”
“That’s real nice,” I say lightly, even though the words sort of 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…you will do great.”
“Thanks,” she says simply. She won’t even really look at me, so I stand, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, until I realize I’m just making things weird.
“Okay,” I say. “Then, okay. I’ll see you around.”
I leave, feeling like a big idiot. 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 ever fucked, so that wasn’t likely anyway. But maybe she might flirt with me a little–that didn’t seem so far-fetched.
I’m an idiot. I think I really do have a bottle of vodka to drain.
Chapter 3
Pam
I finish with the goalie and give strict instructions for Ibuprofen with alternating heat and ice as he heads out, wincing and telling me he’s not sure whether to propose marriage or curse my name. Seems about right.
Georg was so weird. It’s sweet that he came down to say hello or welcome or whatever, but he was so frigging aw
kward. It was kind of cute, I guess. I don’t know.
I head upstairs to meet Holly, who’s big belly looks hilarious on her skinny little body. Crazy lady still ran miles a day up until recently. She’s fitter than most non-pregnant ladies. Show-off. She pushes herself up from her chair, her little cubicle filled to the brim with photos of her and Evan now. They’ve made a little life together in a really short period of time. It’s sickening, really. Especially to women like me, who have no real interest in settling down or finding “the one” or whatever.
“How’s it going?” she asks, grabbing her purse.
“Good,” I say. “I really like the work a lot. Georg came down to say hello.”
Holly’s eyes go wide, and little 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 red-head wanders up.
“Hey, Holly?” the woman asks. “Before you go, could you approve this plan for pre-season on Snapchat?”
“I took a look at it earlier,” Holly says. “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 woman says. “Okay, that’s fine. I was just hoping we could give it to Fiona tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Holly says. “By the way…Scarlett, this is my very best friend in the whole world, Pam Jenson. Pam, this is Scarlett Woods.”
We shake hands. “Hey,” I say. “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.”