Delayed Penalty: A Pilots Hockey Novel

by Sophia Henry

  Though I’d had a few heavy make-out sessions in the past, no one had ever come close to bringing me to orgasm. I hadn’t felt anything but alcohol-induced lust for the guys I’d been with, so I’d definitely never felt comfortable enough to let myself go.

  Being comfortable with Aleksandr wasn’t a question. The question was: Would I be able to reel myself in before we went too far?

  I realized I was shaking when he rubbed his hands up and down my arms, as if to warm me up.

  “I’m not cold,” I told him, trying to calm my breath.

  “I know. I’m trying to keep my hands busy,” he said as he drove his hips into mine again, the friction escalating the throbbing sensation throughout my core.

  I squeezed his biceps. “Why?”

  “Because I want to touch you, Audushka.”

  Aleksandr disappeared under the comforter. His warm body slid down my skin before settling between my legs. While pausing to kiss the sensitive skin below my belly button, his deft fingers unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down my legs. I laced my fingers in his long, dark locks while arching against the mattress to give him a better angle to pull, and ended up thrusting my pelvis at his face.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. The rush of cool air from his curse hit me at the same time that his fingers brushed between my legs.

  It was then that I realized how different this situation was from anything I’d previously been involved in. I couldn’t get a handle on my desire, which was trumping all common sense at this particular moment. Even though he was wasted, I wanted him to tear my underwear away and push himself into me.

  Vision after vision ripped rampant through my mind. “Danger Ahead” signs. A paper heart bearing my name being ripped to shreds by hockey gloves. A feeling of absolute isolation and emptiness vibrated through every bone.

  I should ignore the Debbie Downer thoughts and side with my raging and ready hormones. I didn’t care if I woke up alone and used, my dignity like tin cans tied to the car of newlyweds, dented by each jolt against concrete. Being with Aleksandr was worth it, wasn’t it?

  No.

  Though I was ready as I ever had been, when it came down to reality, I didn’t want my first time to be while he was drunk. I wanted him to have control over what he was doing, rather than a sloppy, painful interaction I would regret later.

  Not that there had been anything sloppy about his current actions. He was the most nimble drunk I’d ever encountered.

  “Sasha, I don’t want to do this when you’re drunk,” I protested.

  “I don’t either,” he said as cold air took the place of the warmth where he’d been holding my thighs. Though we were in a king-sized bed with four humongous pillows, when he emerged from the depths of the comforter he rested his head on the same pillow as I, his face inches from mine. He gripped my hips, his hands slipping under the fabric of my underwear as he pulled me closer.

  “Sasha,” I warned when he rolled me to my back, pressing his body weight against me. I could’ve kicked myself for telling him I wanted to wait until he was sober. It wasn’t really true. I wanted him inside me.

  “We don’t have to have sex, Audushka,” he whispered, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “I know you’re close.”

  Hearing him verbalize how aware he was of my current state of excitement made me squirm, giving away any poker face I was trying to keep. His mouth lifted into his trademark smirk. I wanted his mouth all over me, and though I was insanely comfortable with him, I wasn’t bold enough to tell him.

  “Just say yes.”

  Teetering on the edge of the ultimate release I’d only ever accomplished by myself must have swayed me in the direction of extreme selfishness.

  “Yes,” I whispered. Then I slipped into oblivion.

  The last thing Aleksandr had done before falling asleep was kiss the top of my head and curl his body around mine. Deep breaths and counting sheep, my usual remedies to calm down, weren’t having any soothing effect on my rapid heartbeat. Being wrapped in his arms with nothing but my shirt and underwear between us kept my pulse pumping for completely different reasons than I normally felt with guys.

  In my experience, lying in a guy’s bed made me feel trapped like a firefly in a mason jar. I’d lie there, anxiously waiting for the opportunity to slink out as fast as I could. I’d always been able to walk away. I didn’t have any such claustrophobic feelings with Aleksandr, and that freaked me out. He had a hold on me. A hold much stronger than the heavy arm draped over my waist.

  I never wanted to let myself slip into thinking I couldn’t live without someone, because I knew it was a lie. When you grow up without the most important people in your life, you know you can—and will—live without anyone.

  Chapter 14

  Two days after Christmas, I was back in my seat at “The Hangar,” which was Robinson Arena’s nickname. As I waited for the game to begin, I surveyed the crowd. There were the normal jersey-wearing hockey fans—men, women, kids. And then there were the puck bunnies. I’m not talking about normal women who like hockey but don’t want to wear a jersey to the games. I’m talking about the girls wearing tight tank tops, skirts barely covering their butts, and knee-high boots. The girls who were obviously not there for the love of the game but for catching the attention of the players.

  As I continued scanning the crowd, I spotted the BFAs. Bunnies for Aleksandr. One girl wore a replica of Aleksandr’s Pilots jersey and Daisy Dukes—I assumed. I could see only legs sticking out from under the jersey; I hoped she’d had some kind of shorts on underneath. Another wore a Pilots T-shirt with Aleksandr’s name and number on the back. The shirt was so tight, I’d bet my car the tag inside would have a capital Y denoting a youth size. She’d cut the front into a deep V and used shoelaces to tie it together, creating great cleavage. It was also cut and tied on each side, revealing tight, smooth abs. I was slightly jealous; hers was a killer stomach.

  When the announcer introduced Aleksandr, I’d jumped from my seat and clapped like Pavlov’s freaking dog. So when I caught myself staring at him as he stood at the blue line shuffling his skates, I lifted my gaze and scanned the arena again. Unfortunately for my self-esteem, my eyes went straight back to the bunnies, with their big breasts bouncing in their seductive altered T-shirts and their plump, painted lips screaming his name. I lowered myself into my seat, casually inspecting my hands.

  The guy next to me leaned over. “Don’t worry about them. Varenkov only has eyes for you.”

  I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Whatever.”

  “You’ve got his eye right now.” He nodded to the ice.

  Aleksandr wasn’t paying attention to the man in military regalia singing the national anthem in a rich baritone. His eyes were on the section of seats where I was sitting. All the bunnies were sitting behind the goal, which was far right of where I was, so he wasn’t looking at them. Turning my head slightly, I stole a glance at the people occupying the seats behind me—a couple of old guys and a kid.

  Aleksandr brought his gloved hand to his lips, then pounded his heart twice, before he dropped his arm back to his side. He didn’t smile, which was good. He needed to focus. What the hell was he doing looking up here anyway?

  “Are you his girlfriend?” the man next to me asked.

  “Uh, no.” I laughed his comment off, though I could feel my cheeks burn. Despite how close we’d grown in the last two weeks, Aleksandr and I hadn’t discussed our relationship status, so I couldn’t just assume he was my boyfriend. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “This is where the wives and girlfriends sit.” He thrust his hand at me. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

  I shook it. “Auden.”

  “The translator. That’s right.” Jason nodded, leaning forward and grabbing his beer from the cup holder.

  The translator. Of course, I was just the translator.

  “Which one are you?” I asked.

  “Which what am I?”

  “You said this is where wives and
girlfriends sit, so which one are you?” I winked.

  Jason laughed, deep and hearty. “I’m Landon Taylor’s brother.” He pointed to the ice. “Number six. I try to see a game whenever I’m in town.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Bridgeland.”

  “I go to school there. Central State.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.” I laughed. Then realized I wasn’t talking to Drew.

  “Wayne’s World was a little before your time, wasn’t it?” Jason’s eyes scanned my face, as if estimating my age.

  “You knew that?”

  “Uh, yeah. It’s a classic.”

  “Party on, Jason.” I held my fist out.

  “Party on, Auden.” He grinned, bumping his knuckles with mine.

  The pale blue eyes peeking out from under the faded navy Detroit Tigers baseball cap on his head were kind and familiar. It didn’t feel like I was talking to a stranger, more like hanging out with an old friend. I wasn’t looking to ditch Aleksandr for him, but I’d bet Jason Taylor got his fair share of the ladies.

  Not that Aleksandr was mine to ditch. A Christmas gift and a drunken make out wouldn’t mean much to a guy like him. We hadn’t spoken since I’d snuck out of his apartment early the following morning. Waking him up at six-thirty just to say goodbye seemed rude, so I left. No big deal. That’s what I kept telling myself. But I’d probably messed everything up by sneaking out. Stupid, ingrained flight mentality.

  “Have you ever been to Johnny’s?” I asked. “I’m a server there.”

  “I knew you looked familiar. I thought it was because I saw you send Aleks down in flames when he hit on you in Canada.”

  “Someone has to put him in his place.” I laughed. “Ask for me next time you’re there. Coffee’s on Johnny.”

  “Coffee’s always on Johnny. I’m a cop. She keeps us awake for free.”

  That was true. Johnny always let the cops drink coffee for free. She said it was her civic duty to help them stay focused on protecting and serving the community. I thought it was because she had a thing for guys in uniform.

  The Pilots and their opponent, the Providence Bruins, skated into their positions for the opening face-off. Aleksandr was the left wing on the first line. When the referee dropped the puck, I scooted to the edge of my seat and stayed there for the first twelve minutes of the period, watching the furious pace of the game.

  “Shit!” I slammed back against my seat when the Bruins scored.

  “You’re pretty intense,” Jason said.

  I jumped, having forgotten Jason was there. And conversing with me.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. I get excited. Edgy,” I said, hoping my cheeks weren’t announcing the wave of embarrassment washing over me.

  “No, it’s cool. I can see why Varenkov picked you over any of them.” He nodded to the bunnies. “Plus, you can understand what he says.”

  “Well, I doubt he does much talking with bunnies anyway.”

  “True.” Jason shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “He usually just ignores them.”

  “Don’t most guys, after they’ve slept with someone?” I joked, remembering Drew’s warning that Aleksandr was a dick to bunnies he’d slept with. Was I in for the same treatment? When I glanced over, Jason stared at me like I had snakes wriggling from my head. Guess he didn’t like my grouping “most guys” into the jerk category. “Some guys?”

  “Aleksandr doesn’t sleep with bunnies. He doesn’t even talk to them,” Jason said.

  “Sure.” I winked conspiratorially. “When we met, he told me he could have a different bunny every night of the week.”

  Jason nodded. “Yeah, he could. But he doesn’t.”

  “He’s a total player,” I argued, sliding to the edge of my seat.

  “Who told you that?”

  “I, he, I don’t know. I just assumed by what an ass he is and how many sexual comments he makes.”

  “You assumed he was a player because he acts like a twenty-one-year-old male.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it without speaking because Jason was right. I’d assumed Aleksandr was a player because of his stupid pickup line at the bar and his cockiness. He had the similar arrogant air of the guys I’d been burned by in the past.

  “Look, I don’t know Varenkov as well as my brother does, but Landon told me he’s never brought a girl back to their place. Especially not one of them.” He nodded to the bunnies again.

  “Oh,” I said, though it came out so soft that Jason may not have heard it. I leaned back into my seat and focused on the action on the ice. Ready to stick with what I know.

  How the hell had the hot Russian hockey god never hooked up with a bouncing-breasted bunny?

  When the game ended, Jason and I both stood and cheered with the rest of the arena at the final score. Pilots 4, Bruins 3. Aleksandr scored one goal and assisted on two others. My heart filled with pride for him.

  I waited to watch Aleksandr skate off the ice with his team before tapping Jason’s shoulder.

  “Thanks for the chat,” I told him, as he stuffed his arms into his coat.

  “Yeah, you, too. I’m sure I’ll see you at Johnny’s.” Jason winked.

  Translating for Aleksandr during interviews after the games was getting easier and easier. Not just because I was getting more comfortable with it, but also because Aleksandr was answering parts of the questions. Though it had been three games since my grandpa had called him out on knowing English, he had taken the reins on speaking to the media himself. I was there as backup when he had to pretend he didn’t understand something they asked or didn’t know the English words to respond.

  Obviously, Aleksandr couldn’t go from not speaking any English at all to being fluent. During practice he spoke in broken English and clipped sentences, because he had that skill mastered. Still, learning English was a slow process. I was more than happy to go along with his act, because I had two and a half weeks before I went back to school, and I liked having an excuse to spend time with him.

  Just when I started to think that way, my brain reminded me that he hadn’t called since our intimate night together.

  I felt like an old cartoon character carrying a fictional little angel and devil on each shoulder. The little white liar, so ecstatic I’d met my match, jingled wedding bells. The red realist reminded me how good an actor Aleksandr was, as demonstrated by his ability to fool the media into thinking he barely knew English. Why did I always think the worst?

  As if he’d heard my internal monologue, Aleksandr stood up, reaching over me to grab something off the top shelf of his locker.

  “Thank you for being with me on Christmas,” he whispered in my ear, as he retrieved a towel.

  Though I tried to contain my outward emotion, my insides were flipping like a gymnast during an uneven-bars routine. He didn’t regret our night together.

  “It was my pleasure.” The words slipped out in English, as I was too flustered to come up with a response in Russian. At least I’d remembered to keep my tone professional, though I doubted anyone believed we were talking about the game, with his mouth so close to my ear.

  Someone beside me snickered. When I turned to see who it was, Landon’s shoulders shook while he rubbed a towel over his wet blond waves.

  Nice word choice, Auden.

  Aleksandr leaned into me, ignoring Landon. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll cook you dinner. We’ll watch a movie. I’ll kiss your beautiful lips again.”

  “Sure, I can tutor you tomorrow.” I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag on my shoulder. Guys always talk about mentally reciting baseball rosters or picturing their fat aunt Edna to keep from getting too excited. Talking about tutoring was my fat aunt Edna equivalent.

  “See you tomorrow.” He skimmed my hip with his fingers as he edged past me to the shower.

  I shivered. Of course I shivered, it was cold in the basement dungeon locker room. It had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to hook up again. Or the fact tha
t he remembered it though he’d been drunk. Nothing to do with wanting to feel his lips on every part of my body.

  Nope. Nothing to do with any of that.

  Chapter 15

  “You’re on math duty,” I told Aleksandr as he pulled his Jeep to the curb in front of a small church that housed the after-school program I’d started. It was only ten-thirty a.m., but Detroit’s public schools had a day off for a teacher workday.

  “My English isn’t good enough to tutor children?” Aleksandr asked, shifting the Jeep into park and sliding out of his seat.

  “It’s not supposed to be,” I reminded him as he opened the door for me. “Numbers are numbers. I’m not good at math.”

  “Not good at elementary school math?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a puff of his clove.

  “Dude, stomp the cigarette. We’re supposed to be good influences, remember?” I nuzzled my face in his neck, inhaling deeply to get a good whiff of him as he mashed his cigarette into the sidewalk with one of his black-and-white checkered Vans.

  One of Aleksandr’s unwritten off-ice duties as a Pilots player was to participate in community-service projects in the area. Since he’d been in Detroit for only two months, he hadn’t found a specific charity he wanted to get behind yet. So I invited him to join me.

  “Hey, guys!” I called to the dozen or so kids seated in folding chairs at a long table. My heart melted when their eyes brightened and their lips curled into smiles upon seeing me. All of them started speaking at once; yelling hello, calling my name, talking a mile a minute about whatever it was they had on their mind. It was the best greeting ever, but I put my finger to my lips. “Shh. I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Sorry, I got them all riled up, Case.” I pulled Casey Johnson into a hug, before taking a step back. “I brought our first celebrity volunteer. Aleksandr Varenkov, from the Detroit Pilots.”

  “First celebrity? What about me?” Casey’s lips spread into a large smile, revealing bright but slightly crooked teeth. Upon first glance, the former Central State football player’s six-foot-five, 245-pound frame and bald head looked intimidating, but his smile was effortless and genuine. Watching him interact with the kids reinforced my decision in recruiting the gentle giant to run the Detroit program while I finished my degree at Central State.