by Brit DeMille
“You can literally get a job anywhere else,” I say. “So what if you get fired?”
“Who’d fucking hire me after they see video of me in a bar fight, Evan?”
“You weren’t in a bar fight, Holly. I was in a bar fight. You were an innocent bystander and I was defending your virtue and your friend’s virtue. We can spin it. Everyone knows Demoskev is an aggressive prick. We’ll just make sure people know what he said to tip things off.”
She wanders over to the kitchen and bangs the drawers open and closed until she finds a bag, then she fills it with ice from the freezer. She practically throws it at me and says, “Put this on your eye.”
I don’t know why this pisses me off so much. It just does. I say, “You’re overreacting. For one, you’re swearing an awful lot and that’s not you. So just take a minute, breathe, and calm yourself.”
“Don’t tell me how to feel about this!” she yells angrily. “You know what? I’m leaving. I’m going to my own room, taking a bath, and figuring out what to do about this social media mess that will probably have me in the unemployment line by morning.”
She heads toward the door, but I’m not letting her go so easily. No, I’m up and on her like a tiger on its prey. She spins around, mouth open to shout at me. Probably planning on telling me to go sit down, or leave her alone, but she doesn’t get any of it out before my lips are on hers.
At first, she tenses, but then she opens up to me, my tongue slipping inside as I press her against the door. She bites my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. She calls me a ‘dirty fucker’ much to my surprise. I kiss and bite her neck in response as I lift her dress up over her hips and pull the top down to meet it. It bunches at her waist, her tits exposed and ready for my mouth. I rip her panties off of her as she fumbles with my belt and jeans. They fall to my ankles and I’m inside of her, ramming her against the door, her legs wrapped around my waist, my cock stroking deeply as I pump into her hard and fast.
She doesn’t come, but I do, and quickly. But it’s fine. I manage to get us both to the couch and lay her down, so I can ravage her tits with my lips and teeth. She arches her back, spewing sharp words at me. She’s so furious right now, and this is nothing but an angry fuck, but we both need it, angry or not. We need the reminder that our connection goes so much further than the clusterfuck from tonight can hurt us.
I slip three fingers inside her. It’s sloppy and wet and it only gets wetter while I bite at her nipples. She moves her hips almost violently, meeting my thrusts, her face serious and determined. When she comes, her tense expression melts away her head tilts back and her eyes close. Her orgasm seems to last forever, and watching it happen is hot as fuck.
I’m hard—ready to go again as I carry her to the bedroom and lay her out on the massive bed. The rest of the clothes and shoes go away until we’re both naked and I can do my best work. A soft bed and Holly naked beneath me are the sum total of my requirements right now.
I take my time kissing her, sweetly and thoroughly before moving my lips to other parts of her body that need my attention. When I have her writhing beneath my kisses and I know she’s ready, I line up my cock and push inside her slowly, watching the penetration of her tight little cunt as she takes me all the way to my balls. So fucking sexy. I want it burned into my memory for the rest of time.
The satisfied moan she gives me tells me I got it right.
We make love, finding a soft rhythm totally different from the violence of just a moment ago. When we come again, I have her eyes on mine as we convulse together, our bodies so close we can’t tell where one of us ends and the other begins. I keep my promise to her from earlier.
I want to tell her I love her, but I’m afraid. We need to talk this whole mess out first. But now is not the time because we’re both drained and exhausted. We need sleep. And I need to clear away all the shit from tonight out of my head. And I need to hold the woman I love in my arms.
When I wake up, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but more worrisome to me is that Holly is nowhere to be found. There’s no note, no text, no voice mail. However, my agent has spammed me with about a thousand texts telling me to call him right the fuck now.
I dial up as I shuffle into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. My eye is swollen but not as bad as expected. My pinky has turned purple. The rest of me is banged and bruised but I won’t let it get in the way today. I won’t let any of it get in the way.
“What the actual fuck?”
This is the way Scott answers his phone.
“Have you seen the news today?” he barks. “You and Georg are all over social, all over the broadcast stations.”
“I just woke up.”
“Well, to catch you up to speed,” he says sharply, “the league covered your asses by paying the club owner for the damage you caused. You’re welcome. You’re fuckin’ lucky you’re not arrested for assault, and that’s only because Demoskev, of all people, took responsibility for it and said he didn’t want to press charges.”
“Really…” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Yes, really. He told the police he was drunk and saying things to try to goad you and Georg into a fight. He said Georg only intervened when he insulted your dates, and you only intervened to pull Georg off of him.”
“That’s actually close to the truth,” I say. “They both must have forgotten about Georg’s accidental backhanded spin move to the face.”
“Viktor’s been suspended from participation in the weekend,” Scott continues. “He’s probably already in a press conference to say all of it on record.”
“Well, sounds like it’s all fine and dandy, then. Why so bent?”
“Evan,” he says, calmer now, “This is not like you. Did I not just tell you we’d be fine, if you didn’t get hurt and you didn’t do anything stupid?
“You did say that, yes.” He’s right, but right now I’m more concerned about what’s up with Holly.
“Are you hurt?”
“Minor things. It won’t keep me off the ice.”
“Fuck!”
“Demoskev made the first move,” I remind him. “Georg was only having a good time with Pam. And we were in a loud, crowded club. Let’s focus on that.”
“I get it,” he says. “I do. I really do. It’s just your stock was so high, man. You were having a pretty perfect season. You were looking settled and stable off the ice. This is just not good, Evan.”
“Scott, okay—I mean, what do you want me to say? It wasn’t our fault. Could I have tried to diffuse it? Sure. I mean, I did, but he kept pushing.”
Scott sighs on the other end of the line. “Okay, well, I’ve got to run. Good luck out there today.”
I hang up without saying goodbye. I guess that could have been worse. Barely.
I shower and take a few Ibuprofen. I’ve got a few hours before the skills challenge starts, so I call for a car. The driver must know my state of mind, because the Marshall Tucker Band is playing. The song is mellow, guitar-driven, and the singer’s voice is gravelly as he sings, Can’t you see? Can’t you see? What that woman’s been doin’ to me. I lay my head back and let the song wash over me, while I think about what Holly has done to me. I thought I was just going out for flowers, and maybe I’ll stop and get those, too, but I have the driver instead take me to Rodeo Drive, where I wander into the first jewelry store I find.
A too-skinny woman in a black pantsuit greets me. “Hello, can I help you?”
“I want to buy an engagement ring,” I tell her.
“Congratulations,” she says with a smile, walking back behind the counter. “Come on over here and let’s talk. Tell me about your girlfriend.” I approach the glass case and see that her name is Candace according to her badge.
“Well, Candace, she’s very stylish but also not ostentatious. She’s smart and talented but also practical. She likes bright things but bigger is not necessarily better in her book. And she’s an athlete, a runner.”
“Okay, so I’d say let’s splurge on quality rather than size. I’ve got a few simple designs that won’t be too heavy or bulky when she’s working out.”
Candace pulls out a few selections and we talk about each one. I’m not feeling any of them though, so she purses her lips, thinking, and then holds up a finger and runs over to another case. The ring she pulls out is more of a band than anything else, with one larger stone in the middle of a row of diamonds that glitter all the way around the band.
“This is perfect, thank you, Candace.”
I make my purchase and leave, thinking about how I think I knew Holly was the one the moment I met her.
Is it crazy I’m out buying an engagement ring? Yes. Yes it is. It’s crazy because I never saw myself as the guy who would settle down and make a commitment. It’s crazy because we’ve only been together a few months. It’s crazy because I haven’t even had the courage to tell her I’m in love with her.
For a million reasons, I should not have bought this ring yet. And maybe it will be a while before I give it to her. Hell, maybe she’ll decide I’m not worth the risk to her career. Maybe she doesn’t love me back. But the feel of the box in my hand is reassuring, for some reason, so I feel like I made the right decision, as impulsive as it was.
I feel so good about this I go into the skills competition with a fire in my belly. Georg wanders in only minutes before it’s about to start. He’s just as badly beaten as I am, with bruises on his face and hands.
“Did you hear?” he asks as he suits up. “Demoskev did a press conference this morning and took responsibility for the brawl?”
“I heard…after I got my ass chewed by my agent.”
Georg shakes his head. “We dodged a bullet, man.”
I nod. “We did. But he was a fucking shitbag who deserved to have his ass handed to him.”
“True,” he says. “I’m so relieved Pam wasn’t hurt in the clusterfuck.”
I grimace. “I suppose it’s why he’s so penitent. We’re on camera defending women. He’s on camera insulting and nearly hitting them.”
We head out and take the ice. After passing, puck control, and hardest shots, the Pacific team is in the lead for points. Our goalie—a goalie from Vancouver—struggles to save the first few shots. We don’t necessarily need him in order to stay ahead, but it would be nice to have the points. Plus, I need him to be able to make saves as our starting goalie.
He warms up and comes in second in the competition. The day is pretty fun, with lots of people yelling for me and Georg, most of them giving us the thumbs-up for handing it to Demoskev.
After showers, we’re rounded up for press. Most of the questions are light and focused on the fun aspects of the day. I get a few about the scrap at the bar. Fiona has instructed me to say as little as possible, so all I say is, “It’s really encouraging to hear Viktor take responsibility for what happened. I could have kept a more level head, too. It was unfortunate, but I’m ready to move on. Hockey is all any of us want to focus on going forward.”
I check my phone a million times. Nothing from Holly, despite my numerous voice mails and text messages. I probably look like a stalker. I text her one more time: Baby, will you please tell me if you are okay?
We play the Metropolitan team tomorrow morning. I need to sleep. I need to ice my injuries. I need to perform well tomorrow. But even though I know these things, all I care about is finding Holly and making sure there still is an us.
Twenty-Three
Holly
I’ve been hiding from Evan’s view the whole day. I know I’m being immature. I should totally just go talk to him, or at least text him to let him know I’m okay. His texts and messages sound more and more worried, and even though he’s performing well in skills, I can see on his face that his head isn’t totally in the game. He keeps scanning the arena and I know he’s looking for me, which is why I’m well hidden in a little pocket of seats at the far end of the arena, wearing an Anaheim hat, which he would never allow. He would call it bad luck, but hey, it’s good disguise.
I do feel like a traitor wearing it, for the record. That said, I was getting recognized earlier in the day and I needed to hide not just form Evan, but from everyone.
I snuck out of his room almost as soon as he fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep due to the huge pit of anxiety that settled into my stomach. I needed to know what was out in the world about the fight. I needed to have a plan for how I would answer questions about it. There was also the little issue of him coming inside me sans condom. Twice. I absolutely cannot blame him for all of it, though. I was just as into the angry-sex session as he was.
Fiona’s call came at five in the morning. We met for breakfast and she frowned the entire time. The conversation went about as well as to be expected.
“I should fire you,” she said while stirring milk into her coffee.
“I didn’t really do anything wrong, Fiona. Viktor was really nasty, and it wasn’t until he started insulting my friend and me that the guys got involved.”
“I spoke with Max earlier and he said Viktor will accept responsibility. But that’s not the point. The point is that you’ve already blatantly flouted our rules on fraternization by dating Evan Kazmeirowicz. Then you’re out with a second player and you’re in the middle of a bar fight with these guys. This does not look good for the team, Holly.”
“I understand it doesn’t look good,” I said. “Do you think I’d work as hard as I do, only to blow apart everything I’ve worked to build in one, stupid night? No, I wouldn’t. Viktor is to blame for this. Georg was only defending Pam, and Evan was only trying to break the fight apart.”
“Well, I’m not convinced you’re not a social media liability to me, now,” she said with a constipated, pursed-lip look stuck on her face.
“I’m sorry, Fiona, but that’s bullshit.” I felt my face go hot. “I’ve been online all night, and I can attest that ninety-nine percent of people commenting and sharing are saying how horrible Viktor’s actions were, and how chivalrous it was for Georg and Evan to step in and defend our honor. While it’s unfortunate that it happened at all, it’s certainly bound to blow over quickly, and with limited negative effect on the Crush.”
“You are our social media manager and you were out with two of our star players—drunk and getting into a bar fight,” Fiona snapped. “Your tits were practically hanging out of your dress, Holly.”
“First of all, none of us were drunk. We hadn’t even been there that long. Viktor came over and insulted my friend and me. The guys tried to shut him up. Yes, things escalated quickly. Yes, we should have just left. But it doesn’t change the fact that Viktor caused all of this. And the length of my dress is completely irrelevant. I was out on a date with my boyfriend and off the clock.”
“You don’t get it, do you? You are never off the clock when you’re with the players that you’re supposed to be promoting as part of your job. I don’t care that you’re fucking one of them. I don’t care if Max Terry thinks your Evan’s his number one lucky charm. I just care that you were out with them on All-Star weekend, and that right now you’re all at the center of every top sports story out there. I hired you to help make our team look good.”
“I do. I work my ass off, Fiona, and you know it. You know I’m killing every other team when it comes to engagement. You know my strategies have helped increase ticket sales. I produce revenue for this organization. I am really good at what I do, and I won’t let you belittle my work just because you’re pissed that Max let me date Evan.”
The conversation continued only a few moments longer, because Fiona got a call and dismissed me with the wave of a hand. I wandered off, fielded a few questions, bought an Anaheim hat, and disappeared into the stands to cover the skills competition for our social media accounts.
All day, though, I’ve been bothered by only one part of her ridiculous tirade. The part where she said I’m never off the clock when I’m with the players I’m supposed to be
promoting. There is a small sliver of that statement that rings true to me. Can I ever just be Holly, out on a date with my boyfriend, Evan? The reality is we are a well-known couple now. Not celebrities, but close, and people will be watching us. And if I’m working for the Crush, and my love life is intertwined with it, how can we ever disentangle the two things from each other?
I don’t think I could just go find another job right now. Not after this snafu with the bar fight. It will blow over; I’m totally positive of that. But for now, I need to hang tight and do the best job I can, like I always have. And since I need to stay put, it really just leaves one option.
I’m going to have to break things off with Evan.
I wait until after dinner to text him.
Holly: Sorry, busy day. Good job out there.
Evan: Thanks
Holly: Are you in your room?
Evan: Yes
Holly: Mind if I pop over to talk?
Evan: That’s fine
Great. He’s pissed. Maybe it will make this easier.
You know it won’t.
I knock on the door to his suite and he opens. He’s shirtless and achingly attractive. He basically opens the door and then turns his back on me, wandering barefoot over to the couch, where he flops down and puts his feet on the coffee table.
“You had a good day on the ice,” I say, hovering awkwardly by the door.
“Where were you?” he asks stiffly without looking at me.
“In the stands, like I always am.”
“I didn’t see you. I looked and you were nowhere. And I texted. And I called. No response.”
“I’m sorry, Evan.”
“I was worried about you!” he shouts angrily. “And I was under a ton of bloody pressure today and I could have used your support. Instead, my head was about half in it and I spent the other half worrying you’d been sacked.”