Page 14 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

welcome to the crush

Boris

“You look a little…constipated,” Scarlett says with a giggle. Her cheeks turn pink against her alabaster skin as she grins at the images when they pop up on the computer screen to be edited.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I comment.

“Nope, not the look we’re going for. And I know you can do better because I saw those sexy pictures you took for your last team. Your Crush pics need to be at least as nice.”

“I had hoped those had gone away by now,” I say, cringing.

“We are all immortal on the interweb.”

“So it seems. They were very adamant that sexy photos would help with attendance.”

“Did it work?”

“I believe so. Certainly not just because of me, though.”

“Uh, whatever,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re hot. You could probably get a woman pregnant just by looking at her.” I laugh. What the hell?

“Scarlett, what have we talked about?” Sid, her photographer scolds jokingly.

“Sorry. Inappropriate. Got it.”

Scarlett Woods manages most of the Crush’s social media and public relations.

She’s got the perfect name, since her hair is long and red and her personality is fiery.

She’s curvy, with large breasts and ample hips, and the slightest hint of a baby bump protruding under the cloth belt of her dress.

She rests her hand there protectively as she stands back to let the photographer take a few more pictures.

A glittering diamond adorns her ring finger.

This is who Georg mentioned, so she must be Viktor Demoskev’s fiancée.

“You are the woman who tamed the beast,” I comment, changing the subject away from my apparent hotness. “Viktor’s fiancée, correct?”

She grins. “He’s a beast all right. And yes, we are now engaged and expecting a child because why not just do everything all at once?”

I laugh and the photographer tells me that was perfect. He allows me to slip off the chair to take a peek at the images and I now see what Scarlett meant about the previous photos. My smile was all wrong, awkward and weird. These new ones are much more natural.

“Those are perfect,” Scarlett says, clapping the photographer on the back. “Sid, my boy, you are a photography genius. I love ya.”

“Well, headshots are not my forte but I’m glad these are working out okay,” Sid says.

The photographer looks young. He can’t have been doing this for very long, but I have seen some of his game day photos and he’s very talented.

“Thank you for not making me look like a pridurok,” I tell him.

“Um, you’re welcome?” Sid answers.

“It means idiot,” Scarlett says. “In Russian.”

“I thought I read in your stats that you were born in Romania?” Sid asks, as he quick-edits one of the shots. “Scarlett, you want this in your inbox now, I assume?”

“Yup,” she says. “Come on, big man. Let’s go upstairs and get some questions answered for the next social media campaign. First question: Are you Russian or Romanian?”

“I was born in Romania, my father’s country, but lived in the Czech Republic until my early teens. After my mother and father divorced, she chose to return to her native Russia and I went with her to begin my training for Olympic hockey.”

“That was concise,” she says, laughing. She stands on tiptoes to kiss Sid on the cheek, thanking him before motioning for me to follow her out into the hallway.

We walk to the elevators and take one to the administrative floor, where her office is located.

She leads me to a conference room and asks if I need water or coffee.

I turn down both, just ready to get this over with.

I am not a fan of self-promotion, though I realize it is required of me.

Scarlett takes a seat opposite me and lets out a sigh, closing her eyes. “I’m only like five months along and already worn out. Imagine when I’m like three times this size.”

She takes off her high-heeled shoes and then turns her attention back to me as she opens an iPad and taps her pen against it. “So, you played in the Sochi games for Russia, right?”

“Yes, I was on the official team.” I played exactly one shift in those Olympics, but I don’t need to tell her that.

“But not for OAR in the Korea games?

“No.”

“Were you bothered by the fact that Russia could not be represented as a country?”

“Is this really part of your series?”

“No,” she admits. “I’m just curious.”

“I was not bothered.”

“So you’re, what, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“And you’ve been playing in the US for four years?”

“Yes.”

“You know, these one or two-word answers are not gonna cut it, buddy,” Scarlett teases.

I lift a shoulder. “I’m not an exciting guy.” And you’ve only asked me yes or no questions so far. But I know not to voice that out loud.

“You’re exciting on the ice, as far as I can tell. Fast, calculating. You’re among the top scorers in the league. What makes you love hockey so much?” Ah. Here is a better question.

“Initially, hockey gave me a place to direct my teenage energy and frustration. It grew into something I was good at, so I put all of my focus toward it.”

“There we go,” she says, grinning. Her grin disappears from her face quickly, though, and she shoots to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Scarlett Woods literally goes running out of the room, a hand over her mouth, in her bare feet. I crane my neck until she disappears, then sit back, confused.

I’m playing a game on my phone when she returns a few minutes later.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says, shaking her head. “People tell me I’ll feel better in the second trimester but that has not been the case for me.”

“Oh, you threw up?” I ask, surprised.

“Profusely. I apologize.”

“There is no reason to apologize. Pregnancy is a miracle, even those parts.”

“That’s awfully sweet. Viktor always looks like he might puke, too.”

I just grin and shake my head. Scarlett asks why and I answer, “There is a common joke I have heard about something being in the water here. Players finding love with the women who work for the team, getting married, having babies. Though Georg says no way to children.”

“Probably a good idea,” Scarlett says with a laugh.

“How is this possible? Perhaps I really should go drink from the water fountains.”

“You looking for love, Mister Ice Dragon?”

“I would not be opposed to finding love, but I want it to happen naturally, because I am not a man who is looking for something cheap.”

“Well, if that doesn’t make women swoon.

I’m surprised they’re not lined up outside the doors.

But I will say that none of us came by these relationships easily.

We all had baggage to overcome. The no-fraternization policy of the team being one.

” She chuckles and then adds, “It’s probably time to ditch the policy now, anyway.

It’s kind of a joke after three players got involved with staff.

And Max Terry is a big softie about it anyway. ”

“Oh, I am not looking to make any waves. My main priority is the game.”

“Focused, determined, ready for what comes next,” Scarlett says as she writes. “A pro at sixteen. An Olympian at twenty. A superstar in the KHL and then the NHL. And now you’ve brought that focus on the game over here to benefit the Crush. I like it.”

We talk for a few more minutes before I announce that I need to get changed for practice. Scarlett thanks me for my time and walks me out, introducing me to her boss, Fiona, as we walk past a spacious office.

“So very nice to meet you, Boris,” Fiona says, shaking my hand and holding it a little overlong.

She wears a wedding ring but seems like a woman in need of attention from a man.

Her eyes are the wandering kind. I’ve seen a few of those over the years, so I know what it looks like.

I also know how to act oblivious and uninterested. Lots of practice.

I nod as Scarlett tells her boss that I’m the strong, silent type, which makes them both giggle, and makes me feel uncomfortable. I can feel my cheeks heating, so I thank them both and leave as quickly as possible.

The team is mostly dressed already when I enter the locker room, so I hurry to pull off my street clothes and shove myself into my practice uniform pants.

I’m only a minute behind them as I take the ice, apologizing to Coach and letting him know I was stuck with the PR team.

He pairs me with Viktor so I can practice shots on goal while Viktor practices defending the goal.

What I don’t understand is why he’s brutally checking me hard, as if I’m an enemy and not a comrade. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“I met your Scarlett today,” I say as I lob a shot that strikes the goal’s corner post. Viktor skates to it, passes it back to me, and gets back into position. “She’s quite vibrant. Glowing with your child. You are a lucky man.”

I move with the puck, ready to make the shot when Viktor barrels at me. He checks me again, but this time, he pulls off his gloves and helmet and gets in my face, my practice jersey balled in his fists as he growls at me.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, shoving him off me. “This is practice. I’m your teammate.”

“Stay the fuck away from Scarlett,” he hisses at me, teeth bared like an animal. “Do not look at her. Ever.”

“Peace, brother,” I say as he slams me into the glass.

Evan and Georg pull him away, Georg swearing a blue streak in Russian as Evan orders Viktor to the bench to cool off. Coach calls the whole lot of us over to the benches as Viktor skates to grab his gloves and helmet.

“You okay?” Evan asks me.

“Yes, I’m fine, it’s okay.” And it is. Viktor Demoskev didn’t get his reputation for being a hothead from nowhere. And his fiancée is pregnant. He probably feels a lot of things, including protectiveness. And hockey players fight a lot. It’s no big deal.

As we near the benches, though, Demoskev, still practically breathing fire, glares at me.

“Hey, Viktor, I meant no disrespect. Only making conversation.”

“I can’t believe you are among lead scorers,” he bites back. “Hard to believe such a pussy would be successful in hockey.”

Georg is up in Demoskev’s face immediately. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get your head out of your ass. He’s being nice, you fucking moron.”

“Third best scorer in the league. Fifty-two goals in his rookie season. Olympic prospect at fourteen,” says Mikhail, the winger who pairs so well with our team captain, Evan.

“What are your stats, Demoskev? Leader of the dirtiest checks in hockey history? How many hours do you spend in the box each season? Back the fuck off the new guy.”

Viktor’s partner on defense, Tyler, chimes in next, “No one needed this asshole here anyway. Everything was good but ownership got greedy, and now we’ve got this hand job out here upsetting everybody.”

Shouting breaks out between several of the players as I watch in disbelief.

It’s only when our coach whistles that things go silent.

We all turn to face him for the ass chewing that’s coming because he does not look pleased.

“Grow the fuck up, you bunch of teenagers. What the hell do you think this is? A playground? No, it’s a fucking professional hockey team.

You all get paid a shit ton of money to do a goddamn job, not to fight like fucking bullies in the school yard. ”

A round of “sorry, Coach” ripples through the group.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna be real sorry, now,” he barks.

“You ass-clowns get to do extra training hours until you can get along and play like a unit. I’m not having this level of bullshit out on the ice when we’re in season, so get it out of your systems, or suffer the consequences.

We’re not missing out on the Cup this year.

It’d be sheer stupidity if we did, what with a lineup like this.

If we fire on all pistons, there’s no reason we can’t get there, so get your shit together and act like fucking grownups. ”

We’re all quiet for a moment as Coach explains what he intends for us to do.

Our punishment begins with some real remedial drills.

The guys groan and most of them blame Viktor, who scowls the whole way through.

When we have finished up and are in the locker room, the last thing I see of Viktor is his naked ass as he heads into the showers.

His friend Tyler, however, holds two fingers up to his eyes, then points those fingers at me.

He mouths, “I’m watching you,” flips me off, and disappears into the showers, as well.

The fuck?

“Welcome to the Crush,” Georg says, patting me on the back. “We’re really glad you’re here.”

“Right. I’m feeling the love for sure.”