Page 32 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2
Talia: Sounds good. Make sure there’s meat on the menu.
Boris: ;-)
I realize after sending that last text that it sounds a bit dirty.
But maybe that’s okay, considering I have big plans to wear my heart on my sleeve and ravage him completely until he says he’ll be my boyfriend.
In the back of my mind, I read his texts as a bit cold and worry that he’s about to tell me he’s done with whatever this is between us, but screw it, I’m going all out, even if I fall on my face.
Two hours later, I’m in a very good box seat with some of the players’ wives and significant others. A pretty blonde plops down in the seat beside me, and says, “Who are you?”
It’s not a rude question, just a curious one. She’s got a broad smile and a big chest.
“I’m, uh, Talia Wentworth?”
“Ohhhh,” she says, as if my name means something to her.
“Oh?”
She grins. “You’re the one our Boris is all tied up over.”
“Oh, he’s not…I mean, I’m just his financial advisor.”
“His financial advisor and the person he most wants to date,” she answers, grinning like a hyena. “We’ve spent many a therapy session talking about you. I’m Pam, by the way.”
“You’re his…therapist?” I ask.
“Physical therapist,” she answers.
“Oh, okay.”
“And how do you feel about him? Just as twisted?”
“Pretty much,” I admit.
“Gonna work it out in a big way tonight?”
“I sure hope so,” I say.
“Go big or go home. You should look up the story about how I proposed to Georg.”
Actually, I read that story. Pamela Jensen arranged a huge pre-game show and proposed to Georg during the playoffs.
It was in all the papers, even up in San Francisco.
I loved that story. It made me believe in love.
I tell her so and she just winks and says, “Welcome to the family. We all fraternize when we’re not supposed to around here. ”
The game starts soon after and I’m instantly into it.
It’s fast and hard-hitting and the Crush play like a well-oiled machine.
Evan Kazmeirowicz scores twice in the first period, just a one-two punch that looks completely effortless.
There’s the big guy, Viktor, on defense and he just stops everyone like a brick wall as they come toward the goal.
The other team can’t do a single thing to move the puck forward.
There are two fights, mostly on the defensive side.
Boris tries to break them both up, which doesn’t surprise me at all.
He looks up at the box twice during the game and I wave both times, just to show him I’m really there.
I can’t wait to see him after the game. I have so much I want to say. So much.
I get really into the game, screaming and yelling a lot.
I apologize to my suite-mates, who all tell me yelling is perfectly permissible and this is a safe space.
By the third period, I know all their names and they’ve all given me guidance on how to “go big” when it comes to admitting my feelings for Boris.
In the third period, Boris comes out like a madman and scores two goals, allowing the Crush to win their first game by a hefty four-to-nothing.
The arena is a madhouse, it’s so loud. Las Vegas came out for the Crush, and their team did not disappoint.
I have to say, I think I am a true Crush hockey fan after this game.
I hang in the box for a bit, talking with the women I just met this evening but feel like I’ve known for a long time, when I get a text from Boris.
Boris: I forgot about a press event after game.
Talia: Oh, no big deal.
Boris: I suck at press so it won’t take long. Just meet me at the restaurant so we don’t lose our table.
Talia: Are you doing talk to text?
Boris: Yes, duh.
Talia: LOL Okay. See you at the restaurant.
The restaurant is only three blocks away and it’s a gorgeous night. The streets are filled with Crush fans, off to celebrate the big win on the Strip. I step out into the night, feeling buoyant and excited and ready to see what this thing with Boris will lead to.
Just a half block from the restaurant, though, I stop dead in my tracks, the hairs on my arms standing straight up when a man steps out of the alley in front of me.
I turn to go the other direction, but someone is right behind me.
A hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream, and my arms are pulled back so hard I think they may jerk from their sockets.
I try to remember my self-defense classes from college.
I stomp down hard on my captor’s foot, but he increases his grip as a result.
He hisses, “Shut up, bitch,” as he pulls me into the dark alleyway.
I struggle, trying desperately to get away from him, but his hand is also covering my nose and I can barely breathe.
I start to hyperventilate as efforts to escape fade into the sheer terror of trying to catch my breath, trying to stay alert and awake.
I’m dragged and then picked up as if I weigh nothing. There’s a moment of weightlessness, then I’m in the back of a van, the metal cold through my T-shirt and jeans. The doors slam and I scream. I scream and scream but as the van starts, no one comes.