Page 49 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

get a life

Zoya

When we walk out into the night, it is crisp and cool, much cooler than it was when my sister and I left campus. I shiver in my thin tunic top, rubbing my arms for warmth. This hockey player, Tyler, shrugs off his suit jacket and hands it to me.

I gratefully accept, wrapping it around my shoulders. The jacket is huge on me, of course, as he is well over six feet with broad, muscular shoulders. Yes, I noticed this about him. Guilty.

“Thank you. I think I will just call a ride service after all. It is maybe too cool to walk the two miles back to campus, and in these heels.” What was I even thinking?

“I could give you a ride,” he suggests. “My car is just—”

“No.” I shake my head at him. “Thank you for the offer but I will just text my sister to come down and we can Uber back. It makes the most sense, really.” Time to put a stop to this.

..flirtation...or whatever it is. Agreeing to let him walk me two miles back to campus was stupid.

I blame the intoxicating scent of cologne and him clinging to his jacket for impairing my judgment.

“Okay, I can wait until she gets down here, then.” Tyler does not seem the least bit discouraged by my refusal to go with him.

I send the text to Irina and Pam, then open the app to request a ride. “It says the car will be ten minutes.”

“Damn, usually the cars don’t take so long,” Tyler says in that now recognizable Boston accent.

The word cars comes out as cahs. I like it, I think, then mentally give myself a shake-down for liking anything about this arrogant hockey boy who is very clearly only interested in getting in my panties.

I may be innocent about sex, but it does not mean I am na?ve.

“There must another event tonight or something else going on.”

“It is okay. It will give my sister a moment to get down here.”

We stand in awkward silence for a few minutes. I start to open my mouth to tell him he can go inside, that I will be fine, but then he asks, “What do you like to do for fun, Zoya Kolochev?”

“For fun?” I’m caught off guard by the question, as no one else tonight asked something so…personal. About me. “Well, I like yoga. And I paint occasionally. I am not very good, but it is calming. I also volunteered at a local animal shelter back home in Russia. I could do that here, I suppose.”

I sense that none of those hobbies are on Tyler Lockhardt’s list of “fun things.” He has a gravelly voice and looks like walking sin.

I know he is exactly the wild and undisciplined man my father wants me to stay far, far away from.

And I would be happy to do so, honestly, if the car would just come already.

Though there is that teeny, tiny piece of me that finds him slightly alluring.

“Painting, yoga, and animal welfare. All respectable uses of one’s time.”

“What about you?” I attempt making small talk with him. “What do you like to do for fun?”

“Ah, well, nothing as noble as what you just listed,” he chuckles. “I would be happy to take you out and show you the city sometime, though. Since you’re new to the area.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but no, thank you.”

“No, thank you?” By the incredulous look on his face and the raised eyebrows, Tyler Lockhardt must be used to getting his way most of the time.

“It is just that I really hoped to get a break from all things hockey while I was here. You see, my father is a hockey coach. My brother and my cousin, Boris, have played for a long time. We traveled all the time when I was younger, to and from their games. So much hockey in fact, I really want very little to do with the sport now.”

“Well, we don’t have to talk about hockey at all. There are plenty of other things to check out here—”

I shake my head again. “Sorry. No. You seem like a nice enough guy, Tyler, but I just think we have nothing much in common. I have lived my life around hockey, and now I will avoid it if I can. Your job involves lots of games and a lot of travel. I wish you the best with it, but I am not interested in that…lifestyle in my life right now. I hope you can understand.”

Tyler looks dumbfounded. Thankfully, this conversation is over because my sister walks out of the arena just as the car pulls up at the curb. The problem of turning him down has been solved for me.

I inhale one last time before pulling his jacket from my shoulders and handing it back to him.

Why did you just do that?

Without a word he takes his jacket and steps down from the curb to open the car door for us. Irina holds up a pen and does a little dance before writing her number on Tyler’s hand.

“Call me sometime, Tyler. We’ll go make mischief together. I need a recommendation for a good tattoo artist. And someone to hold my hand when I’m getting it done.” She kisses him on the cheek before sliding into the seat next to me.

As the door shuts, I say, “Slut.”

“I heard that it is Tyler who is the slut.” Irina nudges me in the shoulder. “Just my type.”

I roll my eyes at her. “He will forget your name before he walks back inside. Why let him use you like that?”

“Oh, don’t be such a nun. And who says it’s just him using me? You don’t need to be so prim and proper all the time. It’s just sex, Zoya. And Tyler is super hot. Who wouldn’t want to take him to bed?”

“Well me, for one. I have never taken any man to bed, and I certainly will not start with a fuck-boy hockey player.”

For some reason, this just cracks my sister up. She laughs and laughs, but her only words are, “Get a life.”

I am done talking about it, so I keep silent for the rest of the ride back.

But my sister’s words stick with me and I cannot shake them off.

I was sent to America to get an education.

That is my purpose, and yet often when I speak with Irina about my choices and dreams, I sense that she looks at me with sympathy in her eyes.

As if I’m so different to her that I’m somewhat…

less. Not as outgoing. Not as interested in sleeping with a super-hot man.

Not being me. Is that what she means? Am I that uninteresting?

Get a life. That is what I thought I was doing.