Page 54 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2
smokeshow sandwich
Tyler
“Oh, this is only like two blocks from my apartment,” Irina comments as we walk into the sports bar I picked.
We get a table and I order myself a beer. Irina orders some frilly girl drink and Zoya just orders a diet soda. The waitress, who’s cute and petite and ginger, tells me I look familiar. I’m about ready to get my flirt on when I realize Irina and Zoya might not appreciate it.
“He is a pro-hockey player,” Irina says, grabbing my arm in a weirdly proprietary way.
“Oh, you play for the Crush, right?” the waitress asks. “On the back line?”
“Yup, play defense. You a Crush fan?”
She grins. “I’ve been to a few games. Honestly, I wasn’t that into it until I saw how many hot guys there are on the team. Your teammate? With the long hair? Whew!” She fans herself with her order notebook and gets a dreamy look on her face.
“Georg Kolochev?” Chicks love that dude’s long hair for some reason that escapes me.
“Yes!”
Both Irina and Zoya groan.
“That one is our dumb brother,” Irina says, sticking her finger down her throat.
Ginger laughs and says, “Well, I think he’s way hot. And the way his wife proposed to him was so cute. Swoon city.”
“Well, on that note, could I get a hamburger with lettuce, tomato, and pickle?” Zoya asks, ignoring the total fangirling this redhead is doing over her brother. “With fries on the side?”
We all order and when the waitress leaves, Zoya rolls her eyes. “I have no patience for any of that nonsense.”
“I didn’t think she was that bad,” I say with a shrug. “So she thinks your brother’s hot. So what?”
“It is all the time,” Zoya says. “Everywhere. I cannot go to the bank without someone mentioning my brother or my cousin or the Crush or hockey. I have lived and breathed hockey for my whole life and now I am ready to talk about something else.”
“This is her hot button,” Irina comments. “Do not, under any circumstances, say the H word.”
This makes me chuckle. I can understand it to some extent. Now that many of the guys are married or have girlfriends—and babies—I get just as irate when the conversation inevitably turns to those topics. Shaking my head in understanding, I drink some of my beer. “How’s the back feeling?”
“Not too bad,” Irina says. “A little sore, like a burn. Nothing I cannot handle.”
“Take those bandages off when you get home. Make sure you keep a thin layer of ointment on it until it starts to dry out. It will scab up and peel, then you can put unscented lotion on it to keep it moist.”
“Thank you, doctor,” she says in a sultry voice. “I am thankful to have you to take good care of me.”
Zoya snorts lightly on my other side. I look at her from the corner of my eye and see her smothering a laugh.
She scoots out of the booth and says she needs to run to the restroom.
It occurs to me that she’s trying to avoid cockblocking her sister by laughing at her obvious flirtation.
And if she doesn’t want to cockblock, then does that mean I have no chance with her?
I know it makes me sound like a genuine asshole, but I am not used to having women totally blow me off.
I thought we had a moment back at the tattoo shop.
I shared things with her that my best friend doesn’t even know.
I thought I saw something in her eyes, her expression…
a new interest, maybe? And no, I didn’t share my sad-sack life story with her to try for a pity fuck.
Hell, I don’t know. Maybe I should chalk it as a loss. Irina is beautiful and totally interested. It won’t amount to anything, as I can’t risk pissing off Georg to the point that we can’t play together.
Our food comes and we all chat about campus life. Zoya talks about her boring biology class and her frustration with her statistics class. Irina talks about a thesis idea she’s working on before switching gears to talk about her two roommates.
“Solveig is from Norway, doing a PhD in physics. She’s a fucking genius. And Willa is from South Africa. She’s studying something to do with gender and athletics. I like them both, but I hardly ever see them. I don’t think they ever stop working.”
“Sounds interesting,” is all I can think to say.
“I mean,” Irina says, “that they are never home. I am always alone.”
I turn and meet her gaze, which is full of invitation.
Oh yeah. Instinctively, I look over at Zoya, who has her hamburger up to her mouth.
Her eyes are wide and it’s a pretty humorous sight, but I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking.
Is she shocked that her sister would be so forward?
Or so forward with her still sitting here?
The urge to know what she’s thinking and feeling is overwhelming for me. I shouldn’t care. She’s too young for me, anyway. Only nineteen, just a sophomore in college. I’ll be twenty-five in a few months.
Irina’s phone rings and she answers in Russian, then scoots out of the booth and toward the front of the restroom. I watch her go, then turn to Zoya again.
“Her ex-boyfriend,” she explains. “Vladimir.”
“Still a thing?”
“Who knows? She is fickle about these things.” We’re both quiet for a few moments, before she asks, “Are you going to sleep with my sister?”
I swear I almost choke on the bit of burger I’ve got in my mouth. “Well, I—I mean, I—she seems like—maybe?” Holy shit, why am I stammering? And when did it get so hot in here? “It seems like she was maybe hinting—”
“She was more than hinting, Tyler. It was an open invitation. She is always direct about what she wants, and she wants to sleep with you. It will not mean anything, so you are in the clear. She will not hound you for more.”
“Oh.” I take that all in and chew on it for a second. “I mean, that’s cool…I guess.”
“I know this is how you operate. There is no reason to hide it.”
I choke out a laugh. “Fair enough. Would you be upset? If I start something with your sister?” I sound so awkward. What is wrong with me? I feel weird and nervous and tongue-tied like some teenage kid with his first crush. Christ, get yourself together, Lockhardt.
She shrugs. “Why would I care?”
“I thought maybe you might not approve or whatever.” I sound fucking lame, but I keep right on going. “I won’t do it if you tell me you don’t want me to.”
“You are an adult. She is an adult. I have no say in what the two of you choose to do. You can have sex with each other if you like. Plus, I am not the sibling to worry about. If Georg finds out, beware.” Zoya is prim, tight-lipped, as she says all this.
And she’s looking down at her plate, not at me. This bothers her; I know it.
Suddenly, Irina is back, and she starts by laying out six shot glasses of what I’m guessing is top-shelf vodka on the table. “Fucking Vlad,” she grumbles. “He makes me want to get drunk.”
She pushes two shot glasses in front of me, two in front of her own seat, and two in front of Zoya.
“I do not drink,” Zoya protests. “I am not of age.”
“Oh, live a little,” Irina scolds. “You are of age in Russia and have had alcohol, so stop acting like a nun.”
They stare at each other and I see something in Zoya’s face change. The challenge has been accepted, I guess. She tosses the first shot back, making a sour face as her sister hoots with delight. The two of us follow by taking our shots, as well.
We eat a bit more before we do the second shot. I buy us a third round. It’s starting to get fun here. Zoya, a bit woozy now, is loosening up, telling funny stories about her brother when he was a kid.
She slaps her hands on the table at one point and exclaims, “We should go dancing!”
“It is Sunday,” Irina says. “Are there places open?”
“Always. Remember it’s Vegas, baby.” I throw my credit card on the table and the waitress pops over to get us paid up. “And dancing is my middle name.”
“That is a weird middle name,” Zoya comments.
“Ever use contractions?” I ask her, all loose-lipped, finally feeling comfortable enough to tease her.
Zoya tilts her head in question.
Irina says, “When you mush two words together. That’s a weird middle name, instead of that is a weird middle name. The way you use English makes you sound very stiff.”
“I have been told my English is very good.” Zoya pushing her lips out in a pout makes me want to kiss her right there and then, I swear.
“It is,” I reassure her. “Really good.”
We head out, piling into a car for a ride that takes less than five minutes. It’s still early, but there are some people dancing in the small club when we walk in. We’re all a little loaded, so we don’t care that the place isn’t hopping yet.
We just make our way over to the dance floor and in no time, I’m the filling in a sexy Russian smokeshow-sandwich.
Best Sunday night ever.