Page 43 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

gotcha

Mikhail

Aiden yammers on and on about some girl he dated while he was at Yale. I think she must’ve really done a number on him because even though he spends most of his time talking about what a terrible person she is, it seems obvious he really cared about her.

“Another beer?” he asks, tilting his empty bottle toward mine.

I’ve spent the past eight months doing extra conditioning and improving my nutrition, which has included regulating my alcohol intake.

I wasn’t a big drinker before, but now I only allow myself a couple of indulgences a month, and I was overindulgent at home during the holidays.

Alcohol is the worst way to waste calories, honestly.

Still, I had two full workouts today—one at the arena gym with Dale and one at the boxing gym—so I feel entitled to another beer. And some crazy lady accosted me in my apartment building, too.

“Yeah, one more won’t kill me.”

Aiden heads off to buy another round while I pick at the label on my beer bottle. When he comes back, he says, “So your trip home was obviously a rousing success.”

I frown and tip the bottle back.

“How’s The Great Zelenka?”

“Na zdraví.”I answer, holding up my beer. Aiden clinks it, and I add, “To your health.”

“Went that well, huh?”

“I decline to comment.”

Aiden snorts. “It must be hard, growing up with hockey royalty. Like, do you always feel you have something to live up to? Or like you’re living in the shadow of everything he accomplished?”

My father was good on the ice, that much is true. In life, though? Meh. He does charity stuff and coaches little kids and shit, but he is not a perfect man. Not by a long shot. So, no, I don’t feel the need to be anything like The Great Zelenka.

I don’t say any of that to Aiden, of course. I just answer, “Please shut the fuck up. You’re ruining my mood.”

“I was just—”

I put up my hand. “Nope. I came here to have a good time, not be reminded of all the ways I’ll never measure up to my father.”

“Sor-ry,” he murmurs, petulantly.

I quickly change the subject. “You know, I had the weirdest encounter today after boxing. I was just walking along, minding my own business, and as soon as I step through the doors of the building, this chick turns on me and starts accusing me of following her back from the gym, saying things to me like, ‘I don’t know anything and you can tell your boss that, too. Leave me the hell alone!’”

“What?” Aiden asks. “What the fuck?”

“Right. My reaction exactly, except I’m a gentleman and I didn’t swear at her.

So, I’m like, ‘Look, lady, I live here, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.

’ Then, when I get off the elevator, she pokes her head out to watch me go to my apartment like she doesn’t believe I actually live in the building. ”

“Wow. Bizarre, man. Was she hot, at least?”

I think back to our encounter. I didn’t pay that much attention to her looks, come to think of it.

I was so blindsided by her outburst that I sort of blotted out what she looked like.

“She was petite. Short, dark hair. I mean, she might have been hot?” I shrug a shoulder. “Who knows. She was crazy.”

“Hot, crazy chicks are my favorite,” Aiden says, grinning.

“That seems obvious, considering the amount of time you spend pining over Lauren or whatever her name is.”

He scoffs. “It’s Lauree. And I am not pining. I’m going through the stages of grief after a breakup and this stage is molten-hot anger.”

“Wow. How enlightened of you. I still think you’re pining, and you make her sound terrible, so I have no idea why you’re grieving.”

We finish our beers and head out, but as we walk back toward my place, he points at one of the bigger casinos and says, “We should go blow some of our paychecks. Try our luck.”

“Dude, no.”

“I’ve lived here more than half a year and I’ve never been in one of the casinos,” he says. “Come on. We’ll just play like one round of roulette and a hand of cards, and we’ll go.”

“It’s such a waste of money,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “No.”

“Come on. Just two games. I promise.”

I suck in a deep breath and roll my neck before letting out a reluctant groan of acceptance. “Fine. Two games.”

As soon as we walk in, I see two women coming our way, phones in hand. “Are you Mikhail Zelenka?” they ask. “We’re huge Crush fans. We watch almost every home game.”

Both women are attractive, but puck bunnies have never been my scene.

A few of my teammates would be all into this attention right now, but me?

It might seem ridiculous, especially after Mom’s insistence I need to find my girl, but one-night stands with girls only interested in me because of my status have simply lost their appeal.

I actually like women and don’t always only want to fuck.

“That’s me and thanks for your support.” I force myself to paste on a smile. “It’s always nice to meet fans,” I lie. “Have you met Aiden? This is his rookie year.”

Aiden looks more than delighted to meet these women, who tell him they’ve seen him play, though I think they’re lying just to make him feel good about himself. Or to get in his pants. Honestly, maybe both.

We take a couple of selfies with them, and they ask if we want to come back to one of their apartments, but I beg off, reminding Aiden that we had a plan to introduce him to the roulette wheel for the first time tonight.

A round of drinks appears, the waitress telling us our drinks are “on the house” and thanking us for coming in to patronize their establishment, repping the Crush.

Aiden, new to all of this, beams as he eats up the celebrity attention with a spoon. I just nurse my—whatever this is, rum and Coke maybe?—and take Aiden to get our first round of chips.

“Dude, my advice? Pick an amount you’re willing to lose and stick with it. If you win big, walk away happy. If you lose, don’t let yourself go past your limit. It’s supposed to be fun, but it can be a wicked drain on your wallet if you’re not careful.”

“Okay, Dad,” Aiden drawls, making the bunnies giggle.

They each take one of his arms as he carries his chips over to the first roulette wheel he sees. I trail along behind, feeling a bit like a dad trying to keep my kid out of trouble.

He places his first bet as I bide my time looking at my phone. The wheel stops spinning, and Aiden chirps with victory. I look up, shocked he would hit something on his first spin. I’m even more shocked when I catch the eye of the roulette operator.

It’s her.

The crazy girl from earlier today, and it’s so shocking that I let out a loud bark of a laugh. This, obviously, gets her attention, and she looks more closely, eyes narrowing, only to glower at me. Yep, she recognizes me.

Aiden wins another round, hooting like he’s just become a gazillionaire or something.

I try not to look directly at crazy girl, but I can’t help stealing glances as I pretend to look at my phone.

She is pretty, not gonna lie. I’m six two, but I’ve always had a thing for petite women, and this one is maybe a foot shorter than I am.

Her hair, which was pulled up under a headband earlier, is cut sleek and straight to her shoulders.

Her skin is creamy, but her cheeks flush pink every time we make eye contact.

It's a funny juxtaposition, considering she’s wearing a scowl like her life depended on it.

After a couple of rounds, I tell Aiden I need to piss and head off toward wherever just to get away from the awkwardness. It’s so strange. I’ve run into this girl twice in the same day, when I’ve seen her zero-point-never in all the years I’ve been living in that building.

I mean, maybe she’s the creep. Maybe she’s the one working for some seedy Russian weirdo or whatever it was she accused me of earlier today.

I heard some wackadoodle story about Boris and his financial advisors from Russia a couple years back, like he tried to leave them and go work with his now-girlfriend Talia, so they kidnapped her or some crazy shit.

Maybe this girl works for them, and they target hockey players.

Not likely, I know.

When I make it back to the roulette table, Aiden is gone.

I find him at the blackjack table, so I sit down and play through a few bets with him, winning a decent amount of money in the process.

The table is not far from where crazy roulette girl is working, and I still can’t help my eyes from sliding to the side to take an occasional peek.

I’ve managed to stick with just the one drink while we’ve been here, but Aiden has had many more than that, so as the clock hits one in the morning, I try talking him into heading home for the night.

“Dude, don’t be such a grandma. I’m winning so far.”

“Then take your winnings and cash out before you lose your shirt.”

“Blah, blah, blah, you old woman. Stop telling me what to do.” He’s sloppy now, in a frat-boy way I find completely unamusing. “You go home if you’re so ready to go, Mik.”

Unfortunately, he turns back to the table just in time to miss my epic eye roll in response.

Of course, I’m not going to leave my drunk-ass teammate alone in a casino where he could really do himself some financial damage.

He’s a rookie player with a shitty contract.

He doesn’t make the ridiculous bank you make when you’ve proven yourself in the league.

Still, he milks the fact that he’s a pro athlete for all it’s worth with the ladies, the two blondes we met when we arrived, having moved on to higher rollers and several other women now in their place.

They take selfies in between bets, giggling and drinking and getting louder and louder with each passing minute.

Maybe I’m just in a shitty mood. Or maybe I am being a grandma tonight. Either way, I really don’t want to be here. The only thing keeping my interest is my curiosity about the dark-haired beauty at the roulette table.

And it looks like I’m not the only one interested.

I haven’t missed her eyeballing me when she’s thought I haven’t been paying attention.

Gotcha.