Page 46 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

my weird life

Reagan

Mikhail is rock-solid, holding me in his arms as I cry into his T-shirt. And it’s at this moment that I notice I haven’t been hugged in a long time. Not like this, where it’s easy to feel warm and cared for. Protected.

I’d probably not let go of him but my stomach growls at the same time his drunk friend from the casino, I think Aiden is his name, mumbles incoherently from the couch in his sleep.

Mikhail laughs and shakes his head at the utter insanity of the situation.

For whatever reason, this makes me want to cry even more.

“I’m sorry.” I sniffle. “I didn’t get to eat my pizza. ”

“Come into the kitchen and just ignore him. He’s out for the count.” He shakes his head again and gestures to his kitchen table. “Let me find you something to eat.”

Rifling through his fridge, he peeks over the open door and says, “I don’t have any pizza, unfortunately. I’ve been on this new nutrition program. Well, it’s not new, I guess. But anyway, I don’t really have stuff like that around because if I have it, I’ll just eat it, and—”

He clamps his mouth shut, like he realizes he’s babbling, before dipping back down out of view behind the open door of the refrigerator. Weirdly, I can’t keep from grinning through my tears.

“Do you like chili? I made it in this, uh, cooking class I go to sometimes.”

“Chili’s great. Thanks for feeding me.”

He heats up a bowl of chili, fills a glass of filtered water, sets both down in front of me before returning with a spoon and a napkin.

For a moment, I just stare at the food he’s laid out for me and take a deep breath, hoping I don’t lose it all over again.

Because I’m sitting in a stranger’s apartment in the middle of the night—the same stranger I accused of stalking me earlier—sobbing and eating his food after being accosted in a dark alleyway on my way home from work.

My life is so weird.

We’re both quiet as I try a few bites of the chili he made. “It’s good.” I speak only to distract from the silent awkwardness that’s settled around us.

“Who was that guy?” Mikhail asks, all tightly bound, his hands in fists on the table. My water vibrates in its glass with the force of his knee bouncing up and down.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out right away.

How do I explain? And what will he think of me if he knows?

No, I’m not ready. “First, tell me about you. Your name is Mikhail, which sounded Russian to me. And you showed up out of nowhere today when I’ve never seen you one time since I’ve been living in this building or going to the gym. ”

He chews on his thumbnail as he appraises me. I take another bite just to disengage from his intense gaze. “Well,” he says slowly, “I’m not Russian. I’m American. From Detroit.”

For some reason, this makes me blush. I feel like an ignorant hick. “Sorry.”

He grins. “My dad, however, was born in the Czech Republic. My mom is Canadian but of Czech descent, so I grew up with both Czech and English spoken in the home. I’ve lived in Detroit for my whole life up until I moved here to play hockey.”

“You play hockey, that’s right. My trainer at the gym mentioned it when we saw you sparring.”

“I play for the Crush. I got agented when I was still in high school and came to Vegas as a rookie. The first year playing for their AHL affiliate team before earning a spot on the NHL roster a few weeks before my twentieth birthday. Been here ever since.” He tilts his head at me and smiles slightly.

“I thought the same thing, earlier, by the way. That it was weird I ran into you twice in one day when I’d never seen you before.

I’ve lived in this building for four years. ”

“Two for me. I moved in here the year I graduated UNLV. I still feel like I might have, um, noticed you before now though.” I feel the flush of heat fill my cheeks because he’s doing a really good job of making me blush.

His lips quirk as he looks down at the table. “Well, I travel a lot during the hockey season. Most days I’m up early for practice or meetings. I go home to Detroit on breaks.” A quick shrug, like he’s not sure what else to say.

But no matter, everything Mikhail just said rings true.

He saved me tonight, and there’s no reason to think he’s anyone other than who he says he is.

He seems serious, well, kind of, but he’s also kind.

A bit boyish and cute, but not at all in an immature way.

I don’t have many people in my corner, and I suddenly want him to like me.

Not to think of me as some crazy person living this wacko life with a ton of baggage.

I do have a lot of baggage, but I still want him to know the person I really am inside. The girl I was before the last two and a half years happened. The Reagan who was proud of her life choices and had hope for the future.

I steer the conversation in a new direction, hoping he’ll go with it.

“You know, I didn’t grow up too far from you in Columbus, Ohio.

I hated the weather, so I only looked at schools in warmer climates.

I always wanted to be an event planner, so I picked UNLV, thinking I’d get some swank job in one of the fancy hotels. ”

“Makes sense,” he says with inquisitive blue eyes searching mine, assessing, no doubt, the strange situation of an even stranger girl in his apartment at three in the morning scraping the last bite of chili from her now empty bowl. How did I get here again? And why am I so awkward?

I push my bowl away, embarrassed I scarfed the entire thing down like a starved stray.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I try to assess just how much of this story I’m going to tell him.

I doubt he wants all the details, especially given the time.

And he probably wants me out of his apartment…

“I started working in the casino my junior year of college. I worked two jobs because I needed to make extra money. My first job there was as a cocktail waitress, but it wasn’t my favorite.

Near the end of my senior year, I asked for something different, and my manager asked if I wanted to become a croupier. ”

“I’m sorry,” Mikhail interrupts. “What’s a croupier?”

“Oh, that’s the fancy name for the casino game operators.

You have to go to school for it. The casino paid for my training, which was cool, but I had to do it while I was finishing my degree at UNLV and working a ton of hours.

It was exhausting. I ran blackjack for a while.

I actually just started on roulette a few weeks ago. ”

Suddenly, the adrenaline of the night wears off, a huge yawn overtaking my face despite my best efforts to make it as ladylike as possible. I shove away from the table, grab my bowl and glass, and walking them to the sink.

“I guess I’d better get some rest. You should get some rest.”

I’m to the door before I turn back. “Thanks for the food, it was delicious. And for what you did tonight. I think—I think you really might have saved my life.”

Mikhail is up and in front of me in a few short strides.

He’s so much bigger than I am—big enough that I might normally feel intimidated.

But he doesn’t intimidate me. Instead, he makes me feel oddly sheltered, and safe for the first time in a long, long while.

Feelings I haven’t experienced much lately.

I hate that I have to leave here right now, because the thought of going back to my cold, dark apartment alone is a miserable one.

“Will you be okay, Reagan?” he asks quietly as I step out into the hallway.

I nod, hoping he doesn’t see the trembling of my hands or sense the unevenness of my breath. “Thanks again, Mikhail, for everything you’ve done for me tonight,” I say with a nod before heading down the hall toward the elevators.

It’s not until I’m inside with the doors shut that the dread and the fear take over once again.