Page 68 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

so much more than like

Mikhail

It’s a home game against Toronto, and we’re up one goal after playing the whole first period with the starters, apart from a few short sub-ins. It felt good being back out there with the players I know.

The buzzer goes off for the period and we head to the locker room.

“I’ve missed this chemistry, boys,” Coach barks at us in his familiar tough-love style.

The crowd noise indicates that the home fans have missed it, too.

“See what I mean? They’ve also missed seeing your ugly mugs up on the big screen. ”

I get his sentiment, but I’ve been thinking about what Evan and I talked about ever since I left the pub the other day, so I speak up.

“You know, I miss that chemistry, too, but I think I’ve come around to this new idea. We need to move forward and get the team fully engaged. We need chemistry for the future, not just the now.”

Everyone stares at me for a heartbeat long enough to show their surprise that I’m speaking up.

And more that I’m in agreement with management.

Evan gives me a subtle nod, and I know I did the right thing.

Coach says, “It’s good to hear from you, Zelly,” and then he lays out a plan for the second period.

He mixes things up in the second and third periods, and, somehow, things go smoothly. Maybe what I said helped—though I think it’s more likely due to the excessive drills and team building bullshit we’ve done lately. Still, we win decisively—something that should’ve been happening all season.

Back in the locker room, it’s loud and celebratory. The vibe is so different than it’s been, and I can’t help but wonder what helped us all turn the corner. I guess just time. New things are uncomfortable until they’re not new anymore, right?

Aiden slaps me on the back and congratulates me on my goal in the third period. “You want to go out for a few beers and celebrate? It’s been a hot minute since you’ve had to carry me home.”

“Yeah, and I’m still not interested in carrying your fat ass back to the building.” I grin at him though.

“It’s muscle,” he whines, fake pouting. “Seriously, though. Your crazy lady is probably working. Just come out for a while.”

I check my phone. No texts from Reagan. I’ve called a few times and texted a few times.

Not enough to be stalkerish, but enough to let her know I’m worried about her.

I haven’t heard from her since Tuesday afternoon.

It’s now Thursday night. I’ve either been ghosted, which seems par for the course with Reagan, unfortunately, or she’s busy with her job interview, which she said was today.

“All right.” I sigh. “I’ll come out for a couple.”

Aiden whoops happily, and thirty minutes later, we’re at some bar I’ve never been to.

“Why are we here?” I ask, looking around.

“Cal’s fiancée’s band is playing tonight,” Aiden explains. “They’re a big deal now and this is where they got their start.”

We all sit at a high-top table just off the dance floor.

Right now, someone’s playing deejay—badly.

A few women come over, congratulating us on our win.

Aiden basks in it, the rookie soaking up every speck of attention he can get.

A few want pictures with me. One asks if she can sit by me. I mostly ignore them.

The three who have been hovering around us head to the bar, and Aiden lays into me. “What the fuck, dude? Crazy casino lady got you pussy whipped?”

“Maybe,” I say, sitting back in my chair, arms folded over my chest. “And she has a name.”

“Regina?”

“Reagan,” I correct him.

“Whatever. Is she better than Gia?”

“Gia who?” I laugh. “I’d almost forgotten about her.”

“So, I’ll take that as a yes. I wouldn’t peg you for liking the crazy ones, but okay.”

“She’s not crazy. She’s actually smart and compassionate. She’s funny. I like her.”

As I say it, I realize it’s so much more than like.

At least, for me, it is. I wanted to provide friendship and security for her, free from attachments.

I didn’t want her to think I was using her, that I wanted anything from her.

But we’ve gone past that now, haven’t we?

The thought of my fingers inside of her, my tongue between her legs—

I have to sit up and breathe to keep my dick from going hard. I want her. And more than that, I care for her. A lot.

Why am I here? I should go to the casino and tell her how I really feel. I shouldn’t let her push me away. As much as I wish I could leave now, I don’t. And I won’t. Before Evan found his girl, he went out with the team…and maybe that’s what I’ll need to do more of as well.

Maybe two beers into the night, the band finally comes out to play, and people go kind of crazy for them.

Billie Hirsch, the purple-haired drummer of Love Scrum, and also our goalie’s fiancée, is on a meteoric rise to fame in the music world at the moment.

We can see Cal up front doing roadie duty or something, totally focused on his girl, as he should be.

Dude is kind of strange and abrupt, but he loves playing hockey, and he loves Billie.

He can stop a puck like a fucking robot predicting the future, too.

Aiden is rambling in my ear about Billie’s brother being some A-list Hollywood actor, to which I tell him I couldn’t care less unless he tells me her brother was one of the Avengers.

“Nerd.” He smirks at me, one of the puck bunnies sitting on his lap now.

The band is good, I have to admit. They play a couple of songs before a lot of the people hit the dance floor, Aiden among them. One of the girls tries to grab my hand and drag me out, but I wave her off. “No, no, not tonight.”

As soon as no one is looking, I settle my tab and head out, eager to check on Reagan. When I get to the casino, she’s not on the floor. I try the restaurant, but she’s not working there either. Finally, I stop by the bar, asking if anyone has seen her.

“Nah,” William informs me. “She hasn’t been about for at least two days. Raul is cursing her name.”

I thank him, tap the bar, and head out, dumbfounded. Where could she be? Maybe she took a few days off to prep for her interview? But it was supposed to be today, right? But still, if she did that, I feel like she would have told me.

Something doesn’t feel right. I book it to my apartment building and run the five flights of stairs up to her apartment, pounding on the door. I jiggle the handle, finding it locked. I bang again, pulling my phone out and dialing her number.

It goes straight to voice mail. The texts I sent earlier are marked “undelivered.” In fact, as I’m looking, none of my texts since Tuesday night have gone through.

Okay, now I’m starting to fucking panic.

We don’t see each other every day, but we had been texting or calling nearly every day.

And I thought we were past the ghosting thing.

We talked about it. I know she can get skittish—maybe her interview didn’t go well?

Maybe her mom had an emergency, and she went home?

Christ. My heart is beating so hard right now.

I do the only thing I can, which is head back down to my apartment. I make myself some food that I can’t taste. I sit on the couch and stare mindlessly at the television until I drift off.

When I wake up on the couch, the TV is still on from the night before with the morning news chattering away. My blood turns to ice when I see the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen…

Police attempting to identify the body of young woman near Tangiers casino.

I sit up and watch the reporting in disbelief and horror, wishing like hell I was still asleep, and this was just a very bad fucking dream.

The unidentified body of a petite woman with short, dark hair in her early twenties was discovered behind Tangiers casino late last night. The Las Vegas Police Department encourages anyone who might have information about her identity to call the number on the screen.

Fuck. No. No. No…

It can’t be…

I’m shaking with fear as I start dialing.