Chapter 2
VASILY
This kid was cute.
Not so much a kid, I supposed. Taylor was younger than me by a few years, but he was in his mid-twenties at least. Hot, too.
He was white like me, with sandy blond hair, some darker scruff on his jaw, and eyes that were somewhere between hazel and brown.
It was hard to tell in this light, but they were pretty either way. I liked his smile, too.
As we moved to the dancefloor and I got a better look at his face, I realized there was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place him.
Maybe I’d seen him when I’d first looked around the club and he just hadn’t registered.
Whatever. He definitely registered now, especially as he stepped in close, a hand on my waist and a grin on his lips.
Fuck me. I hadn’t been touched since my breakup, and just his hands making contact through my clothes had my head spinning.
As we started dancing, I didn’t think it was just the thick crowd that had him pressed up this close to me.
Oh God, he was gorgeous, eyes full of fire as the disco lights played all over his amazing body.
The heat through our clothes and against my hands made my skin tingle.
Every time I glanced at his lips —every time he glanced at mine—my pulse jumped upward.
I hadn’t been here very long, and I already had the hottest man in the room grinding against me.
I was dizzy, but it wasn’t all exhilaration. As determined as I’d been to get out and break my dry spell, it was suddenly overwhelming, and not in an entirely good way.
Am I ready for this?
Am I ? —
We were kissing.
Just like that, out of nowhere, barely halfway through the first song, his mouth was on my mine, and…
Oh. Fuck. Kissing had become so normal with my ex, but now I was kissing someone else. For the first time in my life, I was tasting the mouth of someone who wasn’t Drew.
From the way Taylor pulled me in tighter as a soft whimper thrummed against my lips, I wasn’t disappointing him. Or maybe he was just too horny to care if I was a good kisser or not.
He was horny, too—my senses had been struggling to process everything, but as he deepened the kiss, he pressed his hips harder to mine.
I had a flash of embarrassment when I realized he couldn’t possibly have missed that I was fully hard.
A split second later, though, I registered the thick ridge of Taylor’s erection.
I broke the kiss, ostensibly to catch my breath, and locked eyes with him.
The interest in his was impossible to miss.
He’d come here to get laid, no doubt about that, and he wasn’t looking at me like someone he planned to dance with until he found a guy he actually wanted to hook up with.
We’d known each other a handful of minutes, but I could already sense that if I suggested we leave or even find a dark, quiet corner of this club, he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.
The way he’d kissed me—oh yes, he was down for more, and he was more than willing to take the fastest route possible.
Why didn’t that thought excite me like it should have?
Probably because I was more scared of this than I wanted to admit. I’d only ever been with one man. Everyone made the hookup scene sound so easy, but now that I was here… Now that I was dancing with someone who clearly (right?) wanted to do more than dance…
What are you doing, Vasily? It’s not been that long.
It’s been long enough.
And either way, you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re doing.
Fuck. What was I doing?
Coming here and dancing had taken more out of me than it should have. Flirting my way into this man’s bed? Going through the motions of sex? Keeping up with a man this confident? This bold?
Just thinking about it made me tired. Not just tired—depressed. Anxious. All kinds of things that didn’t bode well for a sexy hookup. What if I really was as bad in bed as Drew had claimed? What if I really did need the amount of guidance he’d said I did in order to get someone off?
What if Taylor’s excitement turned to disappointment?
Ugh. Fuck that.
I didn’t want to dance anymore. I didn’t even want to be here.
I nodded toward the edge of the dancefloor.
Something sparked in Taylor’s eyes—God, I hoped I wasn’t getting his hopes up—and he followed me out of the crowd.
Closer to the bar, it wasn’t quiet by any means, but it wasn’t as loud as on the dancefloor.
We could actually talk, even if we had to shout to be heard.
I leaned in a little, and he lifted his chin.
We both froze.
Horror and embarrassment swept through me in the same instant they registered on his face. As if we both realized in the same heartbeat that I’d been moving in so he could hear me, but he thought I’d done it so I could kiss him again.
“Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He stepped back, hands up and face coloring. “I didn’t—God, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m—listen, I thought… I came here so I could…” Christ. I was going to explain myself right into an embarrassing corner. And it wasn’t like I was ever going to see this guy again, so did I really need to explain myself?
He could recognize you. He could spread rumors that Vasily Abashev is an asshole who ? —
“You good?” Taylor’s brow was pinched with worry.
“Yeah. Yeah. I, uh… I’m sorry. I think I’m going to…” I nodded toward the door.
“You…” His shoulders drooped slightly. “Oh.”
I could see the instant he realized I was rejecting him. I wasn’t surprised to see the disappointment, but I wasn’t expecting the hurt. I guess it made sense—even when it was a stranger, rejection still stung.
Guilt twisted under my ribs. Rejection was part of the game in places like this, but it still sucked. I didn’t like upsetting people.
Yeah, that’s why you were stuck with a shitty man for so long, you fucking idiot.
Ugh. No. I definitely wasn’t sleeping with anyone tonight. Time to go home and lick my wounds, since apparently they weren’t as healed as I’d believed.
“I should go,” I murmured, not even sure if he could hear me over the music. We moved in different directions. He slipped into the crowd, I headed for the door, and when I glanced back, I didn’t see his face.
I hoped he found someone quickly. I was sure he would—a man that hot with a smile that cute? He’d have no trouble getting someone to hook up with him.
It just wouldn’t be me. Not tonight.
As I stepped out into the night, I exhaled and rolled my shoulders, wondering when they’d become so tight.
I hated this.
I hated Drew for everything he’d done.
And I fucking hated myself for not being able to move on.
Three months into this season.
“You’re clear to return to play.” Dr. Larry smiled at me. “Alicia will probably want to send you up to Everett for a conditioning loan, and then you’ll be good to go.”
I smiled back, relieved to finally be given a clean bill of health.
I’d been skating for the past few weeks, keeping my conditioning up as much as possible, and I’d even practiced no-contact with my teammates for the past two.
Sometimes it felt like I’d never be reactivated, but finally, I was getting the all-clear.
The conditioning loan would probably be the longest two weeks of my life, but at the end of it, I’d be playing again. Finally .
I left his office and went upstairs to the GM’s office. Alicia was there, and she confirmed what Larry had suspected—I was on my way to Everett for a conditioning loan.
She clapped my shoulder as she shook my hand. “It’ll be good to have you back, Chevy. You’ve been missed.”
I laughed quietly. “I don’t know. Mathis has been playing well in my spot.”
“He has. And after Condit retires, Mathis might end up as your linemate. But my plan for this season was 1A and 1B lines, and for that, I need a healthy center.” She squeezed my shoulder, then let go. “So we’ll see you in that spot soon.”
I smiled and gave her a sharp nod. “Very soon. Thank you, ma’am.”
“And your timing is great,” she said. “The Orcas have been struggling a bit; having a powerhouse forward on their top line should get them out of their funk.”
“Well. I guess we’ll see.”
I didn’t go straight to the PHL. Coach had me practice full-contact with my teammates for a week, and then while they headed off on a road trip, I started my conditioning loan.
After my last practice with the Rainiers, my afternoon was a blur of gathering my gear, packing a suitcase, and driving up to Everett.
It was only about forty-five minutes north of Seattle (well, when traffic wasn’t bullshit, which it nearly always was), but I didn’t want to be commuting back and forth.
The club had booked me a hotel room up the street from the rink where the Orcas practiced.
Apparently I’d also be joining them for several road trip games, so I was packed and ready for that, too.
The next morning, I was at the rink bright and early to meet with the coaches and equipment managers. That was straightforward enough, and before long, I was pulling on my gear.
Then… out to the ice.
Just as I had before my recent practices, I took some extra time to warm up. Most of my teammates weren’t even in the locker room yet when I headed out to the sheet to carefully stretch my legs.
Alone on the ice, I skated a few slow, easy circles.
The pain in my right knee was gone now, though there was sometimes a dull ache or some extra fatigue.
The medical staff all agreed that would work out over time, though they warned me that if I reinjured it, the recovery could take longer this time.
I supposed I knew that on some level, but I wished they hadn’t mentioned it.
Now I was afraid to reinjure it, and that kind of fear could make a player lose a step.
There were so many ways I could fuck up my knee, and even now, I caught myself turning and stopping more carefully.