Chapter 9 #2
Vasily laughed. “I didn’t like the cold the whole time I was a child. In Russia, in Canada—” He shook his head. “But after one fucking season in the desert—ugh. Give me the goddamned snow .”
“But what about Seattle?” I asked. “It doesn’t get much snow.”
“No, but at least it gets cold sometimes. Sort of. And it’s not so dry .”
I chuckled. “Yeah, no one’s ever accused Seattle of being dry.”
“Not like Las Vegas.” He made a face. “Fuck the desert.”
“Amen to that.” We bumped fists and both chuckled. I sipped my coffee. “I did like Vegas for the most part. I think it would’ve been more fun if I’d known how to gamble, though.”
Vasily cocked his head. “You don’t know how?”
“To be fair, I was only there a season and a half after I turned twenty-one. And I went home to Michigan during the off-season. So… didn’t have much opportunity to gamble.”
He seemed to consider that, then rocked his head back and forth. “I suppose.”
“Why? Do you gamble?”
“Sometimes. I’m not very good at poker, but blackjack…” He half-shrugged. “I’m decent, and it’s fun.”
“Did you ever deal at the team’s Casino Night?”
At that, his face lit up. “I did. I will at Seattle’s too.”
This was clearly something he enjoyed, so I said, “Yeah?”
He nodded, sitting up a bit. “It’s so much more fun than a real casino.”
“Is it true you guys make up your own rules sometimes?”
He laughed, getting an impish glint in his eyes that had no business being that cute. “Sometimes, yes. The real dealers who’d look over our shoulders and answer questions, they’d just…” He rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in a theatrically exasperated gesture.
I chuckled. “And was that why you did it? Or just a pleasant bonus?”
The innocent look he shot me had me cackling, which fortunately covered up how much it had made my heart flutter. How was this man so damn cute?
“It’s just fun,” he said. “The fans—they have a great time. And it’s all for charity, so who cares if the house wins or loses?”
“Shame the casinos don’t think that way.”
“No kidding.” Vasily shifted in his seat, the faintest wince flickering across his lips as he straightened his leg beneath the seat in front of him. “Gambling would be a lot more fun if the casinos didn’t care about pulling profits.”
“I know, right?” I gestured at his leg. “How’s your knee?”
“Eh.” He glared at the joint in question, then shrugged. “It’s better. The part that was injured isn’t so bad. But my physical therapists said it might get sore while I was getting everything around it back in condition.”
I furrowed my brow. “So like, when you rested your knee, everything got out of shape?”
Scowling, he nodded. “All the tendons, ligaments, muscles—they get lazy.” He tsked, looking hilariously affronted by the audacity of his soft tissue.
“It takes time to get it all used to playing at full speed again. I’ve been skating and practicing for ages to get everything conditioned again, but…
” He paused, looking a little sheepish. “I might have babied it too much.”
I rocked my head from side to side. “I don’t know about that. It’s probably good to baby it while you’re still rehabbing it, then push harder when you’re…” I circled my finger in the air, indicating the team he was playing with temporarily.
He quirked his lips, an expression that had no business being that cute. Unaware of my brain shorting out for a second, he half-shrugged. “Maybe.” He met my gaze, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well. It’s getting better. By the time I’m back in Seattle, I’ll probably be fine.”
I returned the smile and nodded, pretending not to notice the sinking feeling in my chest. Why was I disappointed? It wasn’t like it was any big secret that, hello, Vasily would be returning to his team after his two-week loan was up. That was the whole point of him being here.
I guess I just… wasn’t ready for him to leave.
We moved to lighter topics, fortunately. Comparing notes on life in Vegas. Playfully chirping about the games and practices we’d had together with the Orcas. Talking about how some of the NAPH teams were doing this season and who we thought might make a solid run at the cup.
It was actually more fun than dancing with him at the club had been.
That night, I’d been so sure I was about to hook up with Vasily Abashev.
Maybe blow each other in a backseat or a back alley, or quite possibly a whole lot more, given the way he’d been looking at me, not to mention the way he’d kissed me.
Today, just chatting on the bus like a couple of teammates—it was relaxing and fun.
I liked Vasily. I was glad we’d put our stupid first encounter behind us so we could be teammates—friends, even—while he was here.
Somewhere along the way, the bus stopped at a gas station, and most of us piled off in search of restrooms, coffee, water, and snacks.
I managed to get everything I needed before most of my teammates, so I didn’t have to stand in the ever-growing line.
I didn’t feel like getting back on the bus quite yet, though, so I hovered near the convenience store’s door, sipping my coffee and waiting until the last possible moment to brave the cold again.
Hoskins joined me, a gigantic iced coffee in his gloved hand.
I peered at the cup, then at him. “You are aware that it’s winter, right?”
He glanced outside, where the snow was falling gently onto the white landscape. “Um. Yes?”
“Right. And…” I gestured at his coffee. “You know they serve that hot, don’t you?”
“Mmhmm. But it tastes better cold.” Eyes locked on mine, he took a deep swig through the straw.
I shuddered. I liked iced coffee as much as the next person, but not in January in the middle of fucking Alberta . Jesus H. Christ.
Hoskins kept drinking his huge cup of masochism while I sipped my more civilized hot coffee. After a moment, he said, “You and Chevy, huh?” He cocked a brow. “You guys a thing or something?”
For the second time today, I almost spat out my coffee. “What? What do you mean?”
Hoskins inclined his head. “Sooo… we’re all imagining you two flirting.”
I blinked stupidly at him. “Imagine—flirting—what the fuck are you talking about?”
He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Seriously?”
“Um. Yes?” I gestured toward the bus with my cup. “We were just talking hockey.”
“Uh-huh. Just hockey.”
“Yes?”
“Mmhmm.” He sipped his coffee again. “So that’s how gay hockey dudes flirt? By talking hockey?”
A laugh burst out of me as I shook my head. “Fuck you, Hoskins.”
He snickered. Then he clapped my shoulder and headed for the bus. “I know what I saw, Wils.”
Rolling my eyes, I followed him out into the bitter cold. “You don’t know shit about fuck.”
That earned me a middle finger.
As I settled back into my seat on the bus, though, I chewed on what Hoskins had said. It was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
There was no way Vasily of all people had been flirting with me.
Right?
Especially because I knew what he looked like when he was feeling flirty. The long eye contact. Those grins that somehow bordered on both shy and wicked. The way he’d looked at me across the club and across the narrow space between us while we’d danced.
He hadn’t been looking at me that way today.
Had he?
No, of course not. I’d have noticed. I wasn’t stupid.
Though I had to admit there’d been other occasions when friends had pointed out that someone was flirting with me while I’d been Captain Oblivious.
Like at that waterpark in Vegas when a guy had been talking to me in line for food.
He’d laughed, smiled, held my gaze, asked what we planned to do after lunch—and it was only after he’d walked away that my teammate, Ethan Bernier, had given me a look.
“You let him go?” he asked. “He seemed nice. And cute.”
“Well, yeah.” I’d shrugged as I arranged my food containers on the table. “He was nice.”
“Right. And?”
I’d blinked. “And, what?”
Berns had eyed me. “Did you not notice he was flirting with you?” he’d demanded.
“What?” I’d laughed, shaking my head. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Bruh.” Norquist had eyed me over his ice cream cone. “I’m straight as the day is long, and even I could tell he was flirting with you.”
“He—wait.” I’d looked from one teammate to the next. “Are you guys fucking with me?”
“No,” Berns had deadpanned, “and he won’t be fucking with you either because you’re a dumbass.”
I’d sat there slack-jawed for a moment, replaying the conversation with the cute guy in line.
And now, here I was, somewhere between Calgary and Edmonton, gobsmacked by the idea that someone had been flirting with me without me realizing. Especially when that someone was Vasily Abashev.
No. No way. Hoskins was just imagining things, because there was absolutely no way Vasily Abashev was?—
Right then, the alleged object of my flirtation stepped onto the bus, a huge iced coffee in hand. His gaze landed right on me, and?—
Oh. Hell.
The instant our eyes met, he smiled. A little lopsided and shy. A little wicked.
And he came right down the aisle and dropped into the seat he’d been occupying for the past couple of hours. His smile held.
I glanced at his cup and cleared my throat. “You like iced coffee in the dead of winter, too, huh?”
He shrugged. “It’s only cold out there.” He tipped the cup toward the window. “In here…” Another shrug, and then he took a drink.
I just chuckled, and yeah, it was warm in here. Really warm in here. Warm enough that maybe I should’ve gotten an iced coffee myself.
What if… What if he had been flirting with me earlier?
What if he was flirting with me now?
And what if we both figured out that we were both flirting?
Vasily’s eyes met mine again, but then darted away. His cheeks were still a little flushed from the cold outside, but I swore I could see a blush creeping in anyway.
Just like I could feel heat creeping into my own face that had nothing to do with my hot coffee or the warmth on the bus.
Oh God.
I was so fucked.