VIKTOR VICTORIOUS
VIKTOR
IT’S BEEN ALMOST TWO WEEKS SINCE I LAST SAW EVIE, SO IT’S IMPOSSIBLE THAT I CAN STILL SENSE her presence in my bed. I’ve changed my sheets and washed all the linens that came in contact with her. Twice. I sleep with my windows open to the fresh air.
Yet every night when I close my eyes, there’s a sensation of soft hair tickling my cheek and a phantom body with warm curves just beyond my touch. I’m wakened by a sweet voice asking if she can help me.
My dreams are far from gentle and ghostly.
Each night, Evie plays a new role. She is her innocent self, exploring my entire body with tentative hands.
She’s a willing student, taking instruction in every way I like to be touched, licked, and sucked.
She’s a voracious vixen, sucking me off harder and harder as she watches me climax.
She’s a fluttering butterfly pinned to my bed as I spread her soft legs and tongue her hot, sweet core until she completely falls apart.
And in the best dreams, she’s my passionate equal, begging for my hard cock and riding me until her soft voice grows hoarse with her orgasm.
I meant exactly what I said to her the last time we talked: I’m not the right man for her. Evie should be with someone like her. Some na?ve freshman who will treat her the way she deserves. Who will fall in love with her and write terrible poems about her and make awkward love to her.
Obviously, I could fuck her better than any man on campus, but that’s not enough reason to do so. Evie deserves someone who can care for her. What she doesn’t deserve is a man who has nothing to give emotionally—as I’ve been described many times.
And so I carry on. It’s a small campus, but I never see Evie. I deliberately bypass places where freshmen congregate. I avoid the temptation of the Schultz Library and do all my research online.
Thank god the pre-season starts this weekend. I’ll finally have hockey to focus on.
On Thursday afternoon, I walk into the house and something smells delicious. I follow my nose to the kitchen. Coty is sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading a textbook. There’s a place set across from him with a plate, fork, and a dish of sour cream.
What’s going on? I ask.
He grins at me. A surprise. Sit down.
Puzzled, I drop my laptop bag and take the chair with the place setting.
Coty rises, brings over a covered platter, and lays it in front of me.
I lift the cover to reveal a dozen steaming dumplings with braided edges.
They have a homemade look that brings back memories of my baba crimping the dough with her thumbs.
Whenever our family visited, she always made them fresh. No day-old varenyky for her grandsons.
You made varenyky? I asked, astonished. Can I have one?
He chuckles. No, I didn’t make them. And yes, you can have one. In fact, they’re all for you. He sits back down.
I can’t resist, I grab a fork and eat one immediately. The potato and onion filling melts in my mouth. It’s so delicious. Not the same as my baba’s, she always added cabbage. But it still tastes authentic.
I eat three more before remembering my manners and offering some to Coty. He grabs his own plate and fork, and we both dig in.
Not bad, he says with his mouth full.
You’re nuts. This is the best thing I’ve eaten all semester. But after I’ve eaten five and I’m slowing down, I realize how weird this is.
So, if you didn’t make these, where did they come from? Did you go to that European deli in Duluth? And how did he know that this comfort food is exactly what I need right now?
He holds up his hands. I did nothing—well, other than guard them so that our hungry, hungry housemates didn’t eat them before you got home.
I wait. There’s nothing that Coty likes better than drawing out a good story.
They’re a gift for you.
I stop eating. Sometimes, I get admirers who go overboard with gifts, but there are always strings attached. Although I might be willing to go on a date with a woman who can cook like this.
He laughs at my worried expression. Don’t worry, it’s not a bribe, it’s a thank-you gift. For something you did.
Stop fucking around, I growl.
Did you know that Evie gave handwritten thank-you cards to me, Mats, and Sinc, along with gifts? Chocolate chip cookies for Sinc. Protein bars for Mats. And a bag of Colombian dark roast for me. She researched all of us to find something that we’d really like. Very considerate, right?
As I swallow the last bite of varenyky, it feels thick in my throat. Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that Evie’s gift-giving style is that of an ancient aunt. It fits her old-fashioned vibe.
Coty cannot stop grinning. But your gift was harder to give because somehow she got the impression that you don’t want to ever see her again. That true, Zee?
I might have said something like that, I admit.
Awww, of course you would deny yourself the thing you want most. What is it with you this year? You’re killing yourself at the gym. Your social life is almost non-existent. It’s like you’re torturing yourself. Why? Life is short, mon ami.
Again, could you just finish this story? I ask, even though I can guess what’s coming.
He leans back in his chair and lifts both hands. So we had to find a time when you were out and both of us were free. She came over here and made the varenky—
Varenyky, I correct.
Whatever. And then left. Just five minutes before you got home.
Immediately, my nostrils flare, as if I could still catch a scent of her.
It’s almost painful to know that she was just here.
That if I hadn’t stayed to talk to my professor, I might have seen her again.
And now I know that she’s avoiding me because that’s what I told her to do.
She is apparently quite obedient—a fact that shouldn’t excite me.
Coty tips his chair back, watching me. Do you want me to tell you how she looked? What we talked about?
I shake my head. I don’t need any more fuel for the dreams I’m trying so hard not to have.
My phone vibrates, but I ignore it.
He laughs again. Coty finds way too much enjoyment in my Evie issues. I just sent you her number. After all, when a woman spends this much time making you a special treat, you should at least say thanks. Or maybe wine her, dine her, and sixty-nine her?
God, you’re an ass, I tell him. I’m deleting her number. You tell her thanks for me.
What am I, your messenger? Give me one good reason you shouldn’t go out with her. You know you want to.
I lean towards him. You know I’ll just end up hurting her. If you really like Evie, why would you inflict someone like me on her?
He actually laughs at me. I’ve seen you date many women, and you’re always so casual.
If she plays hard to get or tries to make you jealous, none of that shit works because here,—he taps his fist into his chest—you don’t care.
And a lot of women like that elusive shit, it makes them try harder.
Now, for the first time in recorded history, there’s someone you care about.
I don’t bother denying this. But I don’t care about Evie in the way he thinks. I’m not obsessed with her in my every waking moment. Only at night.
I hardly know her. If we had gotten to know each other first, maybe there would be a real reason to for me to crush on her.
I ignore the little voice in my head that recites all the things about Evie that intrigue me: her oddness, her interest in European history, her smarts, her aplomb, her sweet nature.
Even the way she pronounces my name correctly, with the slightest inflection on the first syllable.
And those two moments when there was an electric connection between us.
Her mention of guardian angels contrasted with her practical nature, but I’m exactly the same.
Even as I scoff at the spiritual, I pray daily that my brother’s guardian angel is with him.
And when she asked about my grandmother at the exact moment I was thinking of her, I almost confided in Evie.
But then I remembered how she didn’t add up.
I have an excellent bullshit detector, and Evie sets it off each time I talk to her.
Sometimes our subconscious senses the things we really need, says Coty, who has no trouble believing in anything woo-woo. Besides, I don’t think you will hurt her. She’s stronger than you think. Look how she reacted to that whole frat party night.
Coty, please give it up.
He stands. Okay, I won’t mention Evie again.
I exhale a breath of relief, and rise to find a container for the rest of the varenyky.
He pauses at the kitchen door. But I’ll still be thinking you’re an idiot.
And I don’t delete her number. After I’ve eaten all the varenyky, her information feels like a thread of connection between us. Perhaps fantasizing about Evie is how I distract myself from my real worries.
AS I GET READY FOR SATURDAY’S HOME GAME, MY MIND FEELS CLEAR AND MY BODY RESTED. I’M elated to be back in the dressing room, getting ready for a real game.
There’s a mood of contained excitement as everyone goes through their pregame routines.
Mats’s eyes are closed, he’s either meditating or visualizing.
Sinc is returning from the bathroom since he’s a nervous pisser.
I can’t even look at Wally, who has a whole fidgety routine that makes me tense up.
Instead I look at Coty, who is completely relaxed.
He pitches a tape ball at Murph and then pretends he has no idea what happened. I fucking love this team.
Of course, I’ve tried to drill out my own tics, since the captain has to set a good example, especially for the freshman players.
I try not to get too high or low, because relaxed confidence is the best way to go into a game.
So far, the team looks good. Sure, we miss the good players who have graduated, but there’s new blood as well as returning players who are ready for a bigger role.
Our pre-season game against Brandon College will be a good measuring stick to how we function as a team.
Coach Norman gives us his pre-game pep talk about what to expect and how he wants us to approach the game. He catches my eye, and I give him a nod.
Your turn, Zee, he announces.
I stand. I’d rather show my leadership on the ice, but I can spew clichés when necessary. Boys, this is a big season for us. If this team plays up to its potential, we can go all the way. So, let’s go hard from the beginning. Win every shift.
Then I yell, Mustangs on three. One, two, three!
Mustangs! We cheer and then hustle out of the room.
The game starts off well when we take a two-goal lead. Burly takes an iffy penalty, and then Brandon scores on their power play. They’re energized by their goal and start to really come on. We’re spending way too much time in our own zone now, and almost inevitably Brandon scores to tie the game.
Fuck. Shoulda stopped that, Mats says as he settles onto the bench beside me.
You had your man, I reassure him. Because all we can do is our assignments. We’re a team, and we have to rely on everyone to do their jobs. We both know who actually blew his coverage, but there’s no point in finger-pointing either. The coaches will do that with the game film.
I stretch my neck to ease the tension, and that’s when I spot her. Evie is at my game. Her heart-shaped face is bright and smiling, and her dark hair is electric. She’s wearing a toque in Monarch purple.
Then I notice the blond guy she’s talking to. He’s round-faced and innocent-looking, exactly the type that she should date. But just because he looks like a nice guy doesn’t mean he is. That asshole Dougie looked like a fucking cherub.
I tear my gaze away; no distractions during a game.
I skate onto the ice and line up to take the face-off.
I focus on winning the puck and sliding it over to D.J.
He moves into the offensive zone, and before being checked, he slides the puck to Murph.
I get myself into an open space and yell for the puck.
When Murph delivers it, I can see everything: D.J.
being shoved by a Brandon defenceman so that both of them are screening the goalie, and the wide-open top corner.
I fire the puck at that spot and watch it sail right into the net.
The goal horn sounds and the crowd screams their approval.
I glide towards the boards with my arms raised.
Murph hugs me and then Sinc tackles me from the back.
Coty drapes an arm around my shoulder as we skate towards the bench to hand-slap with the team.
We stay out for another shift but then the buzzer sounds to end the second period.
The mood in the room is high since we’re back in the lead.
But Coach Norman is not satisfied and talks about a couple of adjustments he wants in the third period.
Let’s bring this home, boys, I call out once he’s done. One of my skates feels loose, so I retie it quickly. When I stand, I’m the last guy in the room.
Without forethought, I dig out my phone and send a quick message, then shove my phone away. Coach hates distractions during a game, and I’m supposed to set an example. But I’ll make it up to him. I resolve to have a huge third period, to impress both the coach and…anyone else watching.