Misha
“Coach, I think it’s time to put Cocoa on a line.”
“Yeah, he’d be a perfect enforcer!”
Bugsy and Thatcher are passionate in their pleas on my behalf, and I laugh along with them until I see Coach eyeing me from head to toe. I know I’m the biggest guy on the team, but surely, he doesn’t actually think…
“You boys might be on to something. Next practice, we’ll let him check both of you and see if you think he’s got what it takes.”
Coach slaps Thatcher on the shoulder as we head for the locker room, and based on his smirk, I already know I’m in for it. We’re the last ones in, and every member of the team is here except for Gabri and Teddy, who must have left sometime during practice. That’s not a good sign.
“Full recovery session today. I don’t want to hear that a single muscle on anyone’s body is tight when we come back in for a full game simulation tomorrow.
Everyone should cycle through the cold tubs and the infrared sauna at least twice, and the entire physio team is on-site today, so everyone should spend at least twenty minutes with them.
Team lunch is in an hour and a half, but grab a shake for now. Sunshine, Cocoa…come with me.”
Following Nikki into a private treatment suite, he and Thatcher cram into a cold tub, then gesture for me to join them.
“Uh, I’m good. These are only meant for two people—”
“Get the fuck in, Cocoa,” Nikki says with a smirk.
Pushing my way into the center of the ice bath, I revel in the cold.
Even decades in America can’t erase the fact that the marrow of my bones was forged in the icy depths of Russia.
Where other men have to push themselves to make it through the plunge, I could sit here all day.
My groan isn’t for the ice, but for one more member of the family adopting my stupid fucking nickname.
“Please tell me that isn’t going to be a thing once I leave the team. Years of respect I’ve earned here, and now I’m fucking ‘Cocoa’?”
“Only to the family, man. Nonna’s already knitting you a Christmas sweater with a mug of hot chocolate on it. You can’t intend to break her heart and deny it, can you?” He knows he’s got me there, relaxing his head on the edge of the tub and closing his eyes.
“The reason we’ve brought you here—”
“Other than to fulfill your touch-starved nature?”
Thatcher ignores me and continues, but stretches both of his legs across my lap. Mila really spoiled him, and now it’s like having a puppy that constantly wants to cuddle.
“Is to discuss the fact that you’ve clearly gotten laid.”
“More than that. You’re under someone’s spell.”
Nikki’s cracked one eye open to deliver that truth bomb, and he fixes me with a long, searching look before winking and closing it again.
“You’re in an amazing mood, man. It doesn’t take much detective work to figure it out. Especially when you look at your phone and smile every two seconds.”
“Yeah, you have that dreamy look on your face, like you’d rather be wherever she is right now. Don’t even try to deny it. I see it in the mirror every morning.” Thatcher’s sad smile convinces me to fess up, if only to give him someone to gossip with about the women we love.
“Alright, alright…You’re both correct.”
Thatcher’s whoop of joy as we move from the tub to the sauna is infectious, and for the first time, I fully realize what it might be like to have someone in my life long-term.
Someone to introduce to the family and include in all the dinners and parties that seem to be constant on the Taranov-Santori social calendar.
“You gotta tell us everything, dude. Is this the girl you were thinking about when you asked about love at first sight?”
I am not telling you everything.
“She is. And my gut instinct was right. She’s perfect…so damn funny and smart—”
“A redhead, right? Your own Princess Fiona!”
“That’s enough out of you.” I pinch Thatcher just under his armpit, laughing as he yelps. Nikki’s been quiet, but now he joins Thatcher’s interrogation, and I feel like I’m a new addition to Family Love Island.
“Where’s she from?”
“What’s her name?”
“How old is she?”
“What does she do for work?”
“Have you told her what you do for work?”
“Does she like your piercing? I told Mila this is the perfect time since she’s gone so much, but—”
“Anything on her background check?”
That question from Nikki finally ends the volley, the seriousness of his line of thinking feeling even thicker than the air of the sauna.
He’s right about all of it. No, I haven’t fucking told her what I do for work.
Yet. I will. It just…needs to be the right time.
And after our weekend of bliss, I’m unwilling to pop that bubble.
I’m definitely not giving these fuckers all the details at once.
Abby feels like a perfect new toy I’ve just unwrapped on Christmas, and I’ve never liked to share.
Ignoring all but the last question, and ignoring Thatcher as he continues to lean closer, looking at my piercing then back down at his own dick, I reassure Nikki.
“Her background check is squeaky clean. Everything she’s told me is true—school records check out, and lease agreements going back to when she lived with her parents all line up. No holes or sketchy shit. She is who she says she is.”
“Hmm,” he says, sensing that I don’t want to divulge anything further. He probably knows not to push too much into anyone else’s business when anyone with half a brain can see he has his own secrets weighing him down.
“We’re glad you’re happy, Misha. You sure as hell deserve it,” Thatcher says, damn near sitting in my lap and throwing an arm around my shoulders. “We did have an ulterior motive for bringing you in here, though.”
At this, Nikki stands to stretch and bark a laugh.
“Do you want to tell him, Sunshine? Or shall I?”
“Alright, everyone! Grab your last choices from the buffet and sit down. If you’ve been around a while, you know exactly what time it is—”
“Woohoo!”
“Let’s go!”
A cacophony of cheers erupts from the vets on the team as all the rookies share nervous looks. Surely, I’m not included in this. I wasn’t drafted. I’m not a real member of the team.
“Cocoa, you’re with Thatcher and Bugsy!”
What?
“Come on, man! We’ve got an hour. There’s literally not a second to waste.” Thatcher’s pulling me behind him into what seems to be a hellish basement of unwanted items, while Bugsy tries to explain what I missed when I checked out of Nikki’s announcement.
“Every year, two vets and a rookie get teamed up for the talent show. There’s a room full of random shit accumulated over the years—”
“Literally every time there’s a leftover prop from a weird media thing, it gets thrown in here.
” Thatcher picks up Bugsy’s explanation, punctuating “weird” by thrusting a neon-pink pool float topped with a narwhal head into my chest. “Here. We’ll start with this.
While they’re out there picking teams, we can try to get most of what we need—Oh, hell yes. Jackpot, boys.”
The “jackpot” he’s referring to is the rest of a beach-themed set, neon pink and blue with garish sequins on every available surface. The narwhal I’m clutching matches one with a manatee, and a sea turtle completes the herd.
“Oh, yeah. This was from a few years ago. We did a photo shoot with the children’s hospital and promoted a local sealife sanctuary’s Valentine’s Day event.
They brought it pool floats actually big enough to fit around our waists, which was nice.
I took one home because it’s just so damn hard to find. Somewhere there’s a—”
With a grunt, Thatcher pulls a partially inflated pastel pink float out from under a pile of snorkel gear.
“Hell yeah, we’re in business, boys.”
He digs around more, handing back candy heart floats of varying colors that say “U R CUTE,” “BE MINE,” “KISS ME,” and “XOXO,” before turning to me with a grin.
“Ready to learn some choreo?”
An hour later, as promised, we’re decked out and ready for the rookie show.
It’s impossible to stay mad at Thatcher for long, and as he and Bugsy run me through our last mini dance rehearsal, I can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.
His energy is boundless, and I’m so caught up in his whirlwind that before long, it’s our turn.
With my hair pulled back in miniature pink shark clips, my narwhal around my waist, and a re-inflated candy heart professing my love for the audience, I feel ready to put on a show. Bugsy went undercover to scout since we’re going on last, and as we’re announced, he gives his report.
“We have a great shot. The group that just went is for sure our biggest competition. Millsy and his rookie did a dramatic rendition of the Titanic sinking while Pretzel played a hilariously bad rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” on the recorder.”
“Damn.” Thatcher looks at me as if he’s a second away from asking if I have any hidden musical talent when they call for us.
“No time for me to go back and get the bubble machine, but that’s fine.
Don’t forget, you’re the main attraction.
Bugs and I will do what we can, but ultimately, you’ll be scored on personal effort and performance. ”
The opening notes of our song hit, and before I know it, we’re under the spotlight.
Showtime.
“And our talented rookie of the year, your very own…Misha Mavrin!”
“Cocoa! Cocoa! Cocoa!”
“Crazy footwork, man. You must have a history on Broadway.”
“Charisma for days, Cocoa. I gotta keep my wife away from you.”
“You’re on the team for life, bro. I don’t care if you can skate or not. You gotta bring that show on the road with us.”
“Almost too much eye contact, you intense motherfucker. But you sold it. And throwing the candy was a nice touch.”