Vasily just chuckled, and when I caught his eye…
God, he was so pretty.
Lucky for me, he didn’t hold that eye contact too long. In fact, before we’d even left the gate, he was out cold in his seat. I didn’t blame him. He’d played a ton of minutes tonight. So had I, and I probably wouldn’t be awake much longer than he was.
I always enjoyed the rare charter flight, but I was extra glad we had it tonight. If Vasily’s knee was bothering him, then having the space and comfort would do him some good. He was on the taller side like me—around six-two—and even emergency row seats never had enough leg room on a good day. With a knee that was cranky after playing twenty-plus hard minutes on the ice? He’d have been miserable.
Fortunately, the hockey gods had seen fit to give him a reprieve tonight. Hopefully by the time we boarded our buses later in this road trip, his knee wouldn’t be fussing at him as much. Ditto with that long flight home on a commercial flight.
He saved our bacon tonight, and he’s been through enough.
Is it really too much to ask for his knee to stop giving him grief?
CHAPTER 8
VASILY
Our hotel reminded me of the places I’d stayed sometimes in major juniors. The rooms and hallways were utilitarian and plain, and the shower’s water pressure left something to be desired. The banquet hall where we were eating breakfast was kind of dim and depressing, and the food… well, it was okay, but definitely not what I was used to.
The hotel wasn’t bad, really, but perhaps I’d been a little spoiled by the high-end places the NAPH used. Still, it was clean and quiet, and there wasn’t much to complain about. Though I admittedly chuckled at the thought of some of my teammates in Seattle or Vegas staying in a place like this.
Then my humor died away as I imagined Drew finding every reason to bitch. Ugh. I was too tired to think about him today. And I’d definitely rather be eating a passable breakfast after a mediocre shower than indulging in amazing food besidehim. Perspective, and all that.
God help him if he ever had to come down to the minors and fly commercial. Especially coach. The thought made me laugh—I might’ve been a little spoiled with high-end hotels, but Drew had come from money and made even more money. I’djokedabouthiring a private jet while the rest of the team flew commercially—Drew would’ve actually done it.
Speaking of being spoiled, I had definitely been spoiled in a very different way since I’d come to Seattle. Though I hadn’t played with the Rainiers long before I’d gotten hurt, I’d gelled with the men in the locker room. The best part was that there’d been multiple Russian speakers. Grekov and Rusanov were both Russian, and though Theo Mathis was American, his mother was Russian, so he was a native speaker as well. There was also Yanni, who was Czech but spoke some Russian. Back in Las Vegas, too, I’d had a few teammates over the years, plus a couple of coaches, who were fluent.
The Orcas had two Russian-speaking players, but neither of them was here. Kovlov was currently filling in for an injured defenseman in Seattle, and Savenkov was injured himself.
My English was good, but I’d absolutely been spoiled by having people around who I could talk with in my native language. Those rare periods in my career where I hadn’t had a fellow Russian speaker on a team—they were lonelier than some people realized. During my rookie season, I’d commiserated with another guy who was the only Finn on the team; neither of us spoke the other’s mother tongue, but we both understood the isolation that came with being the only one who spoke a language.
He was now playing in Finland. I was on a team with four Russian speakers… or, well, I would be once I finished this conditioning loan.
Right now, surrounded by my English-speaking PHL teammates, I couldn’t quite keep up with the conversation. As fluent as I was, it could be tiring sometimes, and if I was already tired—which I was, thanks to the long night and early morning—then it was even harder to process the words flying all around me.
This morning, though, I was lying to myself if I thought my inability follow wassolelybecause everyone was talking in my second language. The truth was that they could all have been speaking flawless Russian and I’d still have fallen woefully behind.
All because of the man sitting across from me.
He wasn’t even saying anything, just chuckling along and egging some of the guys on as the conversation predictably turned to chirping. Was I just tired and loopy, or was his smile really that cute? Was I really that enthralled by the way he laughed? Or was it just that I couldn’t forget his kiss?
Christ, Vasily. Get your head together.
I needed to. Especially since we had a game tonight, and I was running on less sleep than I needed. Despite being exhausted, I’d struggled to sleep last night. Part of that was the nap I’d taken on the plane; never a good idea if I was going to try to sleep for real not long after. Part of it was the relentless ache in my knee (which was much better this morning, thank God).
Most of it, though…
I’d spent half the night lying in bed replaying that moment Taylor had scored. There’d been that collective surge of energy as the whole crowd had shot to their feet—that was always addictive, even in a smaller venue—but it had barely registered over the absolute joy on Taylor’s face. That triumphant smile. The victorious shout. The fist pump in the air.
Fucking hell. That man was so damn hot anyway, but seeing him like that—seeing him celebrate his game-winning goal—had genuinely stolen my breath.
I was so fucking stupid. And I’d have to take an extra-long pregame nap tonight if I didn’t want to collapse on the goddamned ice.
All because my linemate was too pretty for me to sleep or function.
Our teammates finished their breakfast and started peeling away to get ready for our morning skate. I’d just refilled my coffee, so I stayed behind to finish that.
And who else had a freshly topped off coffee and didn’t leave?
