Well, so far so good on this trip. We’d see what happened on the much longer bus ride from Edmonton to Winnipeg.
I’d just taken a sip of my coffee, and I very nearly spat it out when someone took the seat next to mine.
“Did you miss the snow when you lived in Vegas?” Vasily asked, casual as could be.
I somehow didn’t sputter my coffee, and after I’d swallowed it, managed to sound relaxed and normal. “Sometimes. But then I’d visit my parents in Michigan during Christmas and remember how much I hate ice that’s not inside a hockey rink.”
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 goddamnedsnow.”
“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 sodry.”
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.”
