I realized I was shaking when he rubbed his hands up and down my arms, as if to warm me up.

“I’m not cold,” I told him, trying to calm my breath.

“I know. I’m trying to keep my hands busy,” he said as he drove his hips into mine again, the friction escalating the throbbing sensation throughout my core.

I squeezed his biceps. “Why?”

“Because I want to touch you, Audushka.”

Aleksandr disappeared under the comforter. His warm body slid down my skin before settling between my legs. While pausing to kiss the sensitive skin below my belly button, his deft fingers unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down my legs. I laced my fingers in his long, dark locks while arching against the mattress to give him a better angle to pull, and ended up thrusting my pelvis at his face.

“Fuck,” he groaned. The rush of cool air from his curse hit me at the same time that his fingers brushed between my legs.

It was then that I realized how different this situation was from anything I’d previously been involved in. I couldn’t get a handle on my desire, which was trumping all common sense at this particular moment. Even though he was wasted, I wanted him to tear my underwear away and push himself into me.

Vision after vision ripped rampant through my mind. “Danger Ahead” signs. A paper heart bearing my name being ripped to shreds by hockey gloves. A feeling of absolute isolation and emptiness vibrated through every bone.

I should ignore the Debbie Downer thoughts and side with my raging and ready hormones. I didn’t care if I woke up alone and used, my dignity like tin cans tied to the car of newlyweds, dented by each jolt against concrete. Being with Aleksandr was worth it, wasn’t it?

No.

Though I was ready as I ever had been, when it came down to reality, I didn’t want my first time to be while he was drunk. I wanted him to have control over what he was doing, rather than a sloppy, painful interaction I would regret later.

Not that there had been anything sloppy about his current actions. He was the most nimble drunk I’d ever encountered.

“Sasha, I don’t want to do this when you’re drunk,” I protested.

“I don’t either,” he said as cold air took the place of the warmth where he’d been holding my thighs. Though we were in a king-sized bed with four humongous pillows, when he emerged from the depths of the comforter he rested his head on the same pillow as I, his face inches from mine. He gripped my hips, his hands slipping under the fabric of my underwear as he pulled me closer.

“Sasha,” I warned when he rolled me to my back, pressing his body weight against me. I could’ve kicked myself for telling him I wanted to wait until he was sober. It wasn’t really true. I wanted him inside me.

“We don’t have to have sex, Audushka,” he whispered, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “I know you’re close.”

Hearing him verbalize how aware he was of my current state of excitement made me squirm, giving away any poker face I was trying to keep. His mouth lifted into his trademark smirk. I wanted his mouth all over me, and though I was insanely comfortable with him, I wasn’t bold enough to tell him.

“Just say yes.”

Teetering on the edge of the ultimate release I’d only ever accomplished by myself must have swayed me in the direction of extreme selfishness.

“Yes,” I whispered. Then I slipped into oblivion.

The last thing Aleksandr had done before falling asleep was kiss the top of my head and curl his body around mine. Deep breaths and counting sheep, my usual remedies to calm down, weren’t having any soothing effect on my rapid heartbeat. Being wrapped in his arms with nothing but my shirt and underwear between us kept my pulse pumping for completely different reasons than I normally felt with guys.

In my experience, lying in a guy’s bed made me feel trapped like a firefly in a mason jar. I’d lie there, anxiously waiting for the opportunity to slink out as fast as I could. I’d always been able to walk away. I didn’t have any such claustrophobic feelings with Aleksandr, and that freaked me out. He had a hold on me. A hold much stronger than the heavy arm draped over my waist.

I never wanted to let myself slip into thinking I couldn’t live without someone, because I knew it was a lie. When you grow up without the most important people in your life, you know you can—and will—live without anyone.

Chapter 14

Two days after Christmas, I was back in my seat at “The Hangar,” which was Robinson Arena’s nickname. As I waited for the game to begin, I surveyed the crowd. There were the normal jersey-wearing hockey fans—men, women, kids. And then there were the puck bunnies. I’m not talking about normal women who like hockey but don’t want to wear a jersey to the games. I’m talking about the girls wearing tight tank tops, skirts barely covering their butts, and knee-high boots. The girls who were obviously not there for the love of the game but for catching the attention of the players.

As I continued scanning the crowd, I spotted the BFAs. Bunnies for Aleksandr. One girl wore a replica of Aleksandr’s Pilots jersey and Daisy Dukes—I assumed. I could see only legs sticking out from under the jersey; I hoped she’d had some kind of shorts on underneath. Another wore a Pilots T-shirt with Aleksandr’s name and number on the back. The shirt was so tight, I’d bet my car the tag inside would have a capital Y denoting a youth size. She’d cut the front into a deep V and used shoelaces to tie it together, creating great cleavage. It was also cut and tied on each side, revealing tight, smooth abs. I was slightly jealous; hers was a killer stomach.

When the announcer introduced Aleksandr, I’d jumped from my seat and clapped like Pavlov’s freaking dog. So when I caught myself staring at him as he stood at the blue line shuffling his skates, I lifted my gaze and scanned the arena again. Unfortunately for my self-esteem, my eyes went straight back to the bunnies, with their big breasts bouncing in their seductive altered T-shirts and their plump, painted lips screaming his name. I lowered myself into my seat, casually inspecting my hands.

The guy next to me leaned over. “Don’t worry about them. Varenkov only has eyes for you.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Whatever.”

“You’ve got his eye right now.” He nodded to the ice.

Aleksandr wasn’t paying attention to the man in military regalia singing the national anthem in a rich baritone. His eyes were on the section of seats where I was sitting. All the bunnies were sitting behind the goal, which was far right of where I was, so he wasn’t looking at them. Turning my head slightly, I stole a glance at the people occupying the seats behind me—a couple of old guys and a kid.

Aleksandr brought his gloved hand to his lips, then pounded his heart twice, before he dropped his arm back to his side. He didn’t smile, which was good. He needed to focus. What the hell was he doing looking up here anyway?

“Are you his girlfriend?” the man next to me asked.

“Uh, no.” I laughed his comment off, though I could feel my cheeks burn. Despite how close we’d grown in the last two weeks, Aleksandr and I hadn’t discussed our relationship status, so I couldn’t just assume he was my boyfriend. “Why would you ask me that?”

“This is where the wives and girlfriends sit.” He thrust his hand at me. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

I shook it. “Auden.”

“The translator. That’s right.” Jason nodded, leaning forward and grabbing his beer from the cup holder.

The translator. Of course, I was just the translator.

“Which one are you?” I asked.

“Which what am I?”

“You said this is where wives and girlfriends sit, so which one are you?” I winked.

Jason laughed, deep and hearty. “I’m Landon Taylor’s brother.” He pointed to the ice. “Number six. I try to see a game whenever I’m in town.”