Eight months ago

Vlad turned twenty-three as the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Day, officially ringing in the new year and making him another year older. He looked down at the blonde on her knees in front of him and couldn’t think of a better way to start it. Except, all he felt when he looked at her was apathy; he really just wanted her to leave. He’d spent the last three New Year’s Eves partying like this, renting a fancy hotel room and inviting as many beautiful women as he could find to join him. Usually it was great. He got drunk, he got laid, and he woke up in the morning ready to start another year of his amazing life here in Las Vegas.

The problem was he wasn’t having fun tonight. He’d started the evening with a few guys he played hockey with, his teammates from the Sidewinders, and they found a handful of women who wanted to party. About an hour ago they’d all paired off—well, Matt Forbes left with one, Brock Lassiter took off with two—and Vlad was left with the blonde currently trying to suck him off and failing miserably. Her bright red lipstick looked garish wrapped around his cock, and closer inspection revealed an inch of black roots on the top of her head.

Taking a deep breath, he reached down and touched her shoulder. “Hey, I am almost passing out,” he said in halting English. He was trying to speak better, but he didn’t have a lot of time to study between playing, travel, and working out.

“I can do it better,” she said quickly, glancing up at him.

“No, is good,” he lied. “Is me. I have trouble when I drink too much.” That was a crock of shit—he could get a hard-on in a cold shower after a bottle of tequila—but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings any more than he had to since he was about to kick her out.

“You sure, sugar?” She gazed up at him worriedly and he realized she had to be at least fifteen years older than he was. How had he not noticed it before? She had a nice body, but in the harsh light there was no mistaking the lines around her eyes and mouth. Christ, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel tonight and it was his birthday.

“No worries!” He gave her a small grin as he zipped up his jeans. “You go home, I go to sleep. You need money for cab?”

“No.” She shook her head, pursing her lips slightly. “So, you want me to leave?”

“I go sleep now.” He winked. “Maybe another time.”

“Okay.” She gathered her things, still looking at him strangely. “You’re awfully young for erectile dysfunction,” she said after a minute. “Maybe you should drink less.”

“Maybe,” he agreed solemnly, ushering her towards the door.

When he finally shut the door behind her he breathed a sigh of relief and went to lie on the bed. He was tired, but not nearly as drunk as he’d pretended to be. Brock and Matt had finished off a bottle of Jack Daniels, but Vlad had only nursed a few shots, making them last most of the night.

Wondering what the hell was wrong with him, he sighed, going over to the large bay of windows overlooking the Strip. On paper, it appeared that he had it all; unfortunately, he wasn’t happy. He played hockey for an NHL team he loved, made millions of dollars a year, and had women falling at his feet everywhere he went. He had a few friends, though not as many as he might have liked, lived in a great condo, and drove his dream car—a royal-blue Corvette. He had nothing to complain about, but the truth was, he was lonely. Most of his friends on the Sidewinders were married, with the exception of Brock and Matt, but they were a bit older than he was and his struggle with English sometimes made it hard to bond with people.

Coming to the NHL straight from Russia, he never had a chance to play in the AHL because he’d been too talented. So he left his country and came here to start the adventure of a lifetime, but after three and a half years, he was tired of the constant party. He spent money like it was going out of style and knew it was foolish, but after growing up in an orphanage and struggling to find his way through the ranks as a hockey player in Russia, he’d always convinced himself he deserved a few of the finer things in life.

That was getting boring now. Just like women and partying. He wanted something more stable in his life, but nice women scared the crap out of him and it was hard to hang out with his married friends and their kids. The only other Russian on the team, Toli Petrov, had gotten married a few months ago and was expecting a baby this spring. His former drinking buddy, Zakk Cloutier, was engaged and he and his fiancée were expecting a baby any day now. Brock was a lot of fun, but the guy partied like an animal and got arrested at least once every season. Although the team had been keeping a tighter leash on Brock this year, Vlad was sometimes nervous when they partied together because he didn’t want to do anything that could possibly get him kicked out of the US and sent back to Russia.

Glancing at his phone, he was surprised it was almost one in the morning. He wasn’t tired at all. Frustrated that he was alone and bored on his birthday, he grabbed his room key, stuck it in his wallet, and put the wallet and phone in his pocket. It might be fun to sneak down to the casino and play a few hands of blackjack before he called it a night. He wasn’t a big gambler, but it was entertaining once in a while. Maybe the fact it was his birthday would bring him luck and help him wind down.

The casino was packed since it was New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas, but Vlad had the money to buy his way into one of the private rooms in the back where the masses couldn’t go. There was an empty seat and he sank into it, ordering a shot of vodka from the waitress. He put a stack of chips in front of him and glanced to his right. The woman sitting there was twirling a drink in her hand, impatiently tapping a fingernail on the table as she waited for the dealer.

She was beautiful, with a perfect profile and thick dark hair that loosely curled around her shoulders. She was slender, wearing a short black skirt, a sparkly silver halter top, and silver high heels that made her legs look a mile long. Where the hell had she been while he’d been getting a blowjob from a woman old enough to be his mother?

Shaking his head, he motioned for the dealer to deal him in, and he watched the cards. His first card was a jack, and he smiled. He grinned even more when the beautiful woman beside him got one, too.

“It is a good blackjack night, I think,” he said lightly.

“It should be!” She grinned, looking over at him. “It’s my birthday!”

“Really?” he held out his hand. “Mine too! Happy birthday!”

She shook his hand and laughed, her blue eyes sparkling in the bright light. “Happy birthday to you, too. What do you say we tear this table up?”

“Yes!” Vlad nodded at the dealer who turned over the next card.

“You got a Blackjack!” The brunette laughed in delight, reaching over to place a fat, wet kiss on his cheek as he won his first hand.

“Look!” Vlad laughed when the next card revealed she was a winner, too.

“Two more shots,” she called out, motioning for the waitress and putting a twenty-dollar chip on her tray. “What’ll you have?”

“Grey Goose, chilled,” Vlad said.

“Two.” The woman glanced at him. “I’m Rachel.”

“Vladimir.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she cocked her head. “Vladimir. Why do you look familiar?”

He stared at her curiously. Now that he thought about it, she was familiar, too. Wait, she looked a lot like that girl on the vampire show he watched. It couldn’t be, could it? Shit. Didn’t Jamie Teller, a teammate that had been traded earlier this season, date her? Crap. Was this Rachel Kennedy, the TV star?

“You are Jamie’s ex-girlfriend,” he said after a moment.

She made a face. “You play for the Sidewinders.”

“This is bad?”

She shrugged. “Nah, no biggie. Come on, let’s do a birthday shot!” She turned to the waitress, who’d just brought their drinks, and held up the glass. “To birthdays. How old are you, Vlad?”

“I am twenty-three. You?”

“Twenty-five.” She paused. “Practically ancient by Hollywood standards.”

“Practically perfect,” he murmured, downing the shot.

She flashed him a smile. “Let’s gamble, Vladimir.” She handed her empty glass to the passing waitress.

“Just Vlad,” he said softly.