Preseason game number one is in the books. It wasn’t my best game ever, but we won, and I scored twice, so I guess I’ll chalk it up as a good start. Of course, I got checked big time because that stupid rookie wasn’t in the right spot when I was ready for a pass. If he’d have passed to me when I got to the line, I’d have chucked the biscuit right into the net and scored a third time, but nooo, the motherfucker was showboating, hogging the puck, and it gave too much time for their defensive players to move on me. Bam! Right into the glass, helmet off, taking a beating.

After I shower up and dress, I head out to the postgame press event Fiona has set up. I see the hot brunette across the room with Troy Laurent, the team’s best scout. They’re together every time I see that chick. So, either he’s her silver fox or she’s a new scout. I hope against hope it’s the latter because…eeeew. I mean, he’s all right for an old-timer but damn. What hot, young woman wants old cock when she can have—

“Hi, sexy,” a familiar voice says, breaking me out of my thoughts about hot chicks and old balls. It’s Kacey King, a local television news personality. Speaking of hot…Kacey is all big tits, blonde hair, and oozing sex in a tight, black dress paired with fuck-me heels.

Did I mention I may have boned her? Just once. I mean…look at her. And it was good, maybe more than good, but it was end-of-season and I was a little drunk after our last game...and we just never really connected again after that.

So, it’s awkward, sort of, when she puts me on camera right away, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief and invitation as she asks me questions about the preseason and the big hit I took tonight.

“It looked like you were out of sync with the new players a bit,” Kacey comments. “Are you concerned about taking another hit in next week’s game?”

“Well, we take hits no matter what, but we can definitely stand to play more like a unit. I can take it though, I’m a big boy, and the fans like a good crack at the glass every so often.”

“Especially when they get an up-close glimpse of one of Las Vegas’s most eligible bachelors,” she says with a sexy grin.

“Oh gosh,” I say, rubbing my hand over my beard and grinning. “Did that list come out again?”

“No, not yet, but I’m sure your name will be there again this year, though many fans would gladly help you remove yourself from that spotlight.”

“Well,” I say, looking around the room to look for the mysterious brunette, “You never know when lightning will strike.”

She cuts the camera and squeezes my arm. “Hey, good game tonight. Really great to see you.”

There’s nothing implied about the statement. Nope. It’s overt and sexy and if I wasn’t trying to make my way through the crowd to mack on someone else, I might give her a time and a place for round two. Operative word being ‘might.’

All the local sports journalists are here, so I make nice and dutiful and give them a few sound bites about how we’re working on teamwork, learning each other’s style of play, adjusting to some new faces, and blah, blah, fucking blah.

I finally get through the crowd to find Coach Brown talking to Troy and that gorgeous brunette. They’re having a scouting conversation about some high school phenomenon. Coach is balking.

“Hell no, Troy,” he says.

“He’s amazing, dude,” Troy says. “The next Great One.”

“Oh, come on,” Coach says with an epic eye roll. “He’s a kid. Give him time to season up then bring him to me. I’m not into shiny things.”

“Suit yourself,” Troy says. “I’ll have others for you to look at.”

“Yep,” Coach says. “Chalamet’s gonna leave a hole. Fill it.”

I decide this is the time to insert myself into the conversation. “Who needs Chalamet when you’ve got Kazmeirowicz and Kolochev?” I ask with a wide grin.

“You mean Kazochev?” Troy asks with a snicker.

“Yeah, who came up with that? New social media twerp?” I ask with a laugh.

“You’re looking at the…twerp,” the brunette says.

My mouth is does its best impression of what-the-fuck and I say nothing. Fuck me.

“Evan, this is my niece, Holly Laurent,” Troy says with a smirk.

Holly offers her hand to shake. I look at it for a good long while, trying to make sense of what is happening. I need to get my shit together, so I shut my yap, square my shoulders, and shake the young woman’s hand.

“I’m—”

“Evan Kazmeirowicz,” she interrupts. “I know. I’ve been promoting you and Kolochev’s special on-ice relationship. You have a ship name now.”

“Kazochev?” I ask. “Was that your idea?”

“The ship name? No.” Her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink as she gives me a rueful smile. “But I definitely capitalized on it once it took shape.”

“So, your role at the organization is?”

“Social Media Manager. I’m on Fiona’s team.”

“Okay,” I say. “Well good luck with her. She bites sometimes. You’d better be on your toes. You a big hockey fan?”

“Actually,” Troy says, “Holly’s a bit of a hockey newbie. She’s picking it up pretty fast, though.”

“Not a fan of the game?” I ask. “How can you promote the team if you don’t have a real appreciation for what we’re doing out there?” I hope my tone comes off the way I intend. Teasing. Flirty. A bit of challenge.

Her chin lifts a bit before she responds. “I’m an athlete, too. I’m pretty sure I can keep up.”

“From what I’ve heard, social media traffic is way up already. Seems like you’re doing just fine,” I say with a wink. “Be good if you knew how to lace up a pair of skates, though.”

She lets out a little laugh. Coach takes Troy off to the side to talk scouting some more, so I’m left with Holly. She shifts her mass of long, dark hair over one shoulder and bites her full bottom lip. I’d like to suck on that lip.

“I’ve seen you on the ice. During practice. You and the rookie seem to still be butting heads.”

“He’s nothing I can’t handle. He’ll settle down soon enough.”

“And you, Evan, when will you settle down?”

I laugh out loud at this. “Well, I might be past the point of no return.”

“I think Troy told me you’re from the Ukraine, but your accent is more British?”

“Good catch. I went to a British private school in the Ukraine. My mother is American, my father Russian, so I think the result is a bit of a mash-up.”

“Well, I like it,” she says softly. “I like the sound of it.”

“I’d be happy to read you some poetry anytime,” I say with what I hope is a genuine and not smarmy smile. “Or the NHL rules, if that would be more helpful to your current situation.”

“I’m picking things up pretty quickly, though you’re not wrong. I’ve never been on a pair of ice skates.”

“How is that even possible?” I ask. “I think I skated before I could walk.”

“I grew up in LA,” she says drily.

“That’s your excuse? There is an NHL team there, you know.”

She makes an unimpressed noise. “I was more of a beach girl. I ran; I surfed; I played volleyball. Nothing required ice skates.”

“Which of those put you through college?” I ask.

“Running.”

“Cool, cool. Well, if you ever want an ice skating lesson, it would be my privilege to provide it to you.”

“I just might take you up on that offer.” A wicked grin spreads across her face. “If your bro-friend will spare you for a bit.”

I’m ready to fire back a witty response, but she turns abruptly and gives me a small wave. “It was nice to meet you, Evan.”

Watching her go, my mouth suddenly feels dry and my skin feels hot. It’s a weird sensation, and I can feel it rushing throughout my body as the heat takes hold. Like spiking a fever in an icy room.

But it’s no illness.

It’s a bite.

I’ve been bitten, and the venom is in me now.

Far too late for me to do a thing about it.