Page 18 of Glitz & Goals

“Are we drinking?” Viktor asks as soon as we sit down.

“I will if you are.” I scan the drinks menu and decide on a Tokyo Mule. When our server stops by, Viktor orders a sake sampler.

“You’d better not be driving home,” I warn.

“Relax, I took a cab from the arena.” Viktor sits back in the booth and crosses his arms. “Knight drove me to morning skate, so I don’t even have a car with me.”

I don’t fully understand any of Viktor’s friendships—sometimes, I think he and Knight despise each other, and other times they’re good buddies. Maybe it’s a guy thing. Maybe it’s just a Viktor thing. He likes to fuck with people, but he’s just charming enough to wheedle himself back into people’s good graces when he decides he wants to play nice.

Like, for example, taking me out for lunch after abandoning me to a fishy fate only the day before.

The server returns with our drinks, and we place our order. I haven’t even had a chance to lift my cup to my lips when Viktor asks, “So, how’s your dating life?”

I paused, still clutching my cup. “Excuse me?”

“Just wondering if you’re seeing someone.” He swirls one of the little sake cups and sniffs the contents. “Ooh, that’s nice.”

“Viktor…”

He looks up at me and waits for my answer.

“I’m not seeing anyone, and you know it,” I mutter at last. I take a deep swig of my drink, which is surprisingly strong and dangerously drinkable. Most of the bartenders in Vegas do light pours; I wonder if the server recognized us and told the bartender not to skimp on the booze.

“Good to know,” is all Viktor says.

“Why are you asking?” I shake my head. “No, you know what? I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need you matchmaking. I can only imagine the drooling miscreant you’d try to hook me up with.”

This, of all things, is what finally gets a rise out of Viktor. “What makes you think…”

“Please, I’ve met your friends. I’ve grown up with half of them. And historically speaking, these hockey players are not my type. Too many pucks to the head.”

Viktor sips his sake. “I’m not angling to hook you up with a teammate. Most of the guys I know are too young for you, anyway.”

I slam my half-empty cup down. “Ex-cuseme?”

“You know, because you’re more… mature.” The little shit is taking far too much delight in my response.

“Watch it.” I jab a finger at him.

“I meant emotionally.”

“Sure you did.”

Viktor moves on to his next cup. “Hypothetically speaking, though, what if I had someone in mind who wasn’t a hockeyplayer?”

“Then he’s probably a player in general. And I don’t have time for that. My biological clock is ticking.”

Viktor recoils. “Can you not…”

“My eggs are shriveling up even as we speak.”

“Viv,gross,” he whines. “I don’t want a mental image of your ovaries.”

I press one hand to my forehead and sigh. “I don’t need a fuckboy. I need a man who will fulfill both my physical and emotional needs.”

Viktor pretends to barf over the edge of the table.

“Hey, you asked.” My watch chimes, and I look down to check the message that just popped up. “Oh, hell. There was another costume emergency. I have to go.” I flag our server down and ask him to have my meal packed up to go. There’s never a dull moment in theater.

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