Page 94 of These Wicked Games
“Thank you, Oli.” She sits down and I point to a tall, lean man.
“Can you attribute your recent wins to your relationship? Are you more motivated to win?”
While it is a question about our relationship, I’m going to be honest. “Yes.” I will not be elaborating.
“Aren’t you worried about the media surrounding your relationship? You’re the captain and you’re sleeping with a teammate. Do you or Mr. Tavares plan on being traded?”
Why would they ask that? I bristle. “No.” I glare. “My personal relationship is no one’s fucking business. I’m an Otter. This shit is for life, or as long as Coach’s patience allows me.” That earns me some laughs. It was my dream growing up to be a Viper. They were my favorite team, and I needed that contract to take care of my mother. The thing is, now, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I wouldn’t change the way everything turned out even if I wish my mother were alive to see it. Even though she’s not here, I know she’s proud of me. “No more questions.” I stand as my name gets shouted over and over.
I rush back to the locker room, looking for one person.
twenty-eight
Andre
“Who I’m in love with has nothing to do with the sport I play.”
I showered fast, not wanting to miss Oli’s press conference, and now I’m watching on the monitor. I didn’t know what it was about. I can't believe he just said all that. To the public. Heat blooms in my chest. While I want to sink into the happiness I feel, I can't. We don’t have any updates on Grey. I look over at Atlas, sitting next to me on the bench, and he looks like he got the soul sucked right out of him. “Hey.” I slip my hand into his. He blinks out of his trance to look down at our hands with a smile. “He’s going to be okay.”
“I’ve never heard someone scream like that,” he rasps out. “I need to go see him.”
I want to tell him it’ll be alright, but I don’t know. I’ve played with Rome for years and no one likes that prick, even on the Vipers. He takes cheap shots. He constantly stays in the media for all the wrong reasons. On top of that, he’s just a fucking dick. “Do you speak Russian?”
Atlas’s brows pinch and he shakes his head. “I’m American. I was born in Jersey, actually. I think my mom’s side was Italian but I don’t really know.” He smiles sadly. “Why?”
“Oli keeps calling me something and I want to know what it is.”
“Google, man.” He takes his phone out. “What is it?”
“Uh,zayka. I don’t know how to spell it.”
Atlas holds his phone out. “Hey Google, what doeszaykamean in Russian?”
“Zayka in Russian is a term of endearment, meaning ‘little bunny’ or ‘bunny.’ It's a cute way to address loved ones, children, or close friends, similar to saying ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’ in English,”the robotic voice tells me.
That fucking asshole.
Atlas is laughing now, genuinely. “He’s been basically calling you a puck bunny in Russian.” He laughs harder. “Oh thank you, I needed that.”
“What a fucking dick.”
Atlas sobers, chuckling softly. “I know you’ve known him longer than I have, but I’ve known this version of Kuli longer than you. He’s the most loyal guy you’ll ever meet. I feel bad sometimes because there are things about me he doesn’t know. I know he knows there’s things I’ve held back from him, but he doesn’t pressure me to share. Oli’s the guy who takes on everyone’s burdens. I don’t want to add to that.”
“What do you mean?”
Atlas swallows. “Nothing, just bullshit. Past bullshit. I didn’t have the most healthy upbringing. Oli, though, he likes to take everyone’s pain. He’s the person you call when you’re having a crisis.” Atlas stands up, now in his street clothes. “It’s nice that he has someone he can lean on. I’m really happy for you both.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m going to the hospital. Tell Oli I’ll be there whenever he’s ready. No rush. I doubt they’ve really gotten Grey looked at yet.”
I watch him go, waiting on the bench. I need to dress; I’m still sitting in my towel. Most everyone else has gone home by now, and some of the guys wanted to go to the hospital, but Atlas is right. They probably don’t know anything yet.
After a moment Oli walks in. “You fucking dick!”
He freezes, looking around. “Um . . .”
“A bunny. A fucking bunny!” A slow grin spreads along his lips. “I’m not your puck bunny!” He walks into me with a laugh. “I’m not!”
He cups my face, not even checking to see if we’re alone before kissing my lips. “My good littlezayka.”
“I hate you.”
