Page 12 of Bad Teammate
“Fuck,” I muttered, “are you really feeling that bad?”
“Uaaaah,” he groaned.
“Do me a favor and don’t get sick in here, either.”
With ading,the elevator announced that we’d arrivedon the penthouse floor. The doors slid open but Niko looked up at me from the ground with a helpless whimper.
“Really?” I asked with a sigh. He couldn’t get up. “I hope you know how much I do for you, kid.” I squatted down, put his arm around my shoulder, and helped hoist him to his feet.
I helped carry his weight down the hallway, the carpet swishing beneath our staggered footsteps.
“Jesus, you’re heavy,” I muttered. “You big bastard. I thought Russians were supposed to be able to handle their liquor?”
Niko growled some snarky reply in Russian.
“Yeah, whatever. We’re almost home.”
We rounded the corner. My door was so close, just at the end of the hall, but Niko’s feet suddenly stopped moving.
“Comeon,bud,” I groaned, trying to move him forward, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Katya?” Niko mumbled with surprise. It was the first word he’d said that I’d clearly heard and understood. (Besides “me love score goals,” if we’re really going to countthat.)
I looked up.
A girl—Katya, apparently—waited outside my door, sitting on a giant wheeled suitcase. She hadn’t seen us; her attention was focused on the phone that glowed in her hand. She hadn’t heard us, either, thanks to the earbuds plugged in her ears.
Oh no, Niko,was my first thought.Please tell me you don’t have crazy club chicks stalking you now.
Niko’s feet began moving again. The closer we got to her, the brighter her beauty shined—and the quicker I realized this wasn’t some crazy chick from the club.
No, this was Niko’s girl from back home.
I didn’t need to hear her speak a word—I could tell she was Russian just by looking at her. I could see it in the heart-shaped face, the almond eyes, the full and pouting lips. Sure, she was pretty—but it was clear there was more going on under the surface with this girl. Just in the way she sat, all upright with her spine perfectly straight, I could see in her that hardened strength, that resilient Russian spirit, that her people were known for.
Wow,I thought.She’s an absolute stunner. Good job, Niko.
But if she came to America because she found out what he’d been up to last night? Maybe she wasn’t going to be his girl for much longer.
Niko tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, she looked up. Her sleek hair was tied up into a messy bun; random strands ran astray.
“Sasha!” she replied, yanking her earbuds out. She popped off her luggage and jumped into Niko’s arms.
While they shared a quiet and soulful embrace, I peeked at the baggage claim label on her suitcase. I couldn’t read the Russian words, but they confirmed my suspicions anyway. She must’ve had a very long flight. She was dressed for a long flight, too; a lightweight hoodie and tight jeans completed her comfy look.
The two lovers ended their hug and parted. And just like that, the fighting began.
I stood and silently watched them argue. Russian is a brutal language to my ears, so honestly, I couldn’t even besurethey were fighting … if it weren’t for the body language, that is. Niko hung his head in shame while his girlfriend ranted at him and stamped an index finger in his chest again and again to drive home whatever point she was making.
Yup, Niko got busted,I thought.He’s gonna spend the rest of his life regretting it, too. This girl is gonna be the one that got away.
I cleared my throat. “Hey guys, are we gonna do introductions? Or try to, anyway?” I asked aloud, but they were too busy bantering to notice me. “No? Okay. Cool.”
I wondered what this girl did back home. Was she an actress? A singer? A model? Shehadto be somebody important because the Russians loved their hockey, and Niko was on track to being the greatest player they’ve ever had. I was positive that Russia’s most famous and beautiful women threw themselves at him. I didn’t want to stare at her or anything—trust me, the last thing you want in the locker room is to be known as the teammate that’s always checking out the boys’ girlfriends—but it was clear she was the best Russia had to offer.
During the finger-pointing commotion, the lightweight hoodie she wore tumbled down her shoulder and hung from her elbow. I fought the urge to steal a glance at her bare shoulder, or the dainty strap of her camisole. But Katya didn’t notice her hoodie had slipped, or didn’t care to fix it.
And, yeah, my eyes wandered.
