Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,25

again. “No apologies, but you maybe want to take this into the bedroom?”

He levered me off him, catching me before I fell, and then he tugged me down past the kitchen.

We were so close to getting inside and for me to experience everything I’d dreamed about when his cell made this obnoxious alarm noise and he stopped.

“Colorado Ublyudok!”

Frank copied him immediately. Although why Colorado’s name was in there, I didn’t know.

He released his hold on me and picked up the cell, connecting the call and letting off a stream of obscenities that were a mix of Russian and American. I heard someone shouting back.

“What!” He was incredulous. “No, I’m not— Ublyudok! Thirty minutes and don’t you fucking leave, you moronic asshole kusok der'ma.”

He slammed the phone onto the counter, bent his head, and I could see the tension in every corded muscle of him, his hands curling into fists as if he wanted to hit someone so hard they’d end up through the Plexiglass at the arena. His reaction didn’t scare me since he was all about control, but every so often, where the Raptors were concerned there were glimpses of an awesome Russian temper. This was different, though.

“What’s happened?” I asked, and took a step closer to him, wondering if we were in a place where I could touch his arm to calm him down.

“You don’t want to know,” he ground out, “Fucking Colorado! He’ll be the death of me.”

We all knew Colorado was a live-wire, or a loose cannon, or any combination of words that described someone with tentative control on himself, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Vlad curse as much as this before. He was the captain who dealt with officials in a calm, professional manner, the one who had every team member’s back, but whatever Colorado had done now was clearly a long way past bad.

“What did he do?”

He left out a sigh, then turned to face me. “He’s holed up in his house with that fucking emu, and is refusing to come out.”

“How do you know that? Why did he call you?”

“Because Animal Control is outside his place, he’s broken a hundred rules, and now they’re calling in the cops, and he calls me every single goddamn time he messes up. So often I even have a ringtone just for him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Temper flared in his eyes. “How will that look? You want Colorado seeing us together, with my mark on your neck?”

I instinctively covered the place I’d seen the bruise, and the temper left him as soon as it had appeared. He pulled me into his arms and held me close.

“I’m sorry, dorogoy.”

“What does that mean?”

He looked past me at the door. “I have to deal with this, call management, make this less than it is before he destroys everything.”

“I understand.”

“You should go home.”

“I can stay here.” Wait for you to come back.

“Go home, we have the flight to Calgary tomorrow,” he said, and I imagine he was trying for reassuring, but his head was elsewhere. He was using his captain voice, and I didn’t argue. Then he cradled my face and kissed me gently. “I’m sorry, dorogoy. So sorry.”

When I got home I was at a loss of what to do in the huge space, I showered, made an omelet after my stomach reminded me I’d had nothing to eat, and then it was an aimless wander through empty rooms. Property was cheaper in Tucson than it had been in Dallas, but then I’d bought an apartment in downtown Dallas close to the Arts District as an investment and it was sure as shit expensive there. This place was rented, I didn’t own one small part of it, and it was too big for me. I wanted something more like Vlad’s, open plan with a view, a kitchen where you could prepare food and have friends propped up against the counter. Renting was a waste, but I had all this money just sitting there, investments that I had control over, some property, some more speculative and I earned more than Vlad did, more than anyone on the Raptors. They’d paid a huge price to have me come here, and I guess our first away game would show them if I was worth it. Only, we were up against a Calgary team that was still hot from last year’s cup run.

From there it was onto Vancouver, then all the way back to Toronto. Eight days away from Tucson, the Canadian road