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the girls who reorganized their lives according to whatever boy they were dating that semester. Yet on a long-ago summer afternoon, love had seemed, with a boy she’d known a mere eight hours, the most natural thing in the world. He’d held her hand under her desk all day long. And she had prayed he would never let go.
    Seeing him again had unsealed channels she’d believed blocked off if not forgotten, but she hadn’t expected his presence in her life after so many years. A presence she had gone out of her way to request. And in those channels flowed the truth: her love of the sport was not the incentive for monitoring his career, though he and hockey were inextricably linked. It was that every day, she conceded to the piece of her heart he’d never relinquished. She thought of him, and dreamed. 
    She gulped the wine, letting the boozy warmth infuse her limbs, her brain. Anything to get him out, though if eight years hadn’t been enough, one night stood no chance.
     
    ***
     
    Aleksandr
     
    Sasha and two of his teammates walked into Teasers, the bouncer having waved them through without charging the cover. It was funny how things worked in this country, how the people who could most afford things often got them free, while those with the least money were expected to pay regardless of their ability to do so.
    Tyler had suggested going to one of those seedy places where the girls danced nude. That didn’t surprise Sasha, as Tyler had no class. Sasha had been with enough women that nowadays he liked a little something left to the imagination, and some random coke whore thrusting her diseased pussy in his face failed to impress. So jaded already at twenty-five.
    They sat at a small, round table by the main stage. A waitress appeared immediately, her eagerness no doubt spurred by the expectation of a large tip and something more, though Washington State’s ban on the sale of alcohol in strip clubs allowed her to serve only soda or energy drinks. Her tight, black T-shirt clung to her ample breasts, and black boy-shorts hugged a hot little ass. Yes, she might get something more after all, and he whispered as much to her. The waitresses were safer. He distrusted women who took their clothes off for a living.
    A woman—and that was being generous—emerged from behind the glittery curtain. He suspected she’d auditioned with a fake ID, because no way in hell was she eighteen. She launched into her routine, peeled off the hooker dress she’d bought at some sex shop, and revealed small breasts with lime-green pasties over the nipples to match her G-string. He felt like a dirty old man watching her hang upside down from the pole, her face passive, disinterested. Trying to get through the night. Probably a runaway. His skin crawled.
    Tyler stood at the foot of the stage, waving a fifty. She dropped onto her six-inch heels, squatted with her back to him, and plucked it from him with her ass cheeks, then tucked it into her waistband. He ran his hand up her leg.
    “Hey, man, no touching,” a bouncer said.
    “Do you know who I am?”
    Fucking hell.
    “Look who I’m with!”
    “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. No. Touching. I have to tell you again, you’re outta here.”
    Not a hockey fan. A lot of those in Seattle.
    “She tips you out, right? You really want to throw this away?” He flapped the bill in the bouncer’s face.
    “That’s it, motherfucker. Get your ass out of here.” The bouncer, who had a good fifty pounds on Tyler, grabbed his arm.
    Sasha jumped up from the table. “Wait, wait.” He set a hand on the bouncer’s shoulder. “Let’s calm down—”
    “Who are you telling to calm down? And get your hands off me!” The bouncer released Tyler and shoved Sasha, who stumbled back against the table, his height for once a disadvantage.
    He curled his fingers into a fist. Adrenaline was running the show now, and he did not bother to think about the consequences before he drove that fist