Rough shot, p.1
Rough Shot, page 1
ROUGH SHOT
LAUDERDALE KNIGHTS
BOOK 6
KAT MIZERA
Copyright © 2023 by Kat Mizera
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing: Tera Cuskaden, Anja Pjister
Cover Design: Dar Albert
Cover Photography: Wander Aguilar
Cover Model: Isaac M.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Cheap Shot (Lauderdale Knights #7)
Also by Kat Mizera
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Slava
Morning sex.
I loved it.
It was one of my favorite things.
Morning sex with Zoe Pfister was my absolute favorite thing.
I dropped my forehead to hers and pressed a soft kiss on her lips.
“Good morning, my love.”
“Good morning.” She smiled, her eyes still a little glassy from our lovemaking.
“Am I too heavy?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head. “No. I like having you on top of me.”
I kissed her again. I truly never got enough of her. And I hadn’t seen her for months. We’d had a fight at Christmas, so I hadn’t known what to expect when I flew out to Vegas on New Year’s Eve just to ring in the new year together, but she’d been happy to see me. I hadn’t gotten much sleep, and I had to fly out again to meet up with my team in a little while, but she was worth it.
She sighed softly, squirming a little, and I looked down at her beautiful face. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I have to pee.”
“Okay.” I rolled off her and watched as she made her way into the bathroom.
She had a great ass. I enjoyed being inside of it almost as much as I enjoyed her pussy. If I was honest, there was nothing about her I didn’t enjoy. In bed or out, she was the woman of my dreams. Beautiful, smart, sweet, and my equal in bed, which was hard to find. She made me laugh, made me want to be a better man, made me happier than I’d ever been before. So it had been a no-brainer to propose.
No one had been more shocked than me when she changed her mind and told me she thought we needed to take a break. Based on her history of being left at the altar, I understood her fear, but I thought we’d worked through that. I was ready to do anything and everything to make her happy, and she’d thrown a wrench into the machinery of the plans we’d been making.
With me playing pro hockey in Fort Lauderdale for the Lauderdale Knights and her having to be in Switzerland to finish her master’s degree, I wanted to show her I was all in, no matter how long we had to be separated while she was in school. Instead, everything was up in the air now. And I really hated it.
That was the main reason why I’d flown out to Las Vegas to surprise her. She was here visiting one of her friends, and I’d had the time to come see her before she went home to Switzerland. Somehow, I had to convince her that us not being together was a mistake.
She came back to bed and nestled against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair. It smelled faintly of strawberries, and I breathed in deeply. I loved how she smelled. How she felt. How she tasted. I loved everything about this woman, which was a big deal because I’d always been the perpetual bachelor.
“Come to Florida when the semester is over,” I said quietly. “Vaughn and Juliet are getting married at the end of June, and I’d like you to go with me.” Vaughn Elliott was one of my teammates and our team captain in Florida.
This time I felt her sigh. “Slava… I don’t know what will be going on come summer, or where we’ll be as a couple.”
Great. Apparently, I hadn’t made any headway at all last night. “I thought you’d changed your mind about this breakup nonsense,” I said after a moment.
She moved out of my embrace and lifted her head to glare at me. Usually that turned me on. Her next words had the opposite effect, though. “It’s not nonsense. Last night was wonderful, but nothing has changed since I left Florida five days ago. I have to get my head on straight, and I can’t do it with you pressuring me!”
“Pressuring you?” I met her gaze in annoyance. “I’m asking if I’m going to see you in five months, and that’s pressure?”
“Yes. It kind of is.” She got out of bed and pulled on a robe, folding her arms across her chest.
“Is this your way of saying we’re done?”
“I’m trying to figure that out, but I need time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
“A month? Six months? Ten years?” I was irritated because we’d gone round and round with this conversation, and she never had a specific answer for me. “Can you give me a hint? A ballpark… anything?”
“I… I’m sorry, Slava. I don’t have answers yet.” She dipped her head, as if she might cry, and that hit me in the gut.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Zoe.” It was hard to stay mad when she cried, but this whole let’s-break-up-but-I’m-not-sure-we’re-breaking-up bullshit was starting to feel like emotional blackmail. She wanted me when she was horny or lonely, but everything else was less concrete.
“I don’t know either.” She threw up her hands. “I love you, but I can’t marry you, and until I figure out why, what’s the point of being together? I don’t want to hurt you, Slava.”
“Too late for that,” I snapped.
She dropped her gaze again, letting her head fall so her chin hit her chest. “I’m sorry. That’s why I wanted to put some distance between us. I thought—”
“What? That the longer we’re apart the easier it will be to dump me for good?”
“No.” She looked up again. “I need time to work on myself. To think about what I want going forward. You don’t understand what it’s like from my perspective.”
“I’ve asked you to explain at least a dozen times.” I pointed out.
“It doesn’t make much sense when I say it out loud. It’s just a jumbled bunch of feelings, and how do you put those kinds of vague feelings into words?
“I thought you and I could talk about anything. Apparently not.”
“That’s not fair, Slava. You know I love you.”
“Actually, I don’t know any such thing.” I got up and yanked on a pair of sweats. “Look, if you’re done with this, with us, just say so. It’s not fair for me to put my life on hold while you go back to Switzerland and do your thing.”
“I don’t know if it’s over,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t want it to be, but I just can’t give you an answer.”
“Well, I need some guidance. Are we dating other people? Are you going to call me when you figure out if you want to see me again? Is there a time limit on how long this ‘break’ will last? What is the plan going forward?”
“I’m sorry, babe.” She walked over to me and put one of her hands on my chest. “Please don’t be mad. I understand if you have to live your life. See other people or sleep with other people. I hate it, but I understand. Because I can’t answer any of those other questions. This is truly a case of it being me, not you. I might be broken, which isn’t your fault.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it.” I stared down at her, frustration pulsing around me like an extra layer of skin.
She didn’t answer, merely stared up at me with those big, blue eyes of hers. Normally, when she looked at me like this, I’d do anything she wanted. But this hurt. So much more than any other breakup I’d ever gone through.
I had to get the hell out of here and away from her before I said something I couldn’t take back.
“I’ll tell you what.” I grabbed my clothes from the floor and stalked toward the bathroom. “You do what you need to do. If and when you decide you still want me, give me a call. Maybe I’ll still be single. Maybe not.”
I slammed the door behind me without looking back.
1
Zoe
Six Months Later
It was the perfect early summer day. The sun was shining and there was a cool breeze. I slung my bag over my arm as I walked from the parking lot to the small, local farmer’s market near my parents’ house. I’d moved back home while attending graduate school because it saved me money, but sometimes it was strange to be back in the small town where I’d grown up. I’d spent four years living on my own at university, so I was still adjusting to being back.
The last year had been a bizarre combination of wonderful and stressful. My mother called it growing pains. Not the physical kind, but the type that represented trying to navigate adulthood. God knows, I’d been having a hell of a time with it. Between my two best friends moving to the US, my having to move back in with my parents, and breaking up with my boyfriend, I didn’t have much of anything good to say about being an adult.
What good was being able to eat cupcakes for dinner when you were alone and miserable? Granted, being alone was my own fault, but how I’d gotten here had been through circumstances beyond my control.
Mostly.
“Good morning, Zoe.” Mr. Meier, the elderly man who sold fresh fruit, waved to me.
“Buongiorno, Mr. Meier!” I called out in Italian, waving back.
I had been born and raised in the Italian part of Switzerland, so I spoke fluent Italian, along with German, French, and English, with enough Spanish to get by. I loved languages, which was why I wanted to be an English teacher when I finished my Master’s degree.
“Strawberries or blueberries?” Mr. Meier asked me as I paused at his booth.
“Both,” I replied. “You know I can’t resist.”
“These strawberries,” he said in a low voice, “are not so ripe. Come back next week. But the blueberries… they are perfect!”
I grinned. “Then let me have two packages.” I pulled some money out of my purse and handed it to him.
“Finished with school for the year?” he asked as he gave me my change.
“I’m taking summer classes,” I told him. “So not really.”
He shook his head. “You are young and beautiful. Why aren’t you enjoying life? And what about your young man in America?”
I forced a smile. “He’s in Florida, and I have to be here for another year.”
He wagged a finger at me. “Life is short, Zoe. Make sure to live every moment. Trust me. One day you will wake up and be eighty-three.”
“And eighty-three looks lovely on you,” I said, laughing.
“Because I lived a full life getting here.”
“I’m working on it.” I took the bags of blueberries from him. “See you next week.”
I moved down the aisle without sighing audibly. I’d known Mr. Meier my entire life. He was only trying to be helpful. But he didn’t know what a mess I’d made of my life. Especially when it came to Slava.
I’d met the sexy Russian hockey player in Paris last summer, and we’d fallen hard and fast. He was everything I’d never known I wanted; big and muscular, scarred and tattooed, gruff and overbearing. He was also gentle and kind, tender and sexy, sweet and attentive. Not to mention rich. Hardworking. The best lover I’d ever had. He was the whole damn package, so I’d been positive he would be my everything.
I’d had no idea how much it would freak me out when he proposed after just five months together.
When we’d met, he’d been playing for a team in Russia as part of the KHL, which was the premiere Russian hockey league. Then he’d gotten an invitation to attend training camp with the Lauderdale Knights in South Florida. Their head coach was a retired Russian hockey player who’d been impressed by him. Next thing I knew, he’d been picked up by the team and talking about moving me there.
We’d been so in love.
So ready to build a future together.
Then it all went to hell.
Well, I sent it all in that direction with my insecurities and whatever else was going on in my head. Now I was back in Switzerland trying to figure out what was wrong with me. No matter how many times I told myself putting the brakes on our relationship was the right thing, I was still a wreck. And it was exhausting trying to figure out why I felt the way I did.
I did the rest of my shopping and then headed home. I really didn’t need to come to the market, but I honestly didn’t have that much to do. I was lonely even though I’d grown up in Switzerland and had both friends and family. School took up most of my time, but even when I had the opportunity, I realized I’d mostly lost touch with my friends from high school. We still said hello or occasionally texted, but mostly we watched what the other was up to on social media. Once I’d met Daisy DeSantos and Eden Walsh during our first year of university, we’d been a modern-day, teenage girl, university version of the three musketeers.
We did everything together, from classes to part-time jobs to partying and dating. We even went on vacations together in the summer. For our second year, we’d become roommates. Our families had met. We lived, loved, studied, and traveled together. Those had truly been the best years of my life so far.
I’d also been with Phillip the first two years of university. Falling in love and planning my wedding, my whole life mapped out ahead of me. Almost five years later, I was lost and alone and struggling. We hadn’t known exactly what the future would hold, but the plan had been to try and find jobs where we could be close, whether we were married or single.
Then we met Van and Slava right after graduation. I’d fallen hard and so, so fast. It hadn’t felt real, being with a man who put me first. Always. Right from the beginning, my orgasms had been his priority, with him making sure I had at least two for every one of his. Usually, three or four. He was also incredibly generous, showering me with gifts and experiences and time. It never occurred to him to say no, or that he was busy or anything like that. From our first night together, he put me and my needs first.
And how did I repay him?
With a whole fuck-ton of insecurities and neuroses.
It was really fucking stupid.
And I missed him so much.
If only the last six months apart had given me some insight on what to do next.
I spent the afternoon studying, which was always a good distraction for me. At least it gave me something useful to do. Grad school was easier than I’d thought it would be, and part of me felt guilty for thinking so. I’d always been the studious type, despite enjoying my free time, but classwork and homework always came first. I was probably just blessed with enough intelligence to make the courses manageable, so I was glad I’d opted to take a heavy course load. Once I finished summer classes, I only had the three courses that included student teaching and a big final paper analyzing everything I learned from that teaching.
The question now was where and when. That should have been already settled, but while I was great about schoolwork, I was terrible about applying for jobs. Even jobs related to school. The plan had always been to teach the Swiss equivalent of high school level English, but I didn’t have a lot of options here in my hometown. If I had to move somewhere to teach, I’d have to take out loans or borrow from my parents, and at twenty-three, I didn’t want to do that.
One of the things I’d done when I was in the States was check out options with private schools. There were two in Las Vegas where Daisy lived that had been possibilities and probably a dozen in Fort Lauderdale. I’d reached out to a few, but hadn’t heard anything, so I’d kind of forgotten about them.
Until now.
The letter in my email from Grandison International Academy of Languages gave me pause.
I quickly clicked to open it.
Dear Ms. Pfister,
Thank you for applying to the Grandison International Academy of Languages. Our student teaching positions usually fill quickly, especially for English, but we’ve had an influx of German-speaking students in the last year, and when I stumbled upon your application, I put it aside so I could come back to it once we had our final number for the next school year.
I realize it’s late, and you’ve probably made other plans, but if you’d like to discuss options, I’m available by phone or Zoom next week…
She went on to tell me about herself, the school, and a few important details—like per diem pay for international teachers traveling to South Florida—but my eyes glazed over.
