“Hammerquist, we’re gonna fix the language barrier between us, since the media reports you’re getting into all sorts of fun and we want a piece of it.”
The half dozen or so teammates behind him nodded.
“So I hired Relf here”—he clapped the gangly kid on the shoulder hard enough to move him forward—“to translate. Relf attends the U of M, but he’s from Sweden. Crazy, huh?” He nudged Relf. “Go on. Start translating that. And it’d better be word for word. No bullshit.”
Relf translated, but his voice shook pretty hard. He didn’t need an audience for this.
“Tell them it’s standard procedure for us to sync our language styles so translating is more effective and we’ll need a few minutes to talk alone.”
After he relayed that, I took him to the other side of the locker bay. “Are you being forced into this, Relf?”
“Ah, no. Yes. Maybe. Look, I was in the Scandinavian cultural center when two guys from the Gophers hockey team chased me down. And I’ll admit, I ran. When they caught me they said they knew I was Swedish and I’d been . . . uh . . . chosen to be a translator. Then they brought me here, where I’ve been waiting to translate for you.” His eyes darted to the guys behind us. “That’s all I’m really here for, right?”
“Right.”
“And no offense, but you’re from Sweden and you don’t speak English at all?”
I sighed. “I’m fluent in English. I’ve kept that to myself for my own reasons. These guys are the first teammates who have pushed the issue. So you’ll translate. Everyone will be happy. Now, are you really okay with it?”
He shrugged. “I can’t miss classes or anything. But outside of that, it’s cool.” He looked at me. “Most of the students here are from Norway, so it’s good to hear the home language.”
“I’ll get you a ticket to the exhibition game tomorrow night.”
His eyes lit up. “That’d be awesome.”
“Let’s figure out what my teammates want to know.”
Flitte grinned at us when we returned. “All right! First question: Did you really punch Jensen Lund in the face last night?”
The questions didn’t get more complex than that.
Was I really nailing Annika Lund?
When I wrestled an alligator, had I really bitten the ears off before I broke its neck? I lied about that one and said yes.
Had I really killed a bear with my bare hands? I suspected these guys had seen way too many episodes of Vikings.
They demanded that I come out and drink with them right then. For three seconds, I considered canceling my date. I should seize the chance to bond with my teammates off the ice. But I made the right PR move and said no, citing plans with Annika, but promised we would go out soon for team drinks. They showered me with packages of condoms. All of which I tossed into my equipment bag. Wouldn’t want to be wasteful.
By the time I left the arena and dropped Relf off on campus, I realized I hadn’t checked my messages to see what time I needed to pick Annika up. I saw one message she’d sent hours ago.
AL: Thank you for the roses. Every color is gorgeous, so I have no favorites. I have a minor issue to deal with that’ll get me out of the office earlier than I’d planned. So I’ll meet you at the restaurant since Peter indicated we have an open reservation. Seven?
ME: C U then.
AL: English? Have you been drinking?
Shit. Lucky thing I’d kept it short.
I raced into my apartment and jumped into the shower. Still dripping wet after I shaved, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped into my bedroom.
Martin and Boris both were stretched out on my bed.
“Christ. What the hell, guys?”
“We saw you run into your place like a serial killer was after you.”
“So you planned to . . . what? Beat him to death with pillows when he came out of the bathroom?”
“Nah. We figured you were good. So, what’s doin’, man?” Martin asked.
“I have a date. And I’m late.”
“Another one? Same chick?”
“Yes, the same chick who is my girlfriend.”
“How did I not know this happened?” Boris asked.
“It’s recent. I’m guessing it was a pretty rockin’ date if she got the GF letters after her name last night.” Martin held his fist up for a bump. Boris missed.
“Dude. How many bowls you smoke today?” Martin asked.
“Less than two.”
Unreal. “Get off my bed.”
“No prob.” Martin bounced to his feet. “You want us to smooth out the wrinkles in the covers in case you bring her here and get some action later?”
“Get. Out.”
“What are you wearing for your date?”
“I could figure it out if you’d get the hell out of my room,” I snapped.
“Clothing. That easy,” Boris said, sitting up. “Parachute pants and biceps cuffs.”
“What the eff, Boris?” Martin said.
“His nickname Hammer-time, right? Wear Hammer-time clothes.”
“You definitely smoked more than two bowls today, huh, my Finnish friend?” Martin pulled Boris to his feet and pushed him out the door. “Ax-man, wear the dark gray pin-striped suit with the light gray shirt. Go with a plain tie. No funky pattern. Have it match the shirt more than the suit and don’t go with anything really dark like black.”
“What about shoes?” I said snidely.
“Oxblood-colored oxfords.” He grinned. “You’re welcome. And drive the damn K-car. Impress this girl.”
“It’ll impress her more if I’m not late.”
• • •
It was ridiculous being nervous for this dinner date.
Because it’s not a date. It’s a PR push to capitalize on last night’s events.
Why didn’t it feel like Annika and I were just following an agenda?
Because you aren’t. Sending her eleven dozen roses might’ve been over-the-top.
That was what made it fun. No way was she expecting that. Especially not from me.
When the voice in my head wouldn’t pipe down, I cranked up the stereo. Nothing like Swedish thrash metal to drown out all internal noise.
As I leaned against the building, it felt less like a date. Not that I could remember the last time I’d done the “pick a night, pick a restaurant, pick her up at her place” kind of date.
You’re more the “pick up the chick and bang her in the bar” type.
When had I turned into such a pussy, second-guessing everything about myself?
I glanced up and saw Annika sashaying toward me with that long-legged, loose-hipped stride only the most confident women could pull off.
Annika had every reason to be confident. She was so smoking hot her stilettos should’ve left scorch marks on the pavement. The slinky black cocktail dress hugged her curvy body from her shoulders to her knees. She’d swept her hair to the side in a loose braid and nestled a rose behind her ear the exact same shade as her deep red lipstick.
I started toward her, pausing at the curb to watch the woman literally stop traffic.
This was so not a PR thing anymore.
I’d lasted one damn day before she snared me in her web.
“You’re scowling at me,” she said, drawing my attention back to her.
“Not scowling.” I pressed my hand into the small of her back, bringing her body against mine as I brushed my cheeks to hers. “I’m concentrating on coming up with a compliment that isn’t too boring or too lewd.”
Annika tilted her head back to look at me. “Just for fun, let’s hear the lewd one.”
“You are immeasurably fuckable in that dress.”
Her eyes never left mine. “Axl. The way you growled that wasn’t lewd at all. It was sexy.”
“I’ll try harder next time.”
Laughing, she reached up and ran her thumb across my lower lip. “It’s still swollen.” She smirked. “No kissing for us tonight.”
“It’d be worth the pain.”
The whisper-soft brush of her mouth over that spot didn’t count as a kiss, but my lips tingled anyway. “Let’s revisit that idea after dinner.”
Peter had chosen a farm-to-table restaurant focused on Scandinavian cuisine. “Have you eaten here?” I asked her.
“No. But it is highly rated.” Before she could give the staff her name, the woman said, “Right this way, Miss Lund.”
After we were seated at a cozy table in the back, I said, “I’m surprised Peter didn’t insist on a spot in front of the windows.”
When the server came, Annika said to me, “Trust me to order your beer?”
“Sure.”
Annika said, “We’ll both have a Leinenkugel Sunset Wheat.”
I didn’t bother to look at the menu, although I had checked it out online.
Annika giggled from behind her menu.
Such a rare, carefree sound coming from her. “What’s so funny?”
“My mom is always whipping up ‘fusion’ dishes and now we’ll have to stop making fun of her because Swedish-American fusion is a real thing.” Annika rattled off two choices that fell under a “bizarre” heading as far as my palate was concerned.
“I’ll skip those. Other options?”
She read me the entire menu without complaint. Stopping to discuss certain aspects of each dish. After she finished, she said, “Does any of this sound like what you’d eat at home?”
“Not even close.”
Our beers were delivered.
I asked Annika to order the braised lamb and roasted root vegetables for me. She chose buttered noodles and breaded eel for herself.
I raised my beer mug to hers. “Skål.”
“Skål.”
Annika set down her beer mug and studied the tablecloth before she glanced up at me. “I hate this part.”
“What part?”
“The ‘I don’t really know you and I don’t really know what to ask you to get to know you’ part of a real date. It’s always awkward. And that doesn’t take into account the awkwardness of us pretending to be something we’re not.”
I rested my forearms on the table. “If I hadn’t been an . . . ax-hole the first night we met and asked you out on a date, what would you have said?”
Annika tilted her head. “Depends on whether you would’ve had a quickie with the waitress.”
“No quickie.”
She continued to study me. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know if I can pretend that meeting was anything besides a disaster.”
“You’re probably right.” I took a long swallow of beer. “I can’t wrap my head around all the things you do to help your family.”
“I’m supposed to say no when they request a favor from me?”
“Yes.”
“Axl—”
“I will not be another person in your life who takes advantage of you. If you don’t want to play the part of my girlfriend, then we’ll go to Peter’s house directly after dinner and tell him you’re done. And then we will go to your mother’s house—”
“Stop.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “It wasn’t my intent to turn this dinner date into a shit show.”
“What can I do to make this date less awkward?”
“Don’t look at the waitress like you’re eyeing the dessert cart?”
Such a flip answer. One that I deserved. “I haven’t noticed any woman but you since the moment you crossed the street.” I turned her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, then her palm before I closed her fingers into a loose fist. I brushed my mouth across her knuckles and the back of her hand. “You scare me, Annika Lund.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re outrageously beautiful, extraordinarily smart, ridiculously clever, utterly devoted to your family and so fucking sexy I fear you might ruin me for all other women.”
Her eyes softened. “Totally scored extra charm points for that, Axl.”
“It’s all true. So hit me with the getting-to-know-you questions.” I’d expected the basics. Then again, this was Annika. I took a big swig of beer.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
She’d almost caught me in a spit-take. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. A few vague-ish details of that time would be helpful.”
“Why?”
“Because of your reputation with the ladies.”
If she’d intended to throw me off guard, she’d succeeded. “I was fourteen. The woman was older . . . nineteen, I think. She believed I was older because of my size.”
Annika lifted both her eyebrows, and damn it if I didn’t blush.
“The overall size of my body, Miss Dirty Mind. Anyway, I’d been watching porn a lot that year, so I faked my way through the first time. She taught me the rest. She disappeared when she learned how young I was. What about you?”
“I was eighteen. He was the head lifeguard at the pool where I taught swimming lessons. We flirted and messed around all summer, but he wouldn’t touch me until I was of legal age. We were together three weeks until I started college.”
“Did you break his heart?”
“No. But he didn’t break mine either, so that was a plus.” She smirked at me. “Did you know that I’m two years older than you?”
A small knot tightened in my gut. I wondered how much of my bio she’d read. “I have a weakness for older women.” I could see the wheels churning. “Why are you so geared up to ask questions?”
“PR habit. I don’t like surprises. Plus, I’m nosy.”
Peter’s voice popped into my head, reminding me to come clean about the language issue—or lack of issue.
“But it’s not the things listed on a bio that interest me,” she continued. “It’s the obscure life stuff. Like what was your favorite candy when you were a child?”
“I’ve never been a fan of Swedish fish,” I said dryly. “I guess it was probably Salt-Skallar.”
“Why?”
Because my dad had shown up out of the blue and taken me to a football game. He’d bought that candy for himself, so I’d gotten the same kind. “I don’t remember. What about you?”
Annika made a face. “I ate six boxes of sour Skittles I’d liberated from Jensen’s Halloween candy stash when I was eight. I puked my guts out and haven’t been able to stomach them since. Getting sick served me right for stealing from my little brother and I never did that again either.”
“‘A thief with a conscience is a thief no more’ lesson learned in young Annika’s life?”
“Yes. What was your most memorable life lesson?”
“Never skate on thin ice.”
“Funny. So at age seventeen, favorite way to spend your day?”
“Playing hockey,” I said automatically.