“It’s been a weird day.”
“How so?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Do you already know what you’re having?”
“Club soda and lime.”
Annika reached over and touched my hand. “Shoot. We should’ve had a dinner date. You’re always hungry, aren’t you?”
Her concern—genuine, not adopted—affected me in the same way it had when she made me sandwiches. I’d never let a woman fuss over me, because it’d always felt contrived. But with Annika, her need to nurture and soothe was an innate part of her, albeit a part she only shared with the people closest to her. Somehow I’d landed on that very short list and fuck if I didn’t want to stay there.
Screw the “this isn’t a real relationship” bullshit conversation we’d been back and forth with.
I wanted it to be real.
She wanted it to be real.
One of us needed to have the balls to act on it and make it real.
Since I had a pair, it was time to use them.
“Axl?”
I mentally shook off the fog and looked at her. “Sorry. You worked until fifteen minutes ago. Have you eaten?”
She stammered, “I . . . uh . . . meant to . . .”
The bartender wandered over. “What can I get for you?”
“A food menu, please. A club soda with lime and a Leinenkugel Sunset Wheat.”
“You got it.”
“Axl. I’m fine.”
I curled my right hand around the side of her neck, tipped up that stubborn chin, guaranteeing I had her attention. “Who takes care of Annika when she’s so busy taking care of everyone else?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she retorted.
“But what if I want to?” My thumb caressed the vulnerable spot beneath her jawline. “You saw to my needs the other night. Let me see to yours now.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I understand that. So stop arguing. I’m feeding you. Whether it’s here or someplace else.”
Those vibrant blue eyes softened. “Okay. But I draw the line at you literally feeding me.”
My gaze dipped to her mouth. “Finger foods might be fun. All that licking, nibbling, sucking.”
“Your hunger seems to be on high tonight.”
Our eyes met again.
“Dangerous look in your baby blues,” she murmured.
“Does it make you nervous?”
“Yes.”
The bartender returned with our drinks and a menu. I snatched it first.
She smirked. “I knew you were hungry.”
“Wrong. I’m ordering for you. Consider it a test to see if I’ve learned anything about you from our previous dates.”
Annika kept her gaze on mine as she tipped up the mug and drank. “Wow me.”
I leaned in and brushed my lips across hers. Twice.
“What was that for?”
“You had a tiny foam mustache.” I teased her mouth with mine once more. “As cute as that looked . . . with the mood I’m in? It might just push me over the edge to watch you licking your lips.” I retreated and focused on the menu.
When the bartender returned, I said, “An order of the mushroom and tomato crostini, the potato, feta and arugula tart, the chislic and sweet potato fries basket with the pesto and aioli.”
“Coming right up.”
I sipped my club soda before my gaze sought hers.
Hard not to feel cocky at the look of surprise on her face. “How’d I do?”
“Besides overordering? Perfect.”
“Why don’t you look happy about that, Princess?”
“Because it proves you’re not as aloof as you pretend to be.”
“I pay attention when it matters, whether or not others notice I’m paying attention. And you matter.” I reached for her hand. “Tell me about your weird day.”
“My mom apologized to me.”
I waited for more.
Annika laughed. “If you had any idea how rare an occurrence that is, you’d be looking for cosmic signs the world is about to end.”
“She apologized for . . . ?”
“Forcing my involvement with you.” She took a delicate sip of beer. “She and my dad have been out of town and so today was the first time I’d seen her since the barbecue. She was entirely sincere too and she didn’t qualify her apology, which was also a first. I’m glad she realized what she did was wrong.”
“So everything is good?”
“Seems so. It’s just all the stuff going on . . . it’s hard to keep track of things.”
The way she’d said “things” I assumed we were done discussing her family. “Like what kinds of things?”
“Things between us. PR stuff. Real stuff. Conversations get started and dropped. A couple of times you’ve hinted something big happened in Chicago regarding your career and then you quickly changed the subject. I’d forgotten about it until today when I went back through the media packet Peter gave me; I couldn’t find any mention of one specific incident.”
“What conclusion did you draw?”
“That whatever happened was important enough to be suppressed from the media.” She flashed her teeth at me. “Or you’ve been feeding me full of shit.”
“And if I said it’s a little of both?”
“I’d say start talking so I’m not blindsided about this incident like I was about your English language skills. And yes, it is my job to leave no stone unturned.”
One step forward and two steps back with her. As far as I knew, there’d been no bad breakup in her past that had scarred her and put her off on serious relationships. So that meant her waffling behavior had to be about me and my reputation. I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I thought we were beyond us just being about PR.”
“We are. Which is why you shouldn’t have any issue telling me what happened in the Windy City last year,” Annika retorted sweetly.
I’d known we’d have to talk about it; I’d just hoped for a more private location. Like in bed, where I’d try my damnedest to keep our mouths too occupied to talk at all.
“You’re thinking about sex again.”
I grinned at her. “It’s a constant around you, Princess. Get used to it.”
“No more deflecting.” She laced our fingers together and set our joined hands on the table. “Please talk to me, Axl.”
Her sweetness didn’t surprise me. How she knew exactly when I needed it? That surprised me. “First, I’ll give you a longer piece of backstory. I came to the U.S. for Detroit’s training camp. I ended up with the farm team. I had a decent season but not good enough to get noticed. The next preseason, I attended Minnesota’s training camp.”
“Wait a minute. This is not your first stint in Minnesota?”
“First pro stint. I played for their farm team for a year. I even lived in Snow Village. Anyway, that year was the best I’d ever had. As a team we were in sync, so everyone’s stats were amazing. We reached the championship. Three guys got moved up.”
“But not you.”
“Not me. Postseason Peter suggested that since Minnesota had a ‘young’ roster, I’d have a better shot in Chicago. I made their AHL team. When the ’hawks had a run of injuries at the end of the season, I finally got the call-up.”
“Were you excited?”
“Yes. And no.” I looked around and leaned in. “I played above expectations and helped the ’hawks reach the semifinals. They offered me a two-year contract.” I stirred my club soda. “I’d finally hit the big league and I knew I’d hate every second of it.”
“Axl . . . why?”
I forced a deep breath because talking about this generally sent me into a Hulk-like rage. “At the start of the season with Chicago’s farm team, I met a bunny from Stockholm at a party. We started hooking up, but beyond that I really liked her. I was ready to commit to being in a relationship with her. But she . . .” Fuck. I hated to admit this. “S
he didn’t want anyone to know we were together. She was happy sneaking around. She said it made it more exciting. The fact that she demanded that we fuck in public places, where we could get caught, should’ve been a tip-off. But I was really into her, really into the sex and . . .” I glanced up at Annika. “Sorry if this is more information than you were looking for.”
Annika squeezed my hand. “No. I need to hear it. So tell me all of it.”
“This went on for a couple of months. I hated sneaking around. I thought she was embarrassed because I played in the AHL, not the NHL, but I was totally off base with that.” I laughed bitterly. “She didn’t know I spoke English. So I was surprised when I overheard her talking about her husband. Then I found out she wasn’t a puck bunny but a coach’s wife. Not just any coach either. Not a farm team coach, not ‘a’ defensive coach for the ’hawks, the defensive coach at the time for the ’hawks.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. She hadn’t told me she was married. I hadn’t even rated a lie about them being separated. I confronted her and she laughed. She’d singled me out—the naive, eager, homesick rookie—after she found out her husband had been banging an intern and she wanted revenge. Then, after I was of no use to her, she told her husband about me. He paid me a visit and said he’d do everything in his power to ensure that I never played in the NHL. The only reason I got the call-up at the end of the next season was that he’d been on emergency medical leave. He was livid that I’d been offered a contract. The next season? He made my life hell. My first thought when I broke my collarbone? I wouldn’t have to deal with that fucker for four months. How screwed-up is that?”
“Completely whacked. Keep going.”
“Then it was the same situation at the start of the second year of the contract. For the first time in my life, playing hockey sucked. I’ll admit it wasn’t cool to turn to booze and bunnies to mask my frustrations. My behavior off the ice wasn’t any worse than my teammates’, yet I was publicly singled out. Sounds like a conspiracy theory, but someone in the front office was feeding the media.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Why would management purposely seek bad press for you when it would’ve been easier to buy out your contract, making you another team’s problem?”
“Exactly. When Peter stepped in and asked me if I was trying to get traded, it occurred to me that could be my endgame. My bad behavior was the reason the defensive coach gave for trading me. If he had tried to bust me down to the AHL instead of trading me? I would’ve used my affair with his wife as leverage. Not a proud moment in my life, but I just wanted out of there. And I wasn’t the one at fault.”
Her shock turned to skepticism. “So all your female conquests and fights off the ice were staged?”
“To a certain extent.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this the first time we met? Damn it. This is important PR stuff that could’ve made a huge difference—”
“It wouldn’t have made much of a difference professionally. But personally between us? Maybe you wouldn’t have been so quick to judge me as a manwhore if you knew the majority of the women who claimed I’d pucked them were lying because it was a blow to their egos to admit nothing happened when they were alone with me.”
“That’s not fair. There was nothing between us personally at first. So you should have told me all this right away.”
“But I didn’t trust you then.”
That jarred her.
“I had no idea what your angle was. I believed you had to have one, because everyone does. After the thing with Isla—that’s her name—I didn’t trust anyone.” I glanced up at her.
The food arrived. I wasn’t sure if it was the best timing or the worst. I half expected Annika to pick at the food and claim she’d lost her appetite. But the exact opposite happened. She ate everything, leading me to believe she’d skipped breakfast and lunch too. Then she ordered pumpkin caramel crème brûlée and coffee.
She finally met my gaze. “I was wrong. You didn’t overorder. Obviously I was starved. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I scooted in closer. “What are you thinking about?”
“How stabby I’m feeling toward this Isla woman.” She paused and frowned. “And yet how oddly . . . thankful.”
That shocked me. “Care to elaborate?”
“She lied to you. She used you. Worst of all, she gave you false hope that there was something more between you to explore long term. You were young, a foreigner, trying to break into one of the most competitive sports in the world, and she had to know her husband would react that way when he found out. If for no other reason than to save face. He didn’t know if she told you he has a tiny dick, or if he has erectile dysfunction or he typically lasts twenty seconds. He had to get rid of you. It gives me a sharp pain right here”—she placed her hand over her heart—“that she did that to you. That she thought she had the right to derail your fucking career because she was playing a game. And then for you to get out of a horrible situation, you had to turn into something you’re not.” She smirked. “Well, maybe an exaggerated version of yourself, but you know what I mean. But all those trials did lead you here, Axl. And I’m happy about that.”
Annika rarely reacted the way I expected her to. This? So far down the list of possibilities, I was pretty sure my jaw hung to the floor.
“I understand your trust issues a lot more than I did before, so thank you for telling me.”
I wasn’t into PDA, but I needed to feel her sweet curves against me and gorge myself on the sweet taste of her. So I merely plucked her up and settled her on my lap to do exactly that. I didn’t give a damn if this embrace made the front page of the Tribune.
The bartender waited until the kiss ended before he delivered Annika’s dessert and coffee. But she wasn’t in a hurry to scramble off my lap—a sign I’d gained solid ground with her this time.
Seventeen
___
ANNIKA
The first home game of the season and the Xcel Center had sold out. The team had to be pumped about that.
I’d managed to decline Bunny’s invite for pregame action without offending her, which seemed to be a feat. There were more politics within the WAGs than I wanted to deal with, so I was happy to be in the seats down on the ice next to the boards with the ragtag group of Wild supporters.
During the coat drive on Saturday, I’d noticed the similarities between Axl and Jensen, not just the obvious sports-minded ones. For the little amount of time Axl had lived in Minneapolis, he had accumulated a large circle of friends. He was generous; he’d handed out tickets to people in his apartment complex, plus Relf, plus a guy he’d met at the gym who reminded him of a friend of his in Sweden.
Axl wanted them all to have a good time, so he’d be surprised—embarrassed, more likely—to see all of his buddies wearing HAMMERQUIST jerseys.
Leah acted a little annoyed that he had his own cheering section. But I wouldn’t let anything wreck this night.
Dallas showed up wearing a jersey with Axl’s name on the back. Her subdued nature concerned me and it seemed she purposely sat at the end of the row away from me.
I was listening to Martin’s girlfriend, Verily, talk about her recent trip to Canada and trying not to peek at the countdown clock every thirty seconds, when someone bumped into me. I turned to see the person hunkered into the seat, the ball cap pulled down low over his forehead. “Jensen?”
“Shh. Trying to stay on the down low here, sis.”
He hadn’t worn any of his usual purple football team gear. He’d even donned a jacket with the Minnesota hockey team’s logo. “The Rocket” would get mobbed if fans knew he was in the arena. “Are you wearing a Hammerquist jersey?”