All You Need

  Jensen gave me a droll stare. “Are you fucking kidding me? If it doesn’t have the name Lund on the back? I won’t wear it.”

  Cocky. But he had a right to be.

  Martin tapped Jensen on the shoulder. “Hey, dude. Gonna make a suggestion. If you wanna stay incognito? Don’t sit by your sister. She’s with ‘The Hammer,’ so you know they’re gonna be putting her face on the JumboTron every chance they can.”

  “Good point.”

  Jensen ended up sitting as far away from me as Dallas was, but if it allowed him a chance to watch the game in peace, I’d suck it up and sit by Boris, the Finnish speed skater.

  The clock read eight minutes before the players took to the ice to warm up, and I was so antsy I couldn’t sit still.

  That was when Peter showed up at the end of my row.

  I jumped up, incredibly happy because Axl wanted to see me. I followed Peter through the maze. But this time, Axl wasn’t back in the tunnel; he leaned against the wall behind the security guard.

  The guard—his tag read Bernie—looked at me and sighed. “Go on.”

  Like before, Axl was on me in three short strides. His meaty forearms wrapped around my back as he lifted me off my feet and crushed me to his chest. “I need my good-luck kiss.” Then that hungry, skilled, seductive mouth latched onto mine.

  God. I so so so loved the way this man kissed me. I twined my arms around his neck and behind his head.

  A cheer went up in the arena.

  Followed by wolf whistles.

  Even through my fog of lust, I heard the arena announcer say, “That, hockey fans, is a kiss done right. Give it up for ‘The Hammer’ and his lady, Annika, who started out tonight’s kiss cam with a bang.”

  Axl and I both froze. Then he walked us around the corner, blocking us from the camera.

  He peered into my face. “Did you tip off the media?”

  “No!”

  Peter sauntered into view. He wore a smug smile. “I assumed it’d be a repeat of last time. I decided we might as well get some mileage out of it.”

  Axl growled, “Get out.”

  Peter held up his hands and disappeared.

  “Fuck. I hate this part.”

  “I know. But it’s what we signed on for.”

  “Like I need a fucking reminder of that. Sometimes I feel like my life isn’t my own. That the only good thing in my life isn’t private. And the things I want to talk about, I can’t.”

  Cryptic. He was in an odd mood. I kissed his chin. “You can always talk to me. Will I see you after the game?”

  His gaze skittered away. “No, sorry. I’ll be wiped out. I might have a quick beer with the guys and then go to bed.”

  Something was . . . off about that. No “I’ll text you” or “thanks for the good-luck kiss” or him demanding to know the next time we would see each other. Did he regret telling me about Isla? Come to think of it, he’d acted distant during our quick lunch date yesterday. And he’d hedged about his plans for after tonight’s game then too. I said, “Play hard, Hammerquist.”

  “No other way to play.” Then he was gone.

  Peter wasn’t waiting to escort me back to my seat. He’d gotten what he wanted.

  When I returned to the arena, the entire section I’d been sitting in stood up and cheered.

  Had I ever blushed that hard?

  I slipped on a jacket, gloves and a hat to keep me warm—I’d learned my lesson last time.

  The crowd went wild when the Wild players took to the ice.

  So many things went on during a hockey game. Promotions, giveaways, contests, blimp drops, kiss cams, dance-offs, rink girls sweeping the ice, network commercial breaks. All the constant bombardment meant I didn’t have to try to keep up a conversation with anyone, which was good because I was trying really hard to figure hockey out.

  But I loved watching my man skate. God. He was grace and power and pure, raw male aggression. When he knocked the dude from Philly into the boards right in front of me? I might’ve had a mini-orgasm.

  Who would have guessed that a big, surly, hard-hitting guy did it for me?

  At the start of the third period, I noticed Martin and Verily had their heads together and were whispering, as if they were trying to have a private conversation. Right in front of me.

  My scalp tingled. My ears itched. My senses went on full alert.

  And I was utterly powerless to stop myself from dropping my program on the floor and leaning in so I could hear them. Eavesdropping was the one bad habit in my life I couldn’t kick—mostly because I hadn’t ever bothered to try, especially after the desire to snoop had been curtailed early on in my life. For the third Lund kid—and the only girl—listening at doorways had been necessary because no one had told me anything. So in my mind, they’d forced me to learn stealth skills. By age ten I could decipher a whispered conversation across a fifty-foot room. This skill had served me very well over the years, professionally and personally.

  Immediately I picked up on the fact that Martin and Verily were whispering in Swedish.

  Hmm. They really had tried to keep this conversation private. Maybe next time they should try speaking in stoner language. I had a hard time deciphering that one. But to be honest, they weren’t doing such a hot job of speaking quietly.

  “You think any of the dudes on the hockey team are vegetarian?” Martin asked.

  Okay. That was random.

  Verily said, “I doubt it with as many calories as they need to eat. A lot of it has to be protein. Why?”

  “Axl told me to order pizzas for the after party. I wondered if we oughta order a veggie or two, just to be safe.”

  I perked up at the words after party.

  “Oh, right, that thing he’s having after the game. Am I invited?”

  What thing? The one-beer-with-his-teammates-before-he-goes-to-bed thing?

  “I wouldn’t go without you. The hockey team and the farm team are both coming. Then he invited everyone in our building so no one complains about the noise,” Martin said.

  “Smart. But you’d better order a ton of pizzas if that many people are coming.”

  Axl had kissed the hell out of me in front of the entire stadium and then not a minute later he’d lied to me.

  Why?

  So what if he didn’t tell you about a party? Is he supposed to tell you everything?

  No, he didn’t have to tell me everything. But it was a problem when he outright lied to me.

  This had thrown me for a loop because I thought Axl and I had reached a point of honesty.

  Ten million thoughts ran around my head—none of them good—and I didn’t pay attention to the rest of the hockey game. When the crowd started cheering, I realized the Wild had won.

  Yay.

  I glanced over to see that Jensen had already disappeared.

  Martin, Verily and the rest of Axl’s buddies were gone too.

  I turned around and saw Leah gathering her things. I bounded up the steps to her. “Hey. Nice goal that Linc ricocheted in in the second period.”

  She shrugged. “He scored. That’s what matters.”

  “So, what happens now? Do you wait outside the locker room for Linc to come out?” I was fishing to see if she’d tell me that Linc was headed to Axl’s after party.

  Leah looked at me strangely. “No. I go home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, Linc and I don’t ride here together. Sometimes he goes out with the team for a beer after the game. Sometimes he’s stuck doing a press conference—I imagine since he scored one of the two goals tonight he’ll have to talk about that. As far as waiting for him goes?” Her nose wrinkled. “The last thing I’ll ever do on purpose is hang around a stanky-ass locker room where hockey players and their gear are after a game.” She shuddered. “Nasty.”

  “So you’re telling me I shouldn’t wait?”

  “I know this is new for you, but it’ll just make you mad to see the puck bunnies trolling for stick outsi
de the locker room. Some of them will be wearing your man’s jersey. Some of them will ask your man to sign jerseys, or body parts. Do yourself a favor. Go home and keep your blood pressure down and trust that your man will come home.”

  “You don’t ever worry Linc will be tempted?” I blurted out.

  Leah’s gaze softened. “No, Annika, I don’t. Maybe because Linc is older and closer to retirement. Maybe because hockey is his job but not what defines him. Between us? I’d be more worried about leaving Linc unattended at the concession stand. He would stuff himself with every kind of sweet they have until he went into a diabetic coma. Sugar is his addiction.” She smirked. “And me. There isn’t a thing those bunnies can offer him that he can’t get better at home.”

  I grinned. “You are awesome.”

  “I know. You are too. If Axl can’t see that from the start? Walk away. Seriously.”

  When I returned to my seat, I noticed Dallas remained in her seat at the end of the row. I shuffled over and plopped down beside her. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Fuck my life, Annika. For reals.”

  Dallas never said things like that. “Okay, I’m done giving you space, hoping you’ll seek me out when you’re ready to talk about quitting the squad and whatever else is going on. Spill it.”

  “I’m in love with Igor. Like hard-core in love where I willingly wear ugly head scarves and learn to make borscht and peasant bread in order to become his ideal woman. Then he’ll beg me to marry him and I’ll start popping out little hockey players.”

  My jaw might’ve hit the floor.

  “See? FML.”

  “When did the Russian-wife-wannabe delusions kick in?” I demanded.

  “Right after I started riding Hessian-style.”

  I took a moment to let my mind unscramble—a process I went through at least once in any prolonged conversation with Dallas. “Okay. Let’s break this down. Knowing you, it has to be a body chemistry thing. So say you’ve been drinking more frequently. Since this is Igor, maybe you’ve developed an allergy to vodka and it has distorted your vola, making you think that’s what you want.” That sounded plausible, considering I never understood half the metaphysical stuff she talked about. “Can you reset your vola thingy with chanting and incense?”

  Dallas gaped at me as if I’d suggested she attach leeches to her eyeballs. “Annika. That makes no sense!”

  “But you fantasizing about shucking this life to become the Bride of”—don’t say it—“Siberia somehow makes perfect sense?”

  “Well . . . no. But I did have a cosmic disturbance in my star chart that indicated big life changes ahead for me.”

  I started my own “Dealing with Dallas” chant inside my head. You love her. She is who she is; she is not you. “Truth time, D. If a Gypsy fortune-teller would’ve told you beets and bread lines were your fate for true love, even as little as six weeks ago? You would’ve been yelling ‘Fraud’ at her and smashing her crystal ball over her head as you stomped on her tarot cards.”

  “I know.” She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. “Penises are evil.”

  Was there a good response to that?

  “In Igor’s case it’s doubly true because . . .”

  Start the chant again! Start the chant! You love her. She is who she is; she is not you.

  “. . . his dick is cursed.”

  That stopped me. “His dick is cursed?”

  “Yes.”

  Don’t ask, Annika. Just change the subject. But this entire bizarre conversation was taking my mind off Ax-hole and his secret party, so I kept going. “So, how did Igor’s dick get cursed? A jealous pagan deity saw it when Igor was running naked through the forest and he said, ‘Whoa. That dick is way nicer and bigger than mine. I am totally cursing it.’”

  “No. A former Romanian Gypsy lover cursed it.”

  “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you only see one realm,” she said with zero sarcasm.

  “What was the curse? Is it, like . . . deformed now?”

  Dallas shook her head. “It’s addictive. If he has sex with a woman more than once, she becomes obsessed with his dick and won’t leave him alone. Which is why he has the ‘only one time’ rule.”

  For the love of god. Was she serious with this? “So this ex-girlfriend didn’t curse Igor’s dick to shrivel up and fall off? Or give him impotency problems? Or change it to a teeny-weenie? He’s cursed to a life of one-night stands? Wow. That curse works out pretty great for him. He sleeps with you once and says, ‘Ve done getting nakey-nakey. It’s zee curse. You vill go now and save yourself from zis addiction.’”

  “Igor doesn’t talk like that, Annika.”

  “But he does lie like that, D. And what sucks? He lied to you in the meanest way possible. He used the kind of things you believe in against you. What kind of man does that?” I answered my own question. “A douche canoe pucktard who needs his evil penis cursed for reals.” The next time I saw Igor? I’d kick his balls into his throat. No one treated my cousin this way. “Well, as long as we’re ripping on hockey puckers, Ax-hole is having a secret party tonight.”

  “He is?” She perked up in her seat. “Are you going?”

  “I wasn’t invited. He told me we wouldn’t see each other after the game because he planned on having a quick beer with the team and then going to bed early, since tomorrow is a travel day for them. But then I overheard Martin and Verily whispering about where the party was being held, about ordering food and how many guys were invited, so I spent the third period of the game wondering what to do. Confront him tonight? Confront him the next time I see him? See if he confesses? See if someone else tells me about the party and listen to his excuses on why he lied about it?”

  Dallas gave me a thoughtful look. “The whole hockey team is invited?”

  “Yes. Plus guys from the AHL team who are around for tonight’s game.”

  “The party is at Snow Village where Axl lives?”

  “I guess it’s in a community party room. Why?”

  “I say we crash it.”

  “What? No! That’s not why I told you about it.”

  “It’s karma, then.” She offered me a smile that looked way more sneaky than serene.

  “Karma?” That was stretching it, even for Dallas.

  “Yes, it solves both of our problems.”

  “What problem? I don’t have a problem.”

  “Sure, you don’t. You’re not obsessing about why Axl laid such a hot kiss on you one second and then basically gave you the kiss-off the next.”

  I groaned. “Fine. Maybe I am wondering about this party, but I’m not obsessed with it.”

  “I’ll be obsessed enough for both of us and you can just ride shotgun.”

  This is crazy. Do not even consider going along even to save her from herself.

  “This party is the perfect chance for me to watch Igor covertly.”

  “Covertly? He’ll recognize you!”

  “No, he won’t.” Dallas grinned. “We’ll wear disguises.”

  “Disguises? Crazy talk, D. Listen to yourself.”

  “We can pull this off.”

  “How?”

  “Guess who still has a key to the theater on Seventh Street.” She waggled her eyebrows. “That’s where we’ll find costumes and makeup . . . everything we need. Come on, A. When was the last time we did something fun?”

  It had been ages.

  Then she threw down the gauntlet. “If your BFF, Cara, was here? She’d be on board. She’d remind you it’s okay to let go of the reins, just roll with it and give that out-of-the-box idea a chance.”

  Cara would already have the keys in her hand and be hotfooting it out the door.