Heat it Up: Off the Ice - Book One Read online

  But last night, while the memory of the kiss mocked me, I reminded myself that only I felt that way about it.

  Even Samantha’s kisses were hotter than yours. I couldn’t help myself.

  Luckily, Kyle and I won’t have to kiss, again. The last thing I need is to embarrass myself again with another one. And the last thing I need is to become a basket case for the rest of the summer because of a single kiss. On the bright side, whenever I need to act sappy on the phone while I fake talk to him, I just have to think about the kiss.

  “Sofia?”

  I blink and return to the real world. Kyle’s in front of me, but unlike yesterday, he isn’t carrying a duffle and his hair isn’t damp. He’s wearing jeans and a plain blue t-shirt that gently hugs his muscles, and enhances the blue in his eyes behind his sexy glasses. The overall effect is enough to knock the air from my lungs.

  I smile at him, hoping he hasn’t noticed me checking him out. Not that it should make a difference. He’s doing the same. His gaze takes in my denim shorts and shell-pink tank top.

  “Have you been to the marketplace on the pier yet?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “You’ll love it.” I always have, ever since I was a kid.

  I lead him along the busy sidewalk, weaving around people hurrying in the opposite direction to where we’re headed. “Thanks for helping me out yesterday.”

  He places his hand on my lower back. My skin tingles at his warm touch. “Did we convince your grandmother?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Do you think we convinced the grandson?”

  “I don’t think it matters if we convinced him,” I say. “It’s his and my grandmothers who need to be convinced. I doubt he’s even interested.”

  “Oh, I can guarantee he’s interested.” Kyle pauses and lightly grabs my arm, stopping me. “I’m interested in getting to know you better, so why wouldn’t he be interested too?”

  I roll my eyes and start walking. Kyle easily catches up with me in a few strides.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s not going to happen. With either of you.”

  “I don’t get it. You’ve got two guys interested in you, and you’re not interested in either of us?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Why wouldn’t you be? We’re not bad looking.”

  I snort. “Shallow much?”

  “I was just getting started on our virtues,” Kyle says, grinning in a way that should be illegal. It’s breath-stealing-adorable and he’s not playing fair. “Or at least my virtues. I can’t vouch for the rest of his.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Okay, what are your virtues?” Not that it changes anything.

  “Well, obviously I’m funny.”

  I laugh again.

  “See? I make ’em laugh every time.”

  “That doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “It just doesn’t. Next.” I move around a woman pushing a stroller as we continue along the sidewalk. Quaint low-rise buildings made of brick, with stores on the lower level, line both sides of the busy city street. A tram rambles past.

  “I’m great at chasing assholes away while you’re cleaning the sauna,” he points out. “Doesn’t that make me the protector of your virtue?”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. It doesn’t work.

  “Told you I’m funny.”

  I shove him on the arm. “Keep going.”

  “I’m a great kisser, right?”

  “And immodest too.” I point left at the intersecting street, desperate to change the topic, hoping he hasn’t noticed my now flushed face. I don’t need to start thinking about how great his kisses are. I’m trying to forget them, not relive them. “This way.”

  We turn down the street as Kyle says, “And let’s not forget that I know all kinds of useful facts about physics.”

  “So you’re gonna get me all hot and bothered with your sexy physics talk?” My hands fly to my face. Oh God! I can’t believe I said that.

  He gently removes my hands from my face. The grin on his face is the sun shining on a cold winter day. “Right now, there’s nothing I want more than to kiss you after that comment.” He leans down, his lips inches from mine. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even think. All I can do is stand still as his breath caresses my face.

  But just as I think he’s going to kiss me—and I’m not sure if I should let him or not—someone bumps into my side and sends me flying. Before I have to make an emergency crash landing on the sidewalk, and suffer from a serious case of road rash, I catch my footing and straighten at the same moment Kyle reaches out to grab my arm.

  A homeless guy, who smells of alcohol and puke, sways on his feet and yells in Finnish at me. Kyle’s face darkens as he glares at the guy.

  I snatch hold of Kyle’s hand and pull him away. “It’s not worth getting into a fight over. He’s so drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  Kyle threads his hand with mine, preventing us from being separated again. Ian didn’t hold my hand very often, so this feels odd yet nice.

  “We’re almost there.” I continue walking.

  We cross the street and I inhale the briny smell of the Baltic Sea ahead of us. “There.” I point at the crowded pier where well over fifty booths are set up. Canopies of various colors keep the rain and sun off the merchandise. In the distance, a tall, majestic church stands proud, its green steeples reaching to the sky. Seagulls shriek overhead, looking for discarded food. “That’s the famous marketplace.”

  A long historic building made of yellow and red bricks, and with tall white wooden doors, sits near the open market. I lead Kyle there first. Inside, the air is filled with an assortment of aromas, most notably the pungent smell of fresh fish. We wander down the aisle. On either side, booths beckon us, each one specializing in a different food item. Meats. Cheeses. Fish. Baked goods. Open-faced sandwiches. Desserts.

  Kyle buys bread, Edam cheese, and thinly-sliced, processed reindeer meat, which I convinced him to try. We then walk outside and check out the other booths, which sell mainly fresh fruits, mushrooms, and vegetables. I buy peas, still in their pods, and tomatoes for Muumu. Kyle buys strawberries.

  After we pick up sodas from one booth, we head to Esplanade Park, not far from the marketplace and sandwiched between two main roads. Historic buildings, several stories tall, line the street opposite the waterfront. A variety of specialty stores are located on the first floor of each building, with apartments and offices above them.

  The giant greenish statue of Johan Ludwig Runeberg, a Finnish poet who is long since dead, stands proud in the park, on a stone pillar surrounded by flowers. We walk past, to the grassy space where kids are playing soccer, and find a quiet spot to sit. Kyle opens the container of strawberries. I bite into one and moan at the sweet taste. I eat another one and juice trickles down my chin. I moan again. God, these are good.

  Kyle watches me, an odd expression on his face. He leans over and presses his lips where the juice dripped. I freeze, unsure what to do, but then he moves his mouth to mine and my brain screams at me to not let the kiss go further than this. I’ll regret it if I do.

  My body is less willing to comply.

  Kyle’s tongue traces along my lower lip.

  “Sorry, babe, but sex with you was…boring.”

  I pull away and duck my head, pretending to be fascinated with a blade of grass. I can feel Kyle’s gaze on me as he tries to puzzle me out.

  “Do you have a boyfriend back home?” he asks.

  I shake my head while examining another blade of grass. Anything to avoid looking at him.

  “I had a boyfriend. He used to play collegiate football. I guess I’d suspected for a while that he was cheating on me whenever his team was away, but I was stupid and looked the other way, positive that since no one had mentioned it to me, I was just being paranoid.” I shrugged. “I know lame, huh? But I was in love
with him and love makes you naïve.” Or maybe it just made me naïve.

  “One day my best friend wanted to go to a party because there was a guy she was interested in,” I continue. “I showed up at the party to find my boyfriend and a girl getting hot and heavy on the couch. I swore off boyfriends after that.” I wrap my arms around my bent knees, pulling them to my chest, guarding my heart. “As the therapist of my best friend’s mother would no doubt say, I have trust issues.”

  “Not all guys cheat on their girlfriends.”

  I give him a sad smile. “That’s right. Some wait till they’re married before they cheat. Just ask my mom.” A seagull lands on the grass and pecks at a piece of forgotten garbage. “My father cheated on her with a student in his class. His college-aged student who was obsessed with him.” Think Fatal Attraction, minus the boiling bunny. “I found out about it when I showed up for classes one day during my sophomore year of high school, and a classmate took great delight in sharing the details with me and everyone else at school. I spent two months dealing with the aftermath.” The taunts worm their way back in, and I close my eyes, keeping him from seeing the pain. The pain that intensified when Ian cheated on me.

  In my dad’s defense, he did try to end it with her after his better judgment finally kicked in. She wasn’t too impressed, having some wild delusion that he would leave his family for her. On the bright side, she didn’t try to kill my mom in the bathtub or blow us up or anything like that. But she did tell the faculty of International Law and Policy about his indiscretions. Dear old Dad lost his position and Mom dumped him.

  So, yes, I have trust issues. Who wouldn’t after that? How can I trust the next guy isn’t going to demonstrate the same lack of better judgment that escaped both my father and Ian?

  I open my eyes but I still can’t look at Kyle. “I’ve long since decided I’m cursed. But try telling that to my grandmother.” I finally look at him. “Do you think Joni would translate for me?”

  He doesn’t say anything, but I can see the pity in his eyes.

  “So you’ve written off guys completely?”

  A small boy blocks the soccer ball and dribbles it to the other end, darting between the opposition. The other boys struggle to steal the ball from him. They don’t succeed.

  “Have you ever been in love?” I reply.

  His attention focused on the boy, Kyle’s expression changes, a cloud drifting over the sun. “I was in love once.”

  Before I have a chance to ask him my next question, he stands and offers me his hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “Remember our deal? Let’s explore.”

  Works for me. Anything to move away from this conversation. I remove my camera from my backpack.

  “You’re a photographer?”

  “Not professionally.” I focus on the small boy and press the shutter release button as he kicks the ball toward the goal. “I love exploring the world through the lens. Searching for the story no one else sees ’cause they’re too busy looking at the wrong things.”

  I show Kyle the picture in the viewfinder.

  “Wow, that’s really good.”

  “Thanks.”

  We wander around the pier. I take random shots of whatever grabs my attention. A mother carrying her baby in her arms. A discarded candy wrapper. A weathered old woman working alongside an equally weathered old man in a booth selling fish. After each shot, I tell a story about it. Some are kind of sappy (like with the elderly couple). Others leave Kyle laughing.

  “You have quite the imagination,” he says, chuckling after my rather twisted version of The Little Mermaid. He grabs my hand and pulls me to him. His warm breath brushes against my ear and sets off a round small fireworks in my lower belly. “And you’re very talented.”

  Just when I think he’s going to kiss me again, he pulls away. Leaving me both thankful he didn’t kiss me and disappointed.

  Chapter Nine

  Kyle

  Like yesterday, I wait for Sofia outside the sports center. Despite the clouds, the breeze is warm. Perfect for what I have planned.

  I didn’t have any accidents today while coaching. No dramatic saves that resulted in me hurting my leg like yesterday. Fortunately, by the time I met up with Sofia, the pain had dulled enough for me to walk around without limping.

  I don’t have to wait long before she steps from the building, wearing shorts, sneakers, and a fitted white t-shirt, and bounces down the steps. Something inside me shifts. Just a small shift. Nothing that would register on the Richter scale.

  “Hey,” she says, smiling. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Linnanmäki Amusement Park.”

  Her smile fades. “Are you sure? I mean your…”

  “My leg will be fine. We can take a bus there. It’ll be fun.” I raised my eyebrow. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Based on what we’ve both been through, fun is exactly what we need. A fresh start, even if it’s for only a short time.

  She laughs, and the sound reminds me of aurora borealis. Rich, full of wonder and mystery, and so damn beautiful. “Is that a challenge?”

  I wink at her. “It is. And maybe it’s just the start of my diabolical plans to see how far your sense of adventure goes.”

  “Okay, you’re on. Challenge accepted.”

  We catch the bus to Linnanmäki, then wait in line to buy tickets for the park.

  “Just so we’ve got it straight, this isn’t a date,” Sofia says, putting her wallet back into her backpack after I refused to accept her money for the ticket.

  I smirk. “Is that your way of getting out of kissing me?”

  “No. Yes. I mean there won’t be any more kisses.”

  “Not even if I decide it’s part of the challenge?”

  She rolls her eyes. “How can us kissing be part of the challenge?” Her gaze drops to my lips. “We’ve already kissed.”

  A slow smile grows on my face at the memory of the kiss and the way she had moaned against my mouth. “But that doesn’t count,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we did it for the wrong reasons.” Before she has a chance to argue, I ask, “What do you want to ride on first?”

  “Your challenge. Your choice.”

  I scan the area, checking the choices. “How are you with heights?”

  She bites her lip for a second and that’s the only answer I need. I slip her hand into mine and squeeze it. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the entire time. And these rides were designed to work with physics, not against it. Nothing bad will happen.”

  “Unless I lose my lunch.”

  “And if you do, it’s not the end of the world, right?”

  She looks at me like I’m nuts but eventually nods. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  We walk to the tower ride and join the long line. “You said you took biomechanics last year. Did you enjoy it?” I ask.

  The smile from earlier slips back on her face. “I did. I wasn’t sure I would. Math and I aren’t actually besties, so I avoided physics in high school. But I managed to pull off a B in biomechanics.” The smile brightens. “I wouldn’t mind learning more physics. From you.”

  “Like what?”

  She thinks for a second, her focus on the ride in front of us. The people in the seats around the base suddenly shoot up, screaming, to the top of the tower. They stop, free fall, then bounce up again.

  She tears her attention away from the ride, her face paler. “How do Santa’s reindeer fly?” she asks, her face without a hint of humor.

  With an equally straight face, I reply, “While the rides here have to abide by the laws of physics as we know them, Santa’s reindeer are able to ignore those laws since they are…they are magical.”

  “I knew it!” She laughs. “Okay, tell me something that has to do with physics and hockey.”

  A light in my chest flickers on. A light that had burned out after the accident. She remembers what I told her the ot
her day. Which makes her nothing like the puck bunnies who are only interested in fucking me so they can tell their friends that they screwed a NHL hockey player. They never ask anything about me and I never volunteer anything, either. Sofia’s different. She’s interested in the real me and nothing less.

  “What do you know about impulse?” I ask.

  She bits her lip, again, as she thinks. “Not much. It has to do with momentum.”

  “That’s right. It’s based on Newton’s second law of motion. It’s the force applied for a given amount of time. The greater the force, the greater the impulse. If you have two hockey players charging down the ice toward their respective pucks during a drill, the one who hits the puck the hardest will send his puck traveling further, assuming the time of contact between the puck and the stick is the same between the two players.”

  “And if one player screws up on the follow through,” she says, “the contact time is less, and the puck won’t go as far even if the force was the same as with the other player?”

  The warmth inside me spreads at how she’s listening to what I’m saying. “Exactly. You got it.”

  She asks me a few more questions as we wait. We’re almost near the front of the line when she sucks in a sharp breath. We’re in the next group to go on the ride. The physics Q&A isn’t enough to relax her.

  “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I tell her.

  She watches as the people in the seats jerk upwards. The muscles in her shoulders visibly tighten. “No, I’m good.”

  “Let’s play a game.”

  She pulls her attention from the ride. “What kind of game?”

  “One person makes a statement about the other person, and if it’s false, the other person has to tell the truth or do a dare.” I used to play this game with Cody. I spent more time doing the dares than telling the truth.

  Sofia peers at the ride again. “Okay, you ask first.”

  “All right. You ready?”

  She takes a deep breath then nods. “Ready?”

  “You once played spin the bottle and had to kiss the class geek.”

  She laughs and some of her tension drains away. “Is this your way of getting me to kiss you at the end of our non-date date?”