Page 20

ERIK

“Why the hell is Sweden so cold, and why did I come back here?” I grumble, pulling my insufficient jacket tighter around me.

“Dude, didn’t you live in Canada for two years?” Nils asks.

“Yeah, and it was worse over there.” The wind picks up and I grit my teeth, willing myself to push forward. “I’ll never get used to this shit. Trade me to a league in Spain.”

Nils chuckles. “Well, you’re kind of screwed career-wise if you want to live somewhere warm. Ice is needed to play ice hockey, right?”

Another gust of wind hits me in the face, and I seethe. “Give me some roller skates and I’ll prove you wrong.”

“You know, Norre? You’re funny as hell. I’m glad you’re hanging out with me.”

Nils and I spend a ton of time together—we live in the same building, and our training schedules are pretty much identical given that we’re both forwards on the same line.

And yeah, it helps that I haven’t gelled this well or this quickly with any other linemate before.

Nils and I just work, on and off the ice.

All that talk about him adopting me or whatever seems to have been a success.

After what feels like three hours in the cold but is really closer to five minutes, we make it to the bar where we’re meeting Silja for post-practice drinks.

The blasting heat is a welcome reprieve from the icy hellscape outside, and I make quick work of my coat to let the warmth sink in faster.

Nils spots Silja at a booth in the back, and we head straight over.

“Hey guys, how was practice?” she asks, scooting over to give us space.

“Not bad,” I reply.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Nils turns to Silja. “This guy smoked our poor starting goalie during shootout drills. You should’ve seen his face when Erik scored against him for the tenth time in a row.”

“Aw, you’re making him blush.”

“It’s true! I’m gonna miss this guy when the NHL inevitably poaches him.”

I groan. “Please don’t jinx me. I don’t think I can handle another move.”

“Ha. What if Toronto reaches out and offers you ten million to go back?” Nils asks.

“I’d have to consider my options closely.”

Until very recently, I’d move back to Toronto for minimum wage and a stale cup of burnt coffee. Now I’d think about it if they matched my current salary.

Well, maybe I’d take a pay cut. Being in the same city as Luke and picking up where we left off would be worth it.

Nils waves his hand in front of me, and I leave my wild speculations behind. “Erik. Beer. Order?” he says, fixing me with a bemused expression.

Right.

I order my go-to beer from the chatty server, and when he leaves, I notice Silja smiling at me, her eyes narrow.

“Our waiter is cute, isn’t he?” she asks.

Out of instinct, I swivel my head to take a look, and yeah, he’s pretty attractive. Clean shaven, nice hair, sharp jaw.

“I guess?”

Nils clears his throat. “He’s cute, and he’s totally into you.”

Silja snickers into her drink while shooting me a humorous sideways glance. “You noticed, right?”

“No? He seemed excited, sure, but he wasn’t into me. Where are you guys going with this?”

“Are you blind?” Nils asks, chuckling. “I’m straight but I still noticed how the waiter was struggling to stay professional. The poor guy was going through it when he took your order.”

“I’m not blind,” I reply with a shrug. “He just didn’t do anything that I picked up on.”

Silja clasps her hands together and rests her chin on them. “And what signs do you pick up on?”

“I don’t know. I mean, when I first met Luke, we made eyes at each other across the room, and that was pretty clear to me.” I exhale, thinking back to September before struggling to shove my thoughts down.

“Wait.” Silja leans on her hands, thinking. “You’re still into him, aren’t you?”

I can’t answer before Nils breaks into a grin.

“You totally are!” he says. “Your face brightened as soon as you said his name.”

“Okay, maybe I am,” I mutter. “I know I’m a mess, so get your laughing out of the way.”

Instead of making fun of me like I expect, they both take a quick glance at each other, and Silja tilts her head.

“That’s really sweet,” she says. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

“Yeah, it seems like you two mean a lot to each other,” Nils adds.

“Hold up, why do you think I mean something to him?”

Nils rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. After every single game we play, I see you smiling at your phone in the locker room. Who’s texting you?”

“It’s Luke, and I get irrationally happy whenever I text him.”

“Hmm. You smile immediately when you check your phone, so that means he texted you first,” says Nils.

“Yeah, he always congratulates me on how I played, even if I barely had any ice time.”

Nils clasps his hands together. “So he watches our games.” He isn’t asking, he’s making a statement. A true statement.

Silja recoils like someone sprayed water in her face. “Okay, let me get something straight. It’s been almost two months since you got back. He watches your games from across the world. He texts you first. He. Likes. You. Back.”

“What does it matter? Luke isn’t here.” I glower into my beer. “Fuck catching feelings, seriously.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person to get attached so hard,” Silja says.

Nils agrees. “This Luke person must be a special guy.”

“He is. Luke is kind, funny, and holy hell, he’s smoking hot.”

Nils lifts an eyebrow. “He’s hot, huh? I mean, of course he is, but still.” He faces Silja. “Assess him.”

“Yeah, Erik, I think we need to see a picture.”

“Okay, fine. This—” I pull my phone out and go to the second picture on Luke’s social media. “—is Luke.” I slide the phone across the table, and they inspect the photo of Luke at his university graduation, wearing a suit and a charming smirk.

Nils speaks first. “Okay, I don’t need Silja to assess. He’s something else.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Silja squints at the screen. “Hold on, there’s more. What’s the picture above this one?”

Oh no.

She scrolls up, and two pairs of eyes widen as they bore into my phone.

It’s that picture—the hot tub photo that Luke posted a week ago on the night I accidentally fell asleep on a video call with him.

When I woke up at three in the morning to a post notification, I zoomed in to inspect his annoyingly sculpted muscles like the thirsty idiot I am, instead of going back to sleep.

“Yeah.” Silja starts and falters, searching for words.

Nils finishes her sentence. “It’s very clear why you aren’t over him yet.”

“Do you flirt with him at all?” Silja asks.

“No, I don’t flirt with him!” I scoff. “What the hell would that do?”

Leaning toward me, Nils rests his head on his hands. “He’ll probably flirt back, but the worst case is you get some practice in for someone else. No harm to be had.”

Silja smiles and finishes her drink. “Go on, flirt with him, Erik. Have a little harmless fun. Who knows what might happen?”

As the three of us order another round, I sit back and get lost in my head. Flirt with Luke over text? Nah, I don’t think I will. Nils and Silja mean well, but I’m out here trying to avoid heartbreak.

By the time I get back to my apartment an hour later, I’m thoroughly sloshed, and I flop onto my bed and check my phone. Luke hasn’t sent me anything, so without a second thought, I fire off a series of texts.

Heyyyy Lukey how are you

I might have had a few drinks tonight lol

Shit. So much for not being flirty.

I can’t delete the text, so I go take a shower, and a reply from Luke is waiting for me when I finish.

My heart skips a beat.

LUKE TREMBLAY

Jeg har det godt

I let out a sharp snicker. The fucker texted me in Danish.

There’s no way that was an accident. Still smiling, my finger hits the call button and Luke’s face pops up on my screen.

He’s in bed with adorably messed up hair, and if I didn’t know it’s only 5 p.m. in Toronto, I’d think that I woke him up.

“Hey, Erik, it’s pretty late where you are. What’s up?” he asks, with all the false innocence in the world.

“I’m not Danish!” I whine.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. How’s life in Reykjavik treating you?”

“Nice try Lukey, you aren’t that good at baiting me.”

Great. I used his nickname again .

Luke breaks into a heart-melting smile. “Lukey.” He rolls the syllables over his tongue as he speaks, as if he’s savoring the sound. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in ages.”

“Do you miss it or something?”

“Maybe a little bit.”

I bark out a laugh. “Maybe I miss you a little bit.”

Shit.

Luke, who was resting his phone on his knee, picks it up again and brings it close to his face. He bites the tip of his tongue, and I get a flash of his brilliant white teeth.

The silence turns uncomfortable as it stretches. “Luke, you’re killing me, say something?—”

“So it’s not just me,” he cuts in, snapping me to attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I said what I said.” Luke shrugs at the camera. “Fuck, Erik. I miss having you around.”

His words, the sight of him reminiscing, it’s too much. “Yeah, same. It’s been hell. You must have put crack in the food you gave me or something.”

Luke grins at that comment, his head rolling back into the headboard with a soft thud. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says. “You’re an athlete, after all.”

The right side of his mouth curves up even more, and he’s scrunching his eyes up in a way that makes him even cuter. I’m less drunk than I was earlier, but I still have a tiny buzz that might as well be acting as a damn truth serum.

And when I zero in on my mental state, it’s clear that alcohol has already worn off. There’s no dizziness, nothing. I’ve held my own under the influence of a lot more. Can I really pin my slip-up on drinking?

The answer is starting to look like a no.

My arm is getting tired, so I set my phone against my desk lamp before leaning back in my chair. “Sorry for having this conversation when I’m a mess,” I say, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “I just got out of the shower when you texted back.”