Page 27

LUKE

FEbrUARY

N?sta, Kristineberg.

Next stop, Kristineberg. Nine hours, one flight, one train, and one subway ride later, I’m here.

Arriving at the subway station

Erik Norberg

Nice!

Erik tried skipping morning practice to pick me up at the airport, but I told him not to. I’m more than capable of navigating a new city with the help of a map app, and he doesn’t need to rock the boat with his team for my sake.

Rolling my small piece of luggage next to me, I get off the subway and look around for the exit.

“Luke, over here!”

I spin around, and there’s Erik. He’s wearing a baseball hat, an Alvik hoodie that stretches across his broad frame, and his signature shy smile that seems to grow with every step I take toward him. Even though we’ve stayed in touch, he’s even hotter in real life, hands-down.

“Hey, Erik,” I say. “It’s been ages.”

He opens his stance. “Yeah, definitely.”

We go in for a hug, and the second we touch, it’s like pouring gas on the embers of everything I ever felt for Erik.

We go through the motions of giving each other those masculine bro-y back slaps, but I squeeze a little harder than I usually would, and unless my brain is tricking me into thinking what I want to believe, so does he, placing this hug solidly outside friend territory.

And damn, Erik still uses that same cologne that might as well have been customized for his body chemistry.

This trip is gonna wreck me.

Pulling back before things get too intense, I give Erik another friendly clap on the shoulder, and then he leads me out of the station.

“We have an hour and a half before I have to report for my pre-game briefing. Do you want to drop your stuff off at my place and hang out until then?” he asks.

“Oh yeah. I could use a shower, too.”

It’s a short walk to Erik’s apartment, and when I enter, the first thing I notice is how inviting it is: soft lighting, neutral accents, and a pleasant, woodsy smell.

The second thing I notice is the bed that’s pushed against the wall, and all I can think about is Erik railing me on it.

I haven’t even unpacked, and I’m already losing my mind for him.

“Not that you smell bad or anything, but you mentioned wanting to take a shower, so here’s a towel,” Erik says, walking over from the closet and snapping me out of my daydreaming.

As he hands the towel to me, I stick my arm out, and our fingers brush.

Neither of us pull back, and we stand frozen, gazing at each other.

Before I met Erik, I never thought that ice blue could be a warm color, but the way he fixes those eyes on me burns .

Somehow, I manage to hold myself back from lunging at Erik, and I place the towel on the bed.

I bring my hand to his, clasping the top and running my thumb across the side.

Erik draws in a sharp breath before raising his other hand to my chin.

Those strong fingers graze my jawline, and I can’t take any more.

I close the short distance between us and brush my lips against his.

Jesus . If touching him made my previous feelings come rushing back, kissing him amplifies them ten times over. Feeling Erik’s tongue slide against mine, our teeth grazing, and his facial hair against my upper lip is too much and not nearly enough.

“Mmm, I can’t wait to lay you out on the bed,” he mumbles.

“God, I need that so bad.” I kiss him back harder. “There’s time before the game, right?”

He groans, resting his forehead on mine. “Damn.”

Oh.

“Are we short on time, or were you kidding about laying me out on the bed?”

Erik rubs his face, stretching his skin down. “Fuck no, I’m not kidding. You have no idea how much I want to, but I… can’t have sex in the afternoon before a game.”

I only need a second before it clicks. “Wait, is this a superstition thing?”

“Hey, I’m serious,” he says while I try to suppress a laugh. “I hooked up once before a game years ago, and we suffered a five to nothing shutout. ”

That’s unfortunate, but a superstition is a superstition. “Woe is me,” I say, and I slip a mean, teasing finger under Erik’s shirt, tracing the skin right above his belt. “That doesn’t mean I can’t give you something to look forward to.”

He sucks in a breath and backs me onto the bed, standing tall and imposing over me, and I gulp.

My god, I can’t get enough of assertive Erik.

“Yeah, all that only matters before a game.” He drops his voice to something deep and dangerous.

His fingers sneak under my sweater, planting on my stomach and sending heat unfurling inside me.

“Trust me, after the game tonight, we’re coming back here, and I’m gonna rip your clothes off as soon as the door closes. How does that sound?”

I’m already on the brink of losing my mind, but Erik lowers his hands and dips them into my underwear, grazing my bush.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the wait is worth it.”

Holy fucking shit.

Erik pulls me up by the waist and just like that, he’s back to his usual smiling, deceptively innocent self. “Now go take a shower or else you’re gonna make me late,” he says with a playful shove to my back.

“Hopefully the water gets cold enough to calm me down,” I mutter. The sound of Erik’s satisfied laughing follows me into the small bathroom, and I sigh, horny to the point where my skin prickles with need. Erik has gotten so good at filthy talk, and I eat it up every damn time.

Because I’m not a masochist, I don’t actually take a frigid shower. Instead, I turn the water temperature up and stew in the soothing jets. While I work the unscented shampoo into my hair, I sigh.

Erik and I are gonna have to talk about us at some point during my time here—my feelings for him never left, and everything about Erik’s behavior says he’s the same way.

But even if we profess some kind of undying love for each other right now, that doesn’t change the fact that we live on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

Unless I move.

Releasing a frustrated grunt, I change my mind and turn the temperature down, letting the sharp, icy water suck the air out of my lungs and the intrusive thought out of my brain.

Moving across the world for a guy I knew for maybe a month before he left? That’s the stupidest thing to ever crossed my mind, but somehow, it’s also the most tempting idea I’ve ever had.

I step out of the shower, dry myself, and get dressed before my dick gets frostbite and falls off. Checking the time, I quickly style my hair and leave the bathroom so I don’t make Erik late, and then I barely avoid running straight into him.

“I just remembered, you need merch,” he says, holding out a team sweater. “You should wear this and show your support.”

Palming the fabric between my hands, I slip it on. The sweater fits me for the most part—it isn’t too large, but it’s long enough in the sleeves to tell me it isn’t mine. That makes my stomach simmer.

“How do I look?” I ask. Erik drags his eyes over me, and I’m not sure if he’s taking his time or if my brain is working in slow motion.

“Perfect.” Without another word, he rushes past me, and I follow him out the door and back into the subway.

“Here’s your game ticket,” Erik says as we enter the Alvik rink, handing me a card.

“Uh, what’s this?” I flip the card around in my hand, scrutinizing it. It’s white with no identifying markers on it.

Erik smirks. “It’s a keycard for the arena. It’ll allow you to access the WAGs box upstairs.”

I jerk my head up and fix Erik with a horrified expression. “Erik. You are not sticking me in the spouse box!” I’m almost shouting, but there’s hardly anyone here, and I don’t care. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

He bunches up his face before dissolving into sweet, adorable laughter.

“You’re so cute when you’re scared,” he teases, patting me on the head before handing me a paper ticket. “Don’t worry. We don’t have WAG boxes in Sweden, and your ticket is one of about 7,000 completely normal ones.”

“You’re a menace. Don’t do that.”

“Then don’t be so gullible.” He punches me on the shoulder, totally innocent and friendly, but my body lights up like a goal lamp at the end of a shootout. It’s like the lingering fatigue from the overnight trip melts away, replaced with searing energy that goes everywhere.

Yeah, everywhere .

Nothing changed since we’ve been apart. Any kind of touch has the same effect on me, whether it’s a kiss, a hug, or a basic shoulder tap.

Now is not the time for any kind of serious discussion, and before I can change the topic to something less intense, someone calls Erik’s name, and we turn around. It’s a tall, attractive brown-haired guy—Erik’s linemate Nils.

I know this because I might have stalked Erik’s tagged pictures on social media a couple of times. Not that I’m going to admit that.

“Hey, Nils,” Erik says, stepping aside. “This is my friend Luke who’s visiting. Luke, meet my linemate Nils.”

“Hi, Luke, welcome to Sweden.” Nils offers me his hand. “Glad you could make it, we’re crushing Malmo tonight.”

“Awesome,” I say. “Being on home turf should help, right?”

“Hopefully, but we need as much support as we can get. My girlfriend Silja is coming, too, so at least we have you two.”

Nils’s face brightens as he looks behind me, and I swivel my head to see a pretty, dark-haired woman in a long blue coat walking toward us.

“Hey,” she says, waving at Erik and Nils. Then she turns to me. “And you must be Luke! Erik is really excited that you’re here to visit. I’m Silja, Nils’s partner.”

“Yup, nice to meet you Silja.”

Erik and Nils’s phones beep, and they straighten up. “We have to go in now, but you two should hang out before the game starts,” says Nils.

Silja smiles. “Sounds good! Luke and I can grab drinks nearby.”

“Awesome,” I say, and Nils gives his girlfriend a quick peck before heading into the secure players’ area.

Erik gives me a fist bump. “I’ll meet you as soon as I can after the game ends.”

“Got it. Now go kick ass.”

Then he’s gone.