“Volunteering. . . class . . . it’s basically the same thing,” she answers with a cool bravado like I just didn’t catch her in a lie.
“I need you to take us seriously. I’m paying you enough, that’s for sure,” I say.
Her shoulders deflate. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I will take this job very seriously.” Her words sting me for some unknown reason.
“When are you finished here?”
She looks at her watch. “I’m done. Will this be considered one of our dates?”
Fuck. I’ve never had to work hard for a girl to go out with me. She’s throwing me off my game. She really doesn’t want to spend time with me.
“Yes,” I answer, gritting my teeth. Does she realize that most women trip over my feet?
“Okay, then. Let me just grab my purse from my cubicle,” she says, and she saunters away.
I watch her hips sway, feeling very confused. It shouldn’t matter to me what she thinks of me. Only, it does.
I shouldn’t be attracted to her, but I am.
Eight
Sierra
Nils drives down the street from the AMHA. “What are you in the mood to eat?”
“I’m not picky. I don’t like hamburgers, though,” I say.
“Are you kidding me? Who doesn’t eat hamburgers?”
“Me,” I say flatly.
“Okay, no hamburgers.” He gives me a side glance and his lips purse together. “Can you at least pretend to like me? I mean, for the sake of our deal. If you keep rolling your eyes and acting all irritated, this will never work.”
I exhale. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m being a bad employee. I’ll do better,” I say, giving him a full-wattage smile. He sure is paying me enough to pretend to like him.
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling.
“You’re different,” I say to him.
“Different how?”
“I mean different than you were back in Minnesota as a freshman in college. You were angry back then. You had a chip on your shoulder; you were always scowling. Getting a smile out of you was nearly impossible,” I say. Shoot! Now he’s going to think I wanted his smiles back then.
“I had come from Hogsby the year before. My life wasn’t a walk in the park. I was angry with my mom for leaving me to fend for myself against my father so long. I was adjusting to a new country and language, dealing with a new family, and the pressure to make it in hockey. I had nothing back then, Sierra,” he says.
My heart sinks. I never thought about it that way. All I saw was a popular guy with his nose in the air who thought he was too good to be with me.
“Your rough edges have smoothed out somewhat,” I say. I don’t have a better compliment. Sitting here in the car with him makes me nervous. He’s still the hot, popular guy who’s now a famous hockey player, and I’m still a bookish nerd.
“To a certain extent. I still get angry and make bad choices but the steam that burns inside me has fizzled a bit. I have a stable job I can’t lose and good friends. I have to thank Oli for suggesting the AMHA,” he says. “Have you been volunteering there long?”
“Two years,” I say. “They do a lot of important work. When I went to high school here in the city there were a lot of at-risk kids. Some of them just needed a fighting chance at a better life. The AMHA helps keep some of them on track.”
“It must have been hard for you to go from a rich suburban life in Minnesota to a city school,” he says. We stop at a red light and he turns his head to look at me. I meet his gaze and something uneasy shifts inside me. His blue eyes, clear and intense, make my heart gallop.
“It was hard, but I’m sure you know how controlling my dad can be. He was on my case about everything. He just didn’t understand me, and I was angry, too.” I think of a scowling Nils back in college and my heart softens. “I was angry at my mom for leaving me behind. I was angry that my father didn’t know how to deal with me. I was angry that he sent me to Chicago my freshman year because he didn’t want me around. I was this awkward kid and it was hard to make friends,” I say, surprised that I revealed so much to him. Although maybe I shouldn’t be. Back in Minnesota, when he became my fake boyfriend, I spent a lot of time with him having deep conversations just like this. Something about our pasts felt similar and we had this connection. This feeling of being left behind that we could both relate to. Well, we did . . . until he pulled a one-eighty and became the biggest jerk on the planet.
“Neither of us had it easy,” he says.
I remember the many times Dad and I fought about course selections, or what he wanted me to do with my life. Dad didn’t want me to be my own person. He wanted everything his way or the highway. Sometimes I didn’t blame Mom for leaving. I just wished she had taken me with her.
“At least you coming out here allowed you to take architecture and you’re definitely not shy anymore.”
I sink into my seat and watch the traffic.
“No, I guess I’ve worked past it. I still have my self-doubt.” A blush creeps up my cheeks.
“I have my self-doubt, too,” he says softly, staring out to the traffic on the road. His words hit me in the chest. He seems so self-assured. He gives me a quick side glance. “Don’t look so shocked.”
“Sorry,” I smile impishly. “The first time I left for Chicago was because my father told me it would be better for me there. Then, in college when things imploded between us, I wanted to leave. Dear old dad didn’t fight me because he saw an opportunity to get rid of me all over again He had your mom and they wanted their privacy.”
A loud hiss escapes him, and he mutters something in Swedish. “I thought you chose to leave,” he says. “I didn’t know he told you to go the first time or the second time. That makes me so angry.” He grits his teeth, and his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel.
“My mother didn’t bring me from Sweden for the same reason. She wanted time alone with your dad. I learned that reality my senior year of high school when I arrived,” he explains.
My stomach knots.
“I don’t like thinking of the past,” I say, as I watch his jaw pulse and his hold on the steering wheel tighten. “It makes me feel bad. I tend to focus on the future, and the good things I have in my life. My Aunt Becca taught me that.”
He lets out a long breath and it looks like he deflates. “You’re right. I just hate that our parents are this way.”
“Me, too,” I agree.
“Is the Chicken Nest okay for lunch? I need to eat healthy since the season starts in a couple weeks,” he asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
We reach the restaurant and Nils parks the car. We head in and he grabs hold of my hand. I cock a brow and look at him.
“What?” he asks, innocently. “Hand-holding is obvious, Sierra.”
I don’t argue.
A hostess seats us at a table and Nils orders a half-roasted chicken with baked potato and sour cream. I get the chicken salad.
“No more depressing talk,” he says. “Tell me about yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “Do we really have to do this?”
“Yes, fake girlfriend, we do. I need to know everything about you.” He grins wide. He’s so handsome and . . .troubled. Something inside me softens, and the usual anger I feel towards him deflates somewhat. When I don’t say anything, he repeats himself. “Start talking . . . tell me about yourself.”
He is paying me, so I should act professionally. “I go to the Chicago College of Architecture. I’m in my fifth year. I live off campus,” I say. “I have a roommate named Sunny. She goes to University of Chicago. We’ve been living together for the past three years.”
“Tell me what you do for fun,” he says.
“Fun? Well, I’ve been in school, plus I volunteer. I’ve also had to work to support myself. It doesn’t leave too much time for fun.” I shrug, and heat claws at my cheeks.
The waitress comes and places our orders in front of
us.
“Where did you say you worked?” he asks, then he takes a large bite of his meal. I imagine a guy his size needs to eat a lot.
“I worked for a TV station. It’s where I met Sloane,” I explain.
He doesn’t say anything; he just digs into his meal. “Sorry, I’m starved.”
I eat my salad quietly. The silence feels comfortable. Sitting here ,chatting with him feels like déjà vu, reminding me of an easier time back in college in Minnesota when he was my fake boyfriend and I was his tutor. At least before things got shot to hell.
“Have you had any recent boyfriends?” he asks. “The only reason I’m asking is because sometimes old flames come out of nowhere and like to make a big deal about knowing someone famous. I’m not saying I’m famous but as a player for the Blackhawks, I’m in the public eye.”
“No boyfriend . . . well . . .” I tilt my head from side to side. “There was someone. We dated, and he cheated on me. I can’t imagine him being a problem. I’ve been on dates. Had a more serious boyfriend a couple years ago, an architectural student in my class. We were just very different. We dated a year, but it didn’t work out.”
“I don’t like cheaters,” Nils says, throwing me off.
I don’t know why but they aren’t the words I expect from him.
“I may have gotten around, but I would never cheat. I know we didn’t mention anything last night, but I need you to be very discreet if you’re going to hook up with someone. I can’t ask you to become celibate or anything.” He grins mischievously, and I swallow my salad down the wrong tube.
I cough. I sip my water from the straw and take a breath.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. I’m not sure what else to say. I’m not telling him that I don’t get laid on the regular like him.
“Will you be hooking up with women on the side?” I ask. “I honestly didn’t consider all this.”
“No. I won’t be hooking up. I can’t afford to make any mistakes. My NHL career is on the line, Sierra,” he says.
I repeat the way he says my name with that heavy accent in my head.
Sierra. Sierra. Sierra.
I picture him hovering above me. It doesn’t help my case that I saw his dick pic online. Normally I find dick pics gross, but his is beautiful, long and thick. I take another sip of water to cool me down.
“I understand. You don’t need to worry about me. I won’t be hooking up with people on the side. It isn’t my style. You said it yourself; this is serious for you. I always take my job seriously,” I assure him.
“I do appreciate it.” He smiles, and it’s a warm smile that touches his blue eyes and makes me feel tingly all over.
“Of course.”
With the table cleared the waitress comes by and asks if we want dessert. Neither of us do, and so she places the bill on the center of the table. Nils insists on paying. He drives me home and stops in front of my apartment.
“Lean over to me,” he says. With the car in park his hands are free and I freeze, my eyes getting a dear in the head light look for sure.
His eyes glow with amusement. “Relax, I just want to take a selfie,” he says and I release the breath I must have been holding. Jerk.
We lean into each other. He shows me the picture to get my approval. Our heads are tilted toward each other. He’s photogenic, with his tanned skin and sky-blue eyes. I look like his tutor with my straight hair and glasses.
“I like it,” he says.
“Okay, fine,” I concede.
He loads it up to Twitter with the caption.
#mynewspecialgirl
Afternoon lunch with a kickass woman.
He presses the tweet button. My heart flutters. His caption is sweet as hell. I remember what Aunt Becca said about him having good traits. Maybe he does. He donated money to the AMHA, he seems like a good friend to his teammates, and he’s being sweet with me.
This is really freaking bad because my old crush on him hasn’t died. It should’ve after he acted so shitty, but I guess old habits die hard. Now I need to make sure of one thing . . . I can’t allow myself to fall for Nils Karlsson all over again.
Nine
Sierra
I’m lying in bed working on a sketch when my cell rings. Sloane’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey, babe,” I answer.
“Oh, good, I’m glad I caught you. I only have a minute because I’m nursing Quinn. I just wanted to say thank you for babysitting Mom last night. You saved me,” she says.
“It was nothing. Don’t mention it.”
“I felt really bad that the wedding planner placed with you Nils. Thanks so much for being so cool about it. After everything that boy did to you—”
“It’s fine,” I say. I don’t want to make her feel guilty when I’ve agreed to spend time with him anyway.
“Really?” I hear the surprise in her tone.
“Yeah, yeah, totally,” I answer, feeling bad about withholding such juicy info from my best friend.
“Okay, cool. I know he can be a little on the wild side, but he is a good guy, Sierra. I want to say something, and please don’t hate me for it, but Nils and Oli are really good friends. Is there any way you would be okay hanging out with him some more?” Her voice is shaky and her tone a little high pitched. “I mean, we try not to invite you guys over at the same time. I saw your reaction to him years ago at Flynn’s party. I don’t want to put you in a bad position. It’s just sometimes really hard—”
“To choose sides.” I finish the sentence for her. My stomach sinks. I feel like a terrible friend for deceiving her right now. She would definitely keep the secret. Nils asked me not to tell anyone about our arrangement, but I can’t hide it from Sloane.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okaaay.” She drags out the word, sounding confused.
“I kind of agreed to be Nils’s fake girlfriend,” I confess, speaking very fast.
“What the . . . of all things holy, what on earth does that mean? Did my mom give you drugs? Are you high?”
“I’m not high. This needs to stay a secret, Sloane. Like, please don’t tell anyone. Nils is on probation. Senior managers have threatened to end his contract. He needs to show he’s serious and settling down. That he’s putting the wild life behind him,” I explain.
“And what, you suddenly care what happens to him?” She scoffs. Can’t say I blame her.
“He’s paying me three G’s a month. It’s a job.”
“I don’t understand. He’s paying you for sex?” Her words cause me to jolt up in bed.
“No, I’m not going to sleep with him. Geez. It’s just for show for a few months so his rep will get cleaned up,” I say.
“And then what?”
“Then we break up,” I state the obvious.
“This is a little messed up, don’t you think? I mean, given your past when he was your fake boyfriend—”
“Don’t remind me,” I sigh. “This is good, trust me. I lost my job and I need my car fixed.”
“Honey, if you need money, I could lend it to you,” she says. I hear Quinn beginning to whine in the background.
“I don’t want to borrow money. This way, I earn the money myself and help Nils along the way. It makes sense,” I say.
“You’re okay with this? I mean what he did was cruel. Can you really see yourself spending time with him?”
“Trust me, I’ve been mulling over the same thing since he asked me. I was angry for a long time, but then my aunt made me realize that if it weren’t for Nils’s shitty behavior I would have stayed in Minnesota where my dad would be controlling my life. I wouldn’t be on the road to becoming an architect,” I say, working on my sketch. “There was a reason I moved away from Minnesota. My dad isn’t an easy man and I probably wouldn’t have been able to afford paying for my degree on my own.” My words make me realize what a pushover I was back then. “It was my dad’s guilt that got him to support my career choice. Some
times bad things happen, but they are part of a greater plan,” I end my speech.
“You’ve convinced me babe . . . OMG! Did you see the sex tape?”
“Yes.” I blush.
“Your fake boyfriend is equipped to deliver in the bedroom. Are you allowed to have fake sex? Wait, I think real sex would be better. Hashtag big stick, Sierra,” she says.
I burst out laughing.
“I don’t even know what to say to that,” I answer.
“I may be getting married, but I don’t live in seclusion. Fuck, he does have a big dick. It’s kind of awkward. I don’t think I’ll ever look at him the same again. I feel kind of bad,” she says.
“Why bad? He set himself up for that mess.”
“Aw, come on . . . no one wants their private parts exposed for the whole world to see,” Sloane says sympathetically.
“Have you read all the comments on those tweets? He’s going to have an easier time getting lucky now than he did before, and prior to hashtag big stick, it was a walk in the park for him,” I say, twirling a piece of my hair.
“You have a point, but I get the feeling he’s down on himself,” she says.
“He came by the AMHA today. Made a big donation and volunteered his time. I don’t want to be making arguments about Nils being a good guy, but he did seem to care about his role at the AMHA. I’ll give him that.”
“See? He isn’t so bad. He’s had a rough go. You know better than anyone what that’s like,” she says.
“Aw. Now you’re hitting below the belt.” I scoff. Truth is, she’s totally right. Nils and I share a broken past.
“I won’t go there. But I’ll say that hashtag big stick is no joke.” She laughs.
A vision of his dick pic enters my mind and all I can think about is Mata’s suggestion that Nils and I would be good together. Thinking about all the orgasms he could deliver with his big stick makes my body heat.
“I can tell you firsthand a big stick can be loads of fun. Why do you think I’m marrying Oli?”
“That is TMI. You love Oli and he loves you. You aren’t marrying him for his big stick. And we need to stop talking about it because it is starting to feel too warm in here.” I touch my cheeks, they’re flaming hot.
Dirty Swedish Player: A Big Stick Novel Page 7
