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“Comfort is key, Varg.”
His eyes start at the boots and slide up my legs to the hem of my dress. I feel his gaze like a caress, and I steel myself not to let him see me fidget under his scrutiny. Even though he’s so tall I force myself to keep my eyes on his face. Varg’s lips part and I see his shoulders shift before he meets my stare head on.
“I can see that.” His voice is lower, a deep rasp that makes me cross my arms across my chest just in case my nipples like the sound too much. Traitorous bitches. This man may be attractive to most of the residents of Quarry Creek, but not to me. He can’t be. And I can’t let him know he is.
Our eyes are locked, neither of us moving an inch, and the tension is thick, like swimming through a vat of heavy cream.
“You didn’t give me much to go on for today,” I say to break the silence, and Varg grins at me like that was purposeful. It probably was. This man lives to get under my skin. I like order, control, schedules, and clear expectations. I’ve seen Varg in action. He’s easy smiles and quick laughs. Not one to make firm plans, but always up for an adventure. I’m itchy just thinking about his laissez-faireapproach to life.
“I thought we could film a few behind-the-scenes things for the series. Maybe some how-to videos of different drills, some skating tips, that kind of thing.” He ducks his head. “I know I held up the start of this project, so I thought if we got a few things sorted out, you could have a couple of videos ready to go at once. And then we won’t have to worry about our away game later this week.”
That is… not what I expected.
Not from everything I know about Varg flying by the seat of his pants. I was sure I’d need to make us a schedule, write out film plans, be on top of him to show up and participate. But this… I blink slowly, trying to center myself in the conversation.
“If that works for you.” Varg is looking at me, waiting, and I say, “Yes,” because shock has stolen all my other thoughts and words. I swallow and add, “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.”
This smile is different. The left side of his mouth quirks up, showing off the hint of a dimple in his cheek. How have I never seen that before? But no. One moment of prior planning doesn’t erase the last time he let me down. The last time I ended up…. No.
“I thought we’d start with a rink tour.” Varg says and now he’s looking over my head and out across the ice. “I thought a personal approach might be nice over the tours given by the organization. Some stories about the players.”
It’s a good idea. We’ll book more tours if we start off this way.
“Then I was going to go through gear and how we dress for games—”
“We need to keep this appropriate for the kids, Varg.” I say, and he frowns again.
“I would never… I didn’t mean like that.” One hand moves to cup the back of his neck. “A lot of people don’t know about the layers we wear or the padding, but we don’t have to if you think it’s a bad idea.”
Dammit. It is a good idea. I have the urge to apologize. I feel like I’ve hurt his feelings, which makes no sense. Everyone knows hockey players get their fair share of action. There’s no way Varg doesn’t get more than the average player. Not with his face and body and teeth. Not thatIwould be in on that, but a lot of women would be. Or men.
Whoever.
Just not me.
“Let’s film it,” I say instead, and purse my lips to avoid smiling at him or something equally inane. This man is infuriating, and I don’t need to give him any extra ammunition. The more he knows he gets to me, the more he’ll poke at my weak spots until I disintegrate. “I can make sure we cut anything questionable when I edit the footage.”
I put my bag down on the players’ bench and pull out the small vlogging camera I use for most videos. I busy myself with starting it up and quadruple checking the battery life, the storage, and the settings. I did all this last night. And this morning. And before my meeting. But I don’t want to look at Varg right now, and I don’t want him to know that I’m avoiding looking at him.
I hate that this man turns me back into a middle schooler. I don’t think I was this bitchy even then. I didn’t have the time or energy to care so much about what someone else was thinking or planning. I had myself and my five siblings to take care of. I didn’t have time for rivalries. I’ve perfected the art of being in control. Dressed perfectly for every occasion with hair and makeup flawless since appearance is a sort of armor. Always over prepared with lists and contingency plans because there’s nothing worse than being frozen in a crisis.
I learned that at twelve, the first time that mom forgot to pick us up from school. Joey spent the days with our neighbor, but the twins were already in pre-K and there I was, a seventh grader, aware that I needed to collect them, Hayley from second grade, Palmer from first, and get us all home without anyone knowing that we were unsupervised. I’d already met the social worker and had looked her dead in the eye as I told her that everything was fine. It wasn’t even a lie. Everything was fine. It wasn’t like any of us were being hurt; we were just… forgotten. By mom. And dad. But that was fine because I was there and I would not forget any of us. Not for a moment.
Now, fifteen years later, I want to lie and say I don’t know why this one man gets under my skin in ways no one ever has, but I can’t. It’s the stupidly gorgeous face, the solid muscles, the easy grins that prove he’s had a comfortable life. An easy life. Sure, he’s worked hard to get where he is. I know that, everyone knows that. But I doubt he’s ever felt his life spinning so far out of control that it seems impossible to fix, knowing he was the only one willing and able to try.
Then there’s the fact that the man is pathologically agreeable. A volunteer needs to visit a kindergarten career day? Varg’s there with his gear on and a bag of pucks for the kids to take home. One player needs help to move a family member? Varg’s there with a rented truck and a smile. No one smiles while helping others move. That’s not a thing. No one can like that many people. No one can be that available. Doesn’t he have commitments? Doesn’t he get angry?
The irony is that his constant yeses drive me insane, nails down a chalkboard, shivers deep in the marrow of my bones. But the one time I needed him, he didn’t come through and I paid the price for it. The worst part is that he couldn’t even tell me like an adult. He just went radio silent. This man is the emergency contact for most of the guys on the team, since he is always available. Always. Until I spent forty-eight hours trying to hunt him down, only to be met with… nothing. He couldn’t even do me the decency to say “no” to my face.
“I thought we could start in the players’ lot and walk through what it’s like to show up for games.”
“After you.” I follow him to the side entrance of the rink. I step out onto the asphalt and raise the camera to my eyes.
The tour goes well, even if I have to remind Varg, multiple times, that I will not be in the footage. I’m just a camera person, not his co-host. I can edit out most of the slip-ups as we make our way through the halls and he takes us into the locker room. It might come out even better as he breaks the fourth wall over and over again, talking to me, or the camera, or the viewer. I just have to bite my tongue to stop myself from responding.
I do well until we get to the locker room. The circular space has each player’s name in silver lettering over solid wood cubbies for gear and uniforms. I’m surprised to see his full kit hanging on the hooks, clean and smelling fresh. The entire room has a vague bleach smell trying to cover the funk of testosterone and sweat, and someone clearly thought a pine-scented air freshener would make all the difference. It doesn’t. I swallow thickly, trying not to take in more than I have to.
“It smells pretty rank in here,” Varg says to the camera, “and that’s when the room is empty of sweaty players and gear.” His mouth tips up into that lopsided smile again and my fingers flex against the camera, but I hold it steady. “Even my camerawoman is trying to breathe through her mouth.”
