Double the Heat (14 page)
Authors: Lori Foster,Deirdre Martin,Elizabeth Bevarly,Christie Ridgway
Tags: #Erotic Stories; American, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Mate Selection, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Short Stories
Lennie told Christie all about Sebastian, trying not to sound like a breathless teenybopper.
“Sounds like a really interesting guy.”
“I know.”
“I bet he’s good in bed.”
Lennie laughed.
“Maybe you’ll get to find out.”
“Doubt it. He just wants to be friends.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“Did you see his shirt? Fit him really well. Beautifully cut. I’ll bet my bones it’s a Perry Ellis.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about, but I’ll take your word for it.” Christie began mopping the bar. “So—what? He just picked you at random to sit with?”
Lennie told Christie about the Craigslist screw-up. Christie looked shocked.
“You have balls, Lennie. Seriously. What if the real ‘New to New York’ had turned up?”
“Then I would have been in heaps of trouble. But she didn’t show. Thank God.” She watched Christie stack glasses. “What’s your romantic status?”
“Just broke up with a fellow firefighter. Guy in my house. Talk about stupid. I’ll never do that again.”
“We gotta get you a man.”
“No, thank you. I need time to heal. The bastard ripped my heart out of my chest and threw it to the dogs.”
Lennie winced. “Gotcha.”
“So your aunt—bit of a whack, no?”
“Total whack. But I love her. And she has a sewing machine.”
“You really think you’ll last, living with her?”
“I have to; I can’t really afford to pay rent.”
“How do you deal with that bird?”
“He’s okay.” Lennie was slowly getting used to Rudy II’s squawking, more out of necessity than anything else, since Aunt Mary walked around with him perched on her shoulder most of the time. It was hard to avoid him.
“Eclectic group here,” Christie mused. “But I love it. PJ plucks on my last nerve sometimes, but then I think, ‘Ah, he’s just lonely, poor bastard,’ so I try to make an extra effort to be nice.”
“Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien seem nice,” Lennie observed.
“They’re really nice.” Christie glanced up at the clock. “Goddamn Jimmy! I could have been out of here twenty minutes ago if he wasn’t so ‘tired.’” She stifled a yawn. “What are you and Sebastian doing together, by the way?”
“Going on one of those Big Apple tour buses. Totally lame, I know, but I think it will be fun.”
“Not lame at all. I’ve wanted to do that since I was a little kid. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
“I will.”
Christie took off her apron, tilting her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Gotta go tell the O’Briens I’m done and ready to lock up. Maybe you and I could go out one night? Hang out?”
“That’d be great. I’ll wait. We can walk out together.”
“Find
a lady friend on Craigslist?”
a lady friend on Craigslist?”
Sebastian looked up from the locker room bench, where he sat lacing up his skates, to see Eric Mitchell regarding him with interest. Sebastian noticed that both the Mitchell brothers wore tiny gold crucifixes around their necks before every game; it was interesting to see what other players’ pregame rituals were. The goalie back in Moscow wouldn’t go out on the ice unless he’d listened to Queen’s “We Are the Champions” at least twice. Sebastian’s ritual was always to do everything from left to right. He put his left leg into his shorts first. He tied his left pads first, laced his left skate first, put on his left glove first. He’d been doing this since he was four.
“Yes,” said Sebastian. “I met her at the Wild Hart last night, and on Sunday, we’re going to take one of those bus tours around New York.”
“No shit.” Ulf Torkelson came closer as he pulled his jersey over his head. “She hot?”
Sebastian scowled. “She’s attractive.”
Very attractive
, he thought. “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything. We’re just friends.”
Very attractive
, he thought. “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything. We’re just friends.”
“What’s her name?”
“Lennie.”
“What the hell kind of a name is that?” Ulf asked.
“It’s a nickname. Her real name is Leonora.”
“In that case, I’d call myself Lennie too,” said Eric.
“What does she look like?” Ulf prodded.
Sebastian heaved a heavy sigh. Clearly his teammate wasn’t going to let the subject drop. “She’s small with short brown hair. Brown eyes.”
Warm, brown eyes that often looked mischievous. A wonderful sense of humor. An interesting life story. Sebastian couldn’t believe how pumped up he’d felt leaving the Wild Hart the other night, knowing he was going to see Lennie the following Sunday. When he realized he’d been playing their conversation in his head all the way back to his apartment, he started to worry: that didn’t seem like something a man who only wanted to be friends would do.
“Small,” Ulf mused. “She a midget or something?”
“Oh, my God,” said Eric Mitchell, giving the cross around his neck a quick kiss. “You are such an idiot, Ulf.” He turned to Sebastian. “You mean petite, right?”
“Yes. Petite.” Delicate.
“I knew that,” Ulf muttered defensively. “I was just fuckin’ with him.”
“How many responses did you get?” asked Thad Meyers.
“Too many to count,” said Sebastian. “It was overwhelming. I couldn’t read them all.”
“What made you pick this chick?” Ulf asked.
“Her e-mail was very simple. A lot of the others went into very long, confusing stories I didn’t have time for.”
“Any good ones?” Ulf asked wolfishly.
Sebastian stared at him. “You need to get a life. You know this?”
Ulf ignored the insult. “She okay with you being a Commie?”
“Of course,” Sebastian mocked. “I pulled out my wallet, showed her my picture of Karl Marx, and sang ‘The Internationale’ on the top of my lungs. She was quite impressed.”
“Torkelson usually pulls a picture of ABBA out of his wallet when he meets women, don’t you, Ulfie?” asked Eric.
Everyone laughed.
“Bite me,” said Ulf, storming off with a glare.
“He can dish it out but he can’t take it, eh?” Sebastian said to goalie David Hewson, who had joined them after completing his pregame ritual of throwing up.
“Yep. He’s a total pantywaist off the ice,” said Eric. He punched Sebastian’s shoulder playfully. “You ready to rock tonight, Ivan?”
Sebastian grinned. He liked his nickname; it was so stupid it was funny, plus it made him sound formidable. He felt sorry for the Mitchell brothers; their nicknames were Mitchy and Mitcho, respectively.
“Keep playing this well, and Coach Gallagher might actually give you a real compliment,” said Thad. “He give you the famous ‘You have to live, eat, breathe hockey’ speech yet?” The other players groaned.
“At training camp,” said Sebastian. He completely understood where his coach was coming from. But at the same time, Sebastian felt he had the right to enjoy himself in his free time, especially since he was living in one of the most exciting cities in the world.
Assistant Coach Dante popped his head in the locker room door. “All right, you
gavones
. Let’s get out there and play Blades hockey.”
gavones
. Let’s get out there and play Blades hockey.”
Pumped with adrenaline, Sebastian walked out of the locker room with his teammates. It was the same feeling he’d had the other night after talking to Lennie. He pushed the thought from his mind, and headed out to the ice.
Three
Lennie arrived at the City Sights NY bus departure spot on Broad-way to find Sebastian already there. She’d been looking forward to this all week. She hadn’t had much time to do anything fun, since she’d been running around getting ready to start school, trying to clear up a few snafus that had cropped up.
She’d worried that it might be awkward when they spoke on the phone in the middle of the week to confirm their plans, but if anything, it was the opposite: they talked for close to half an hour. Lennie liked this guy. She really liked this guy. And maybe, if they spent enough “friend” time together, he would start to like her too.
As she knew would be the case, PJ and The Mouth had ratted her out to her aunt, telling her about the night she’d spent chatting with Sebastian. Aunt Mary had overreacted, going off on some rant about athletes, libidos, and jockstraps. When Lennie challenged her, asking if she’d ever met an athlete, all Aunt Mary could come up with was a guy her late husband used to bowl with. “Bowlers aren’t athletes,” Lennie countered, fleeing the apartment to the sounds of Rudy II imitating her aunt’s warning of “You’ll regret it!”
It was a chilly morning, but since she was dying to sit on the open, top deck of the double-decker, she’d dressed warmly but stylishly: jeans, Uggs, and a gray Aran Isle sweater.
As for Sebastian, Lennie thought he looked pretty damn cool and relaxed: black wraparound sunglasses, a weathered brown leather bomber jacket, and jeans.
He just wants to be friends,
she reminded herself.
Then change his mind, girl,
said the little devil sitting on her left shoulder.
He just wants to be friends,
she reminded herself.
Then change his mind, girl,
said the little devil sitting on her left shoulder.
“Hello,” he said with a big smile. “You are right on time.”
“I pride myself on being punctual.”
He pulled out two tickets for the tour. “The bus should be here in a few minutes.” He glanced around at the small crowd they were part of. “I don’t think it will be too crowded.”
“No,” Lennie agreed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit upstairs in the open air.”
“So would I. Are you sure you won’t be cold?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m from the north country, remember? Breezy is nothing.”
Sebastian laughed. “Same for me. If you come from Siberia and can’t handle breezy, you are in serious trouble, my friend.”
Lennie gestured at the tickets in his hand. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Sebastian, that’s not right. It makes me very uncomfortable.”
He looked frustrated. “How do I say this? I’m very—traditional. Where I come from, men pay, whether the woman is a lover or a friend. It’s just the way it’s done.”
“But that’s not how it’s done here,” Lennie pointed out softly.
“Listen to me. I’m a professional hockey player. Not to boast, but I make a lot of money. You said you are a student, yes? So let me take care of this.”
Lennie agreed, but she still didn’t feel right about it, even though deep down she was charmed by his old-f ashioned attitude; it felt rather chivalrous. “You can take care of it this time. But next time—”
Sebastian smiled. “We’ll see.”
The
tour lasted two and a half hours, covering a lot of territory: Met Gar, Macy’s, the Empire State Building, SoHo, Chinatown, Little Italy, Wall Street, the Lower East Side, South Street Seaport, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, and more. Lennie was exhilarated, but at times she had a hard time paying attention to what the tour guide was saying, since she and Sebastian were squished close together on a bus seat for two. He was a big man; there was no avoiding their touching unless he somehow leaned away from her, which would have been extremely uncomfortable. If he was aware of how aware she was of their being in contact, he certainly didn’t show it.
tour lasted two and a half hours, covering a lot of territory: Met Gar, Macy’s, the Empire State Building, SoHo, Chinatown, Little Italy, Wall Street, the Lower East Side, South Street Seaport, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, and more. Lennie was exhilarated, but at times she had a hard time paying attention to what the tour guide was saying, since she and Sebastian were squished close together on a bus seat for two. He was a big man; there was no avoiding their touching unless he somehow leaned away from her, which would have been extremely uncomfortable. If he was aware of how aware she was of their being in contact, he certainly didn’t show it.
“This is great,” Lennie enthused during one of the breaks when the tour guide wasn’t talking. “I mean, all those places we’ve seen so far? I want to check out all of them, except the Empire State Building. I’ve already been there.”
“There isn’t much to Met Gar. I can attest to that.”
“Maybe I can come see you play sometime.”
Sebastian nodded slowly. Lennie wondered if she was coming on too strong; it was tough to get a read on him with his eyes obscured by his sunglasses.
She touched the arm of his leather jacket. “This is really nice. Do you know who the designer is?”
“No idea.”
“Mind if I check the label?”
“Uh, no, go ahead.”
She turned around on the bus seat and knelt, pulling the collar of his jacket slightly away from the nape of his neck. She caught a scent of cologne; it made her want to lean closer to his skin and inhale deeply, but she didn’t dare. She focused on the label.
“Giorgio Armani. Nice.”
Sebastian held out one of his arms, looking at the sleeve. “I like nice clothing.”
“All the Russian guys I’ve ever met do.”
He lowered his sunglasses, peering at her over the rim playfully. “Oh, so you know all about Russian men, eh?”
“A little,” said Lennie, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “I mean, I met a few Russian guys when I was traveling in Europe. They were all really nice, but they were also into dressing well.” She gave a small wince. “Am I stereotyping?”
“I don’t think so,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. “Dressing well? It probably comes from having so little choice available to us when the Communists were in power. Everything was so drab! I think once things opened up, everyone who could afford to, started to dress well.”
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