The Swede

by Maureen Smith

  “I should have known I’d find you parked in front of a TV watching the NHL Network.” She joined Scarlett on the sofa, ice clinking in her cocktail glass. “I don’t know who’s a bigger hockey junkie—you or my dad.”

  Scarlett grinned, sipping her Jack and Coke.

  The sports anchors were excitedly recapping the Rebels’ game against St. Louis. “The Blues were not ready for the Colorado Gold Rush aka Viggo Sandström. The All-Star center was on fire from the second he won the faceoff and shot up the ice to score that dagger of a goal.”

  “A dagger indeed,” laughed the anchor in the middle. “This guy’s an assassin who just rips your heart out and leaves you bleeding on the ice. It’s no wonder that he leads the league in scoring and is putting up the most staggering statistics of his career.”

  Scarlett beamed like a proud mama as they started breaking down Viggo’s stats while showing a highlight reel of his best plays that season.

  Cara watched her with amusement. “You are such a fangirl.”

  Scarlett laughed, not denying it.

  “We caught up with the Swede before tonight’s game to get his thoughts on the matchup,” the first anchor announced.

  The camera cut to a clip from the pregame interview at the arena. Viggo had been warming up with his teammates, sprinting around the ice and shooting pucks. His cheeks were reddened from his exertion and he was wearing a Rebels baseball cap pulled low over his face.

  Just the sight of him turned Scarlett’s insides to mush. He was prime Grade A beefcake. Pure sex on skates.

  “Thanks for joining us, Viggo,” the reporter said congenially.

  “Thanks for having me,” Viggo replied, his white teeth flashing in a grin under the bill of his baseball cap. Scarlett’s heart skittered in her chest.

  As he answered the usual questions about game strategy, Cara leered at the television. “Holy crap, he’s hot as fuck. I don’t give two shits about hockey, but I’d give my left tit for one night with that man. The things I’d like to do to him.”

  Scarlett forced a chuckle. “Hussy.”

  Cara grinned. “And I haven’t even told you about my gangbang fantasies involving him and his other hot teammates. You know the ones I’m talking about—Reid, Logan and Hunter?” She gave a dirty laugh. “I know Reid just got hitched to your cousin, but sorry, he’s not getting out of my fivesome.”

  “Fivesome? Seriously?”

  “Don’t slut-shame me. I love dick. The more the merrier.”

  Scarlett laughed, returning her attention to Viggo’s interview.

  “…Everyone knows how much you love listening to music before every game,” the anchor was saying. “It’s part of your pregame ritual and it helps get you into the zone. So tell us what’s at the top of your playlists right now. We know you’re really into the Swedish music scene. Any new Swedish artists you’d like to recommend?”

  Viggo grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I do have a recommendation, but the band’s not Swedish. They’re called Off The Grid, and I’m kinda obsessed with them.”

  “Holy shit!” Cara shrieked excitedly, staring at Scarlett. “Did he just give you guys a shout-out?”

  “He sure did.” Scarlett was grinning like an idiot.

  “Off The Grid, you say?” the anchor asked. “Is that a rock band?”

  “Yes, sir, and they’re pretty damn amazing,” Viggo said. “You guys should check ’em out. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Cara started squealing as the interview ended and the camera cut back to the grinning anchors in the studio. “Well, folks, you heard it here first. Go check out Off The Grid and let us know what you think of Sandström’s new obsession.”

  The other anchor pulled his phone out. “Looking ’em up right now.”

  As they went to a commercial break, Cara was practically bouncing up and down on the sofa. “Oh my God! Hot as puck and he has great taste in music? Could he be any more perfect?”

  If only you knew, Scarlett thought, smiling into her glass.

  Hooting and hollering, Cara whipped out her phone and pressed her manicured thumb against the button to unlock the device.

  Scarlett grinned at her. “What’re you doing?”

  “Checking Twitter again to see if you guys are trending.” After a few quick swipes, she let out a delighted squeal. “Holy shit, you are!”

  “Really?” Scarlett leaned over to stare at Cara’s phone. The screen was filled with tons of Twitter mentions the band had racked up following Viggo’s interview. Many tweets thanked him for the new music recommendation:

  Good rec @VSandstrom19! Off The Grid is legit!

  Holy hat trick @VSandstrom19! I’m a believer! #offthegrid

  In Viggo we trust! This man knows hockey and rock ’n’ roll!

  Cara read several tweets aloud, squeeing after each one. “Holy crap! Look how much mileage we’re getting from just one shout-out! Can you imagine how much more publicity we could get if you were, like, dating the guy?”

  Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Opportunistic much?”

  “Hell yeah!” Cara asserted unabashedly. “In case you haven’t noticed, Viggo’s a huge star with a huge platform. I mean, the guy has gazillions of Twitter and Instagram followers. He’s an amazing hockey player who happens to be sexy as hell, and you’re a gorgeous rock star. You know people love a hot romance—”

  “Some people,” Scarlett countered dryly. “His fangirls wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

  Cara laughed. “Probably not. They’d probably trash you all over the Internet. But fuck those haters. You know I’m always thinking about the big picture. You’re the lead singer of Off The Grid. Dating a high-profile athlete like Viggo would do wonders for the band’s popularity.” There was a calculating gleam in Cara’s eyes as she contemplated Scarlett.

  “What’re you getting at?” Scarlett joked. “You want me to show up to a Rebels game and proposition the guy just because he showed my band some love?”

  “Of course not.” Cara paused, tapping her fingertip against her lip. “But you are a big hockey fan—”

  Scarlett laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be famous for who I date. If the band ever makes it big, let it be for our musical talent, not because I’m sleeping with some rich jock.” Who I’ve been secretly crushing on for years. “There’s also that whole invasion of privacy thing to worry about. I hate the idea of total strangers prying into my love life, following me around and taking pictures of me everywhere I go. My cousin has been dealing with that ever since she started dating Reid. I don’t envy her.”

  Cara sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushion. “Can’t blame a manager for dreaming.”

  Scarlett chuckled, taking another sip of her Jack and Coke. No way was she telling Cara about her budding romance with Viggo. Not now. Possibly never if she could get away with it.

  Cara turned her head on the sofa to look at Scarlett. “Speaking of great publicity opportunities…”

  Scarlett met her gaze. “What?”

  “Black Kross’s manager called me yesterday. Leo Harry wants to do a collaboration with you.”

  Scarlett nodded slowly.

  “You don’t look surprised,” Cara observed. “Did he already approach you about it?”

  “He mentioned something the other night.” Scarlett shrugged. “I didn’t think he was serious.”

  “He is. Serious enough to have his manager reach out to me.”

  “Hmm.” Scarlett studied her manicure.

  “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do any projects without the guys. It would start rumors that we’re breaking up.”

  “Maybe,” Cara conceded. “But I think you should consider it.”

  Scarlett shook her head.

  Cara sighed. “Look, babydoll, I know what a team player you are. No one can ever question your loyalty to the band. But you’re not thinking about the big picture here. Collabing with a Grammy-winning gro
up like Black Kross would be awesome publicity for you guys. It would expose you to new fans and put you on the radar of more record label executives.”

  “I know,” Scarlett agreed.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “I do. Really.”

  “What did you tell Leo?”

  “Tell Leo about what?” a new voice demanded.

  Scarlett and Cara looked toward the doorway to see Traeger standing there with two groupies, one under each arm.

  He was staring suspiciously at Scarlett. “What were you talking to Leo about?”

  “Nothing.” She didn’t need this right now. “I see you made some lovely new friends.”

  The girls let out sycophantic giggles and cuddled closer to Traeger, but he wasn’t paying attention to them. His suspicious stare had shifted to Cara, and she was staring right back at him. Animosity crackled between them. But something else was seething beneath the surface. Something like attraction.

  Scarlett looked from one to the other as a seed of suspicion took root in her mind.

  Traeger was the first to break eye contact, blinking and staring hard at the floor. Cara swallowed visibly and frowned into her cocktail glass.

  After another moment, Traeger lifted his eyes to glare accusingly at Scarlett. “Are you leaving us for Black Kross?”

  She frowned. “Of course not.”

  He looked like he didn’t believe her.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Traeger,” she said with longsuffering patience. “So you can stand down.”

  He glowered at her a moment longer, then scowled and stalked off with his groupies.

  Cara frowned after him, her eyes narrowed speculatively. “Interesting.”

  Scarlett glanced at her. “What?”

  “He’s very protective of you.”

  “They all are. Have been since college.”

  Cara turned to study Scarlett through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you two never hooked up in college?”

  Scarlett practically laughed in her face.

  “I’m totally serious,” Cara insisted. “The fellas once told me that Traeger hit on you the first time you met.”

  “He did,” Scarlett confirmed, still laughing. “And I turned his ass down.”

  “Why?”

  “I could tell he was a fuckboy, and I don’t mess with fuckboys. Then or now.”

  Cara scrutinized her face. “Maybe he still has a thing for you.”

  “He doesn’t. He never did.”

  “Then why does he act so possessive over you?”

  Scarlett sighed. “Ever since his mom ran out on him and his dad, Traeger’s had this intense fear of getting left behind by all the important women in his life. That’s part of the reason he’s so afraid of me leaving the band.”

  Cara narrowed her gaze. “So he acts possessive because he has mommy issues?”

  “Basically.”

  Cara didn’t look convinced.

  Scarlett shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “If you say so.” Cara flicked her hair over her shoulder, lifted her glass to her lips and paused. “Why does he hate me so much?”

  “He doesn’t hate you.”

  “Coulda fooled me. Every time I turn around he’s pissed at me.”

  Scarlett considered her. “You’re a brunette.”

  “So? He sleeps with brunettes all the time.”

  “His mother is a brunette.”

  Cara stared at her, drink forgotten in her hand. “What’re you saying? That he secretly hates brunettes? That he fucks them and dumps them to get back at his deadbeat mother?”

  “Well…”

  “Maronna mia.” Cara wrinkled her nose. “That’s some next-level Freudian fuckery right there. He should be in therapy.”

  “It’s complicated,” Scarlett said with a grim chuckle. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you. In fact, I thought I just sensed something there between you.”

  Cara glanced away. “You didn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. How unprofessional do you think I am? I’d never get involved with any of my clients. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  Scarlett grimaced, thinking of her disastrous relationship with Myles. That was a textbook example of what could go wrong when managers slept with clients.

  “Anyway,” Cara added, “I’m older than Traeger.”

  “By two years. Hardly cougar territory.” Scarlett could swear Cara was blushing, which only heightened her curiosity and raised her eyebrow. “Did something happen between you and Traeger?”

  “Of course not! Are you kidding? Oh my God. No. Never.”

  The more she protested, the higher Scarlett’s eyebrow climbed. “Cara—”

  “Nothing happened, Scarlett! Seriously! I love dick, but even I know which ones to steer clear of.” Cara drained the rest of her cocktail, grabbed her Chanel handbag and stood abruptly. “Hate to drink and run, but I’ve got a few calls to make.”

  Scarlett lifted both eyebrows. “This late?”

  “I’ve been playing phone tag with the promoter for Splendour in the Grass.” She was referring to a world-famous summer music festival held in Australia. “Now that you guys have been added to the lineup, we just need to hash out the details of the contract.”

  “Sounds good.” Scarlett smiled. “Splendour in the Grass is a sweet gig. Thanks again for getting us booked.”

  “Just doing my job.” Cara winked. “See you guys tomorrow morning. Make sure the fellas don’t oversleep so we can hit the road early. The sooner we get to Rhode Island, the more time you’ll have to rest and rehearse before the show.”

  Scarlett gave a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”

  Cara went out the door with a wave.

  As Scarlett resumed watching hockey highlights, her mind drifted back to Viggo. They hadn’t spoken since that morning when he’d called her on his way to the arena for an early workout. The sound of his deep voice in her ear had gotten her juices flowing before she was even fully awake.

  Grinning at the memory, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She’d texted Viggo after the show to congratulate him on scoring a hat trick, but she hadn’t heard back from him yet. When she checked her phone, there was only one missed text from Min-ji, an old college friend who worked as a music teacher in North Carolina:

  Heyyy Scarlett! Super stoked about u guys coming to Raleigh next week! How r my boys? Is Traeger still a manwhore? Has Gage cut his hair yet? What’s new with Ryu and Zander? U can crash at my place so we can gorge on Hot Cheetos and catch up!

  Smiling, Scarlett sent off a quick reply: Can’t wait to see u!

  Though she was thrilled to hear from her old bestie, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that the text hadn’t been from Viggo. She didn’t want to bother him if he was out celebrating with his teammates. But she really wanted to hear his voice, even if only for a few minutes. So she pulled up her most recent calls and tapped on his number.

  The phone rang four times. Just as she was about to hang up, he answered. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey.” She could hear music and laughter in the background. The sounds of a party. “Congratulations on your huge win tonight.”

  “Thanks, baby,” he said warmly.

  “I just saw the highlights. You had an awesome game.”

  “We all did. Reid, Hunter and Logan played like maniacs.”

  Scarlett grinned. “So did you, Mr. Hat Trick. That was amazeballs.”

  Before he could reply, a thickly accented Russian voice shouted over the music, “Yo, Viggo, you want another beer?”

  “Nah, man, I’m good,” Viggo called back.

  A woman’s squeal set off a roar of rowdy male laughter in the background.

  “Sounds like you’re having a good time,” Scarlett observed, fidgeting with one of the silver hoops lining her ear. “Where are you?”

  “Dmitri’s house.” He was referring to starting defenseman Dmitr
i Fedorov, Reid’s defense partner on the ice. “Today’s his thirtieth birthday so he’s having a big party. I promised to drop by.”

  Scarlett pictured a bunch of half-dressed bunnies sashaying around, dancing drunkenly and making out with the players. Nerves jangled in her belly.

  “Is Reid there?”

  “He and Nadia just left,” Viggo said. “I’m not staying long either.”

  Scarlett wondered if he was just saying that for her benefit.

  “So how’re you doing?” he asked warmly. “How was the show?”

  “Good. Really good.”

  “Yeah? I’m glad to hear it.” The background noise receded slightly, as if he was walking away from the main hub of the party. “I can’t wait to come to one of your concerts.”

  She smiled. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  “Me, too. So what’re you up to right now?”

  “Just hanging out. Black Kross invited us to an afterparty at the hotel.”

  “Yeah?” An edge crept into Viggo’s voice. “You having fun?”

  “Not as much fun as you’re probably having.”

  “What makes you think I’m having fun?”

  Scarlett ignored the question. “What time are you guys heading to Dallas tomorrow?”

  “We have practice in the morning, so our flight doesn’t leave until three. What’re you wearing?”

  She felt herself smirk. “Why?”

  “I just wanna know.”

  She glanced down at her tight black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, black leather pants and studded ankle boots.

  “I’m wearing—” She broke off at the sound of a woman’s voice purring Viggo’s name in the background. Her grip tightened on the phone. “Who’s that?”

  “No one important.”

  “Didn’t sound that way. She sounded close enough to be sitting in your lap.”

  “She’s not.” Viggo sounded as irritated as she felt. “How long are you staying at the party?”

  “I don’t know. What about you?”

  He was silent for a moment. This conversation was so not going well.

  “What time are you leaving for Providence?”

  “Newport,” she corrected. “We’ll be in Newport tomorrow, Providence on Friday.” Maybe it was a petty distinction to make since the two cities were so close together. But she was suddenly feeling very pissy. Pissy and combative.