“Hi, Ulf,” Michelle replied, twisting the top off the bottle and tossing it in the trash.
He took two shy steps toward her. It was incongruous, this giant man looking so uncertain.
“There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Okay.”
He sounded very serious—so serious Michelle felt her insides lurch with panic. Her first thought was: Esa had told his teammates he’d slept with her. No. Knowing Esa, it was probably more along the lines of, “I finally fucked the nanny.” Ulf was creeping in to the kitchen to tell her what a ho Esa was, that a nice girl like her should steer clear of a guy like Esa.
Ulf took a deep breath, closing the distance between them. God, he was huge. There was something about him that reminded Michelle of Shrek. He was a giant, blond Shrek.
“Michelle, I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me?”
Oh, shit. This was ten times worse than him telling her Esa had been boasting.
“I know we don’t know each other—”
At all, Michelle thought.
“—but you seem really nice, and I’m very decent, if I do say so myself. Both of my ex-wives would attest to that.”
“Two ex-wives?”
Ulf shook his head sadly. “Two tales of heartbreak and woe, of a good man’s nature being taken advantage of. I can tell you all about it over dinner. Do you like fish?”
“Ulf, I’m really flattered that you’re asking me out,” said Michelle diplomatically. “But I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now.”
“Why not?”
He reminded Michelle of a child whose curiosity, whether appropriate or not, wouldn’t be sated. In fact, he reminded her a bit of Nell. No wonder they got along. “I just have a lot of other things going on right now,” she said with a gentle smile.
One of which was the man who’d just strolled into the kitchen. “Hey,” Esa said. “What’s up, you guys?”
“None of your business,” said Ulf.
Esa’s demeanor quickly changed from casual to challenging. “Really.”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting.”
Ulf was glaring. “Actually, it’s not.”
Having completed the task she’d come into the kitchen for, Michelle decided it was time to leave. Tension between the two men was rumbling like distant thunder and she didn’t want to be here when the first deafening clap sounded. Nor did she want the anger roiling inside her to manifest itself on her face. What the hell was Esa doing?
“I’m beat, guys. Good night.”
Both men looked dumbfounded as she walked past them. It was an emotion she shared, except she wasn’t showing it. She knew this subject was far from closed.
32
Esa Saari, Master of Coolness, King of Self-Control, was losing it. When Ulf followed Michelle into the kitchen, his guts had turned like screws on a rack. He knew the Swede had the hots for Michelle. And even though he and Michelle weren’t a couple, it still bugged the shit out of him to imagine Ulfie asking her out. Unable to help himself, he’d entered the kitchen, trying to play it cool. He hadn’t expected Ulfie to be so hostile, so fast. Something was up.
“So, Torkelson,” said Esa, sauntering over to the fridge, more to give himself something to do than anything else. “Michelle’s gone, so . . .”
“None of your business, Saari.”
Esa yanked the refrigerator door open. “Were you bothering her?”
“‘Bothering.’ What the fuck does that mean?”
Esa ducked his head deep in the fridge, the better to hide his gritted teeth. “Asking her out.”
“I told you, Finn: it’s none of your business.” There was a long pause. “Unless you have the hots for her and you can’t stand any other man talking to her,” Ulf taunted.
Esa pulled his head out of the fridge, slamming the door shut hard. “For once in your life, could you not be a moron? Michelle works for me.”
“Yeah? So? Doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck her.”
Esa was on him so fast it wasn’t funny, shoving him hard. “Don’t talk about her that way, like she’s some cheap piece of ass.”
Ulf shoved back, glaring. “Since when did you ever meet a woman you didn’t want to screw, Saari?”
I did—I—we—oh, shit, the words, those words . . .
“Michelle works for me, you jerk. I care about her. Which is why I came in here: I wanted to make sure you weren’t harassing her.”
“No, you wanted to make sure I wasn’t asking her out, because you were worried she’d say yes.”
“Yes, I was worried,” Esa replied, aiming to sound like Michelle’s protective big brother. “Because you’re a pig. And if she’d said yes, then I’m sorry, my friend, I’d have to tell her the truth about you.”
Ulf looked smug as he cracked his knuckles. “But you’d never know if she said yes to me, would you? Because you two keep your private lives private.”
Having his own words thrown back in his face—that was what he’d told his teammates—caused a flicker of unease in Esa. He and Michelle were going with the flow, right? Keeping it simple. His definition. So did that mean they were both free to do what they wanted? If Michelle suddenly lost her mind and decided to go out with Ulf, he had no say in the matter, just like she had no say if he wanted to hook up with that hot little hotel heiress on the West Coast who’d been e-mailing him.
“Yeah, you know, I guess you’re right,” Esa finally said dismissively. “Just know that I would kick your fat Swedish ass if she got involved with you and things didn’t turn out well. Nell adores her. The last thing I need is a nanny who’s an emotional mess and can’t take care of my niece properly.”
Esa was proud to have thought that up on the spot, making it about Nell. No one could argue with the logic of what he’d just said. If Ulf had even a handful of brain cells, he’d back off, and he’d shut his mouth about Esa having the hots for Michelle. He doubted that was going to happen, considering the way he and all his teammates lived to rag on each other.
“You get it now, you asshole?” Esa asked sarcastically.
Ulf gave him the finger and turned away. “Whatever.”
“Yup, whatever.” Esa headed back out to the living room. Mission accomplished.
* * *
“You slept with him? Oh. My. Sweet. God.”
Marcus’s hand flew to his throat in shock as if he were on a soap opera when Michelle finally spilled the news. They were sitting in the Starbucks on Ninety-third and Broadway, the weather having turned too cold for them to meet outside. Despite Marcus’s performance, none of the other patrons looked up. They must all be New Yorkers. Michelle punched Marcus on the shoulder anyway. It was just the two of them. Hannah was at a torte-making seminar at the Culinary Institute of America. Michelle had wanted to get input from both of them, but she simply couldn’t hold it in any longer.
She told Marcus about how tension between them had been building. “How delish,” he’d commented with a shudder. Next she went into elaborate detail about the skating outing with Nell. “How nuclear family,” Marcus had noted dryly. When she got to the part about them giving in to their desires, that’s when he’d squealed, “You slept with him? Oh my sweet God!” Michelle wished the table was large enough for her to crawl under.
“Oh my sweet God is right.” Michelle felt forlorn as she stirred her latte. It felt good to finally confide to her friend what happened. But somehow, in telling it out loud, the enormity of it struck her for the first time.
“Was he good?” Marcus asked in a stage whisper.
Michelle blushed. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“That blush means he was better than good.”
Michelle brought the steaming coffee mug to her mouth, quickly tearing it away when the burning liquid scalded her lips. “It’s been very confusing. And distressing.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, for starters, he’s my boss. I’ve b
reached professional ethics.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “He’s gorgeous and single. You’ve only ever worked for married couples with kids before. I don’t really think it’s a breach.”
“It’s never a good idea to sleep with your boss, Marcus,” Michelle countered.
Marcus frowned. “How do you think half the romantic relationships in this city get started? Anyway, go on.”
Michelle put her hands around the coffee cup. Jesus. Even that was too hot. She pulled them away. “Then there’s the fact I don’t usually do this kind of stuff. I’m not a casual sex kind of person. And this was definitely casual.”
“How do you know?” Marcus asked, digging into the whipped cream atop his café mocha.
“Because we agreed it was. Neither of us wants a relationship.” Michelle broke off a little piece of lemon bar. “But we kind of agreed . . . not to define it . . . like . . . just to keep it simple and go with the flow . . .”
Marcus clucked his tongue. “I hate that expression. It’s such bullshit. And for someone with a master’s in education, you sound remarkably incoherent.”
“I feel remarkably incoherent.”
“Go on,” he urged again.
“I hate that I’m attracted to him. I hate guys like him, who think they own the world and can have any woman they want.”
Marcus helped himself to a piece of her lemon bar. “Well, considering you’re not a fool, you must see something in him.”
Michelle was silent. That was it. Marcus hit the nail on the head.
“Look.” Marcus took a big gulp of his drink, dabbing at his whipped cream moustache with a folded paper napkin. “You don’t do casual, therefore you can’t do ‘go with the flow.’” Marcus peered at her quizzically. “Are you sure you don’t want a relationship with him?”
“Absolutely.” The idea made Michelle want to laugh as she again tested her latte. “I doubt he’s capable of one. But at the same time, this weird thing happened on Saturday night.” She told him about the incident with Ulf in the kitchen, the way Esa had casually strolled in and the two of them had clashed like two rams within seconds.
“You’re both full of shit with this ‘go with the flow.’ Why else would he walk into the kitchen and defend his turf?”
“Mmm.”
“You need to talk to him.”
Michelle groaned. “I know. Thank God there’s more to talk about than this. In fact, there’s something he’s been withholding from me that I’m really pissed about.” She told Marcus about Esa’s contract woes.
“Major sin of omission,” Marcus declared.
“Tell me about it.”
“Michelle, what do you want to happen?”
“I want to turn back time.” Michelle shook her head, remorseful. “I can’t believe I went there. He said all along that I’m so predictable, that I’d say our sleeping together was a mistake. And I denied it. But I think maybe he’s right about me: I can’t go with the flow.” She took a careful sip of coffee. “The tension will be awful. It is awful. It’s always there, waiting to happen again. Worse than it was before.”
“You’re a big girl. If it gets too unbearable, you can always find another job.”
Michelle was appalled. “And leave Nell? Are you crazy?”
“Then you’re just going to have to suck it up, dearie.”
“I hate that you’re so brutally honest.” She braved a sip of her drink. It finally went down smooth and warm.
“True friends do that for one another.” Marcus leaned across the table in classic gossip mode. “Now. Let me tell you about this photographer I met while babysitting that min pin for that psychotic stockbroker couple. He lives in their building, and he was in the lobby with his mastiff, Tyrian . . .”
* * *
One of the advantages of spending so much time in the company of women, Esa mused, was the ability to occasionally read the unspoken correctly. He’d surprised Michelle and Nell by having dinner with them, when he’d originally planned to meet his agent. He thought Michelle would be happy. Instead, though she was pleasant enough toward him, he was being kept at arm’s length. Maybe she was just having a bad day, but he doubted it. He knew when he was the source of a woman’s displeasure. The only reason he could think of was the incident in the kitchen with Ulfie, but that didn’t make sense. If anything, she should have been flattered by his behavior. Well, he knew how to get a woman to talk to him.
Once they’d closed Nell’s bedroom door after putting her to bed together, he snaked his arms around Michelle from behind, drawing her close. “What’s bothering you?” he whispered, planting the merest whisper of a kiss on her neck. “Why were you so tense during dinner?”
He felt her melt against him just for a moment as he went for another kiss, but then she eased herself away from him.
“I’m upset with you,” she said.
I knew it had to do with me, Esa thought. “Why?”
“When did you plan to tell me the Blades might not renew your contract?”
Esa felt like someone had just put one of those huge gongs next to his ear and struck it, hard.
“We need to talk about this,” Michelle continued.
Christ, he hated those six fucking words, he really did. They’d dominated his life since he’d gotten custody of Nell.
“Yeah, I guess we do,” he said, massaging the base of his skull with three fingers. He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Michelle followed suit, sitting where she used to sit when she’d first moved in and things were strictly professional. Great. He guessed they’d be taking it a lot slower than he’d planned.
“Well?” she asked.
“Where did you hear this?”
“My dad. Apparently I’m the last one in the city to know about this. When did you plan to say something?”
“When it looked as if it might actually happen. I don’t know if that’s the case yet.”
Michelle looked perturbed. “And when will you know?”
“I don’t know,” Esa said tersely. “All I can do is play hard and hope Kidco makes an offer that could serve as the basis of negotiations. Meanwhile, my agent has to reach out to other teams to insure I’ve got a job next year and to put some pressure on Kidco. Anything else?”
“Yes, a lot. Have you thought about what would happen if you had to move? How it would affect Nell?”
Esa was growing angry. “You know what? No, I haven’t. Because I can’t. I have to focus on upping my game to make sure that the Blades want to re-sign me, and that other teams want to sign me if Kidco doesn’t. I can’t worry about something that might not happen. And if it does happen, then we’ll deal with it.”
“We? You just assume I’d come with you?”
The gong sounded again. “You wouldn’t? You’d leave Nell?”
Michelle looked pained. “Esa, I don’t know. All I know is that I think you should have mentioned this to me.”
“When? When I interviewed you for the job? Would you not have taken it if I’d told you?”
“I don’t know.”
Esa’s fingers returned to the base of his skull, massaging, digging in deep. “So now you know. I’ve got enough pressure on me without worrying about you freaking out on Nell’s behalf about something that might not even happen.” He felt like a castaway on the shore, watching simplicity slip further and further away like an unmoored boat. “This whole thing is too complicated to me.” He looked at her. She was beautiful, so sexy in part because she didn’t realize it, but he had to show self-control. It was the only way.
To his surprise, Michelle seemed to be reading his mind. “‘Go with the flow’ doesn’t work for me,” she said in a complete non sequitur.
Esa felt panic. “Well, a relationship doesn’t work for me.”
“I’m not asking you for one.”
“Good,” Esa said quietly. “I hope we can go back to being friends. I enjoy spending time with you and Nell.”
“Of course. I
t would be silly to go all the way back to the formality that existed in the beginning before we knew each other. And impossible, I think.”
“Yes.” It would be impossible, he thought, even unthinkable.
Michelle rose with a relieved sigh. “I’m glad we talked.”
“Me, too.” The pain at the base of his skull wasn’t abating. Instead, it was slowly crawling up the back of his head. “I need to ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
“Did Ulfie ask you out?”
“Yes, and I said no. Was that what worried you when you came in the kitchen all macho?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It just bugged me that he was asking you at all.”
Michelle smiled at him sadly. “Believe it or not, that makes me feel better about our ‘mistake.’ It lets me know that it wasn’t just a physical thing for you.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” Esa murmured, closing his eyes. Christ, his head was really beginning to throb. “I care about you, Michelle.”
“I care about you, too, Esa.”
“Everyone’s happy, then.”
“I’m going to go watch TV in my room. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He leaned his head back against the ledge of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. It saddened him to think he’d never hold her again, or move inside her. But he was willing to sacrifice that in order to return to the simplicity of caring about two things: hockey and Nell. That was one more than he’d ever cared about before and it was probably the limit of his capacity. Why he’d ever thought he could do more was beyond him. He wasn’t that kind of man, and never would be.
33
“Are you mad at me?”
Nell’s question couldn’t have surprised Michelle any more than if the little girl had snuck up behind her and shouted “Boo!”
It was Sunday morning and they were in the kitchen baking banana nut muffins. Nell was standing on a stepladder at the counter beside Michelle, slowly stirring the batter. Her voice had been timid.
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