by S. T. Bende
Seriously, he couldn’t be real.
The stranger’s sandy blond hair stood in artfully arranged disarray atop a face that looked as if it had been lifted off a movie star. High angular cheekbones, a strong, square jaw, and pale pink lips with just a hint of fullness were accented by those eyes that seemed to bore right through me. My heart pounded against my chest at twice its normal pace, sending a very clear message to my very addled brain.
Oh, yum.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Hercules took one hand off my shoulder to flash two fingers. His eyes never broke contact while he assessed my reaction.
“Uh… two?” The squeak in my voice betrayed my nerves. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the flames bursting off my overheated cheeks like sunspots. I cleared my throat and dropped my voice a register. “Two.”
The stranger chuckled. “Well, your vision wasn’t impaired by Brynn’s lousy leadership.”
My knees buckled at the sound of his laughter. When Hercules reached out to catch my waist, the inferno in my cheeks blazed anew. Get it together, Ahlström.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m… uh… I’m great. Thank you.” I fought against his magnetic pull and stepped back, raising my voice to be heard above the music. “I’m Mia. You must be Brynn’s friend.” The friend she forgot to mention just walked off the cover of Men’s Fitness. The guy was absolute physical perfection—every single one of his abs was clearly visible through the fabric of his light blue T-shirt. Forget the six-pack, there was a bulk-discount-store case of muscles underneath that thin layer of cotton.
“Must be,” the stranger said lightly. He held out his hand and gave mine a gentle squeeze. “I’m Tyr Fredriksen. And this is Henrik Andersson.”
Tee-eer and Henrik?
For the first time, I noticed there were two mountain-sized men standing with Brynn. The second was a few inches shorter than Tyr, with grey-blue eyes shielded by thin silver-framed glasses. He wore his two hundred-plus pounds of muscle on a slightly leaner frame, and his smile gave him the kind of charisma intrinsic in actors or politicians. No wonder Brynn was beaming up at him.
“Hei hei.” Henrik nodded at me. “Sorry about Miss Brynn. If you think that was bad, you should see her drive.”
“Oh, stop it.” Brynn swatted at Henrik. “I haven’t seen you for days. Please tell me you haven’t been in front of the TV. I promised your mom I wouldn’t let you go down the video game vortex. Again.”
Henrik patted her arm. “So cute. You think you could stop us.”
The way they were built, I was pretty sure a dinosaur driving a bulldozer couldn’t stop Brynn’s buddies from doing whatever they darn well pleased. But propriety dictated I keep my thoughts to myself.
Brynn rolled her eyes. “Mia, these nerds are two of my oldest friends. Henrik and I grew up next door to each other, and I’ve known Tyr since grade school.”
I tried to picture the dynamic duo as precocious six-year-olds, but came up short.
“Are you guys freshmen, too?” I asked.
Brynn giggled. “Henrik’s little brother Gunnar is my year, but this guy here is an old man.”
Henrik nodded. “I just started my Master’s in Biomechanical Engineering.”
“I’m in Engineering too.” I smiled. “So is this your first time in the US?”
Henrik glanced at Tyr, who answered after a pause. “We’ve visited before.”
“What are you studying?” I asked him.
“The world.” He smiled lazily. My pulse quickened as I tried not to stare at his mouth.
Brynn rolled her eyes. “Play nice, Tyr.”
“Says the girl who just catapulted her friend into a total stranger. You’re hardly one to talk.” Tyr raised an eyebrow.
“No harm. No party foul.” I gingerly touched the spot where my cheek had met Tyr’s chest bone. Then I held up my hand. “Not even any blood.”
Brynn buried her head in her hands. “Ugh. I’m sorry, Mia.”
I patted her back. “I’m fine, honest.”
“Let’s get you something to drink, Brynnie. You guys want anything?” Henrik pushed his glasses up the strong line of his nose.
“I’m good.” Tyr shook his head.
“No, thank you,” I added.
“Okay. Catch you later.” Henrik led a beet-red Brynn into the crowd, leaving me with Hercules.
“So you’re Brynn’s roommate?” I nodded. “She may not be very graceful, but she’s as loyal as they come.” Tyr’s voice was as beautiful as his face. Though it had the same singsong lilt of his Scandinavian friends, it was deep and husky—like he’d just woken up.
Double yum.
I pushed that image out of my mind as I met his eyes. “Y’all are great friends, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Tyr smiled. “Y’all? Are you from one of the southern states?”
The way he said it was so precise; it was obvious he was translating as he spoke. “No.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I’m from Connecticut, but my mom grew up in Louisiana. Some of her southern belle rubbed off.”
There was no reason to tell Tyr the drawl only slipped out when I was really nervous. Like, standing-in-front-of-a-movie-star-Norseman-in-the-middle-of-a-room-full-of-people-trying-not-to-pass-out nervous. My wobbly voice and fidgety hands probably spoke volumes. It also hadn’t escaped my notice that while we talked, every single female in the room was sizing Tyr up as if he was every bit the pinnacle of physical perfection. The looks they fired at me weren’t nearly so charitable.
A dozen inebriated boys burst through the front door, singing loudly. They swayed back and forth almost in time to their off-key tune, and as they did the contents of their plastic cups sloshed violently. At the end of the verse, one threw his arm into the air, sending his beer flying across the room.
Everything moved in slow motion as I watched the cup come straight at me. There wasn’t enough time to get out of the way, and I stared in horror, waiting for an hour of primping and a perfectly good cashmere sweater to be destroyed by a single cup of beer. But Tyr swatted it out of the air as it hurtled toward my chest, and the spray of liquid took an abrupt diversion toward the guy standing next to us. Relief washed through me in the second before reality set in.
Wait—did I see that right? A cup of beer just defied the laws of physics? I rubbed my eyes. My five days of travel had clearly messed with my brain.
“Sorry about that,” Tyr apologized. The guy wiped splatters of alcohol from his arm and shrugged before leaning closer to the girl he was talking to. From the way she angled her chest up at him, his beer-covered pants weren’t going to hurt his chances. “Uff da,” Tyr muttered.
I blinked. “Uff da? That’s Norwegian. I thought you were Swedish.”
“You speak Norwegian?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “But my dad’s dad is half Norwegian, and he says that a lot.”
“Ah.” Tyr paused for a long moment. “My friends and I speak a mash-up of the Nordic languages—more ‘Scandiwegian’ than either Norwegian or Swedish. We’re Swedish, but we’ve spent chunks of time in both places, so our language is across the board, you know?”
I exhaled slowly, pressing my hands against my jeans. Between the flying beer and the multi-lingual male model holding my attention, this entire scene was overwhelming. I needed some breathing room.
As if he’d read my thoughts, Tyr tilted his head, and gave me a look that was half invitation, half challenge. “That’s about all the indoor fun I can handle for one night. Care to join me outside?” I shot him a grateful look, and he took a step toward the back door. “Let’s get out of here.”
I nodded.
Tyr grabbed my hand, and a pulse of heat shot from my fingertips to my toes. Butterflies took flight somewhere south of my navel, siphoning all the blood from my head and leaving me with the not altogether uncomfortable feeling of floating across the living room. Tyr was without a doubt the hottest guy I’d ever seen, and he wa
s holding my hand.
Holding. My. Hand.
Dear God, please don’t let me pass out. At least let me give this guy my number first. Also, thanks for letting me meet him on a good hair day. Xoxo, Mia.
Without a word, Tyr led me through the throng of jostling bodies, past the speakers blaring a rock song, and out the back door. To my credit, my feet did not betray me—I did not trip once. My mind, however, twirled like a two-year-old in a tutu. The backyard was quieter, with only a handful of students scattered across the lawn. We stopped on the top of the three steps that led from the porch to the yard. Tyr sat down. He patted the stair next to him, and I sat to his right, wrapping my arms around my knees.
“A little out of control in there, ja?” Tyr’s voice was softer now that we were away from the music.
I nodded, then bit my lower lip. I was afraid of what would come out of my mouth if I opened it. Thanks for getting me out of that nuthouse. You’re hot. You saved my favorite sweater in a touching display of chivalry. Can I touch your muscles? Thanks for blocking that beer. Want to make out? The possibilities for honesty-induced mortification were endless.
Tyr stared as I nibbled on my lip. His mouth parted, and his eyes darkened a shade. He raised his hand as if he was going to touch my face, then pulled it back. With a sigh, he shifted his eyes away from my mouth.
Breathe, Ahlström. Breathe.
“So, Mia. You’re from Connecticut?” I was grateful when Tyr tossed out a softball question.
“Yeah, a town called Buckshire. Pretty river, lots of meadows and open space. Typical small-town America.”
“I’m new here. What does that mean?” Tyr stared as a guy and a girl made their way across the yard.
“Just that it’s pretty old-fashioned where I’m from. Friday-night movies in the town square, family picnics on Sundays… my mom’s a homemaker, my dad works in finance in the city. My brother’s a Business major at Penn State now, but when we were younger we did everything as a family—hiking, camping, fishing, hunting-”
“Hunting? You?” Tyr gave me a once over. “The tiny thing wearing pearls to a college party? You know how to hold a gun?”
I lifted my chin. “Don’t underestimate me. I can go from makeup to mud faster than you can say ‘bless your heart.’”
Tyr chuckled. “I’d like to see that.”
“Play your cards right, and maybe you will.” A smug smile tugged at my lips, and I gave myself a mental high five for finishing an entire train of thought without babbling. Score one, Mia.
Tyr raised one eyebrow as he leaned back on his hands and appraised me. His gaze slid slowly down the length of my body then moved back up, pausing a moment longer than necessary at my chest. Heat flooded my neck at the intimacy in his stare. But when Tyr brought his eyes up to meet mine, he didn’t look the slightest bit guilty. Instead, he winked and shot me a rakish grin. “Maybe I will.”
Oh my goodness gracious. Who did this guy think he was? And more importantly, what was I letting him do to me? I was ninety-nine percent positive it was not appropriate to actually pant over a guy you just met.
Not to his face, anyway.
I unwrapped my arms from my knees and tossed my hair over my shoulder. Fake it till you make it. “So you’re from Sweden?” I leaned back, copying Tyr’s pose. I wished I felt as cool as he looked. “What’s that like? Lots of polar bears? Igloos? You guys travel by dog sled?”
Tyr shook his head, amusement dancing across his features. “You are funny.”
“That’s the rumor.”
“I moved here from Malmö. It’s a fishing village on the southern tip of Sweden, sadly lacking in polar bears, but attempting to make up for it with a solid nightlife and extraordinary football club.”
“Football, football, or soccer football?”
Tyr narrowed his eyes. “Soccer football. You realize this is the only country in the world that uses the wrong name for the second-greatest sport in the realms.”
“Realms?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Universe,” he corrected quickly. Must be a translation thing.
“What’s the first greatest sport?”
“Rugby.” Tyr said it as if it were obvious.
“That’s a big deal in my hometown too. The local high school was county champion three years running.”
“So you understand.”
“Not really. I went to Tottenham, the girls’ boarding school two towns over. We didn’t play rugby, but we did a lot of skiing. You do have that in Sweden, right?”
“Ja. The polar bears operate our chair lifts.”
“Ha.” I nudged Tyr with my knee. The small contact sent a burst of heat all the way to my toes, and I quickly pulled away. It would be harder to keep my cool if I melted into a hormone-induced puddle.
“So you ski?” Tyr asked. I forced myself to stare into his bottomless eyes, the ones that were studying me so intently they might have been trying to see through my soul.
“Um, yes. My team was state champion in Super G last year.” Super G—the race faster than Giant Slalom, but with more gates than Downhill—was my event of choice. As much as I liked control, I liked speed more. “My boarding school was close to a half-decent mountain, so we’d run gates locally during the week. But we’d head to Vermont or New Hampshire for the weekends we wanted to really ski. You can’t beat bulletproof-ice for training, you know?”
“You competed?” The surprise on Tyr’s face was as comical as it was insulting.
“I was captain and dry-land training coach, two years running.” I resisted the urge to tell him how many pull-ups I could do. He obviously thought I was a total maladroit. After all, I had run into him…
“And you did Super G?” There it was again—the too-intense stare, as if he was trying to read my mind. “I owe you an apology; I took you for a princess.”
“Why?” Between my flaming cheeks and awkward babbling, there wasn’t much regal about me right now.
“Fancy shoes, cashmere sweater, pearls? You seem like the kind of girl the birds and bunnies follow around the forest, singing songs.”
“You got your entire understanding of American culture from animated films, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” Tyr’s gorgeous smile brought a fresh wave of heat to my cheeks. I tilted my head back and held his gaze, ignoring the urge to hide behind my hair. “Super G’s tough. You must have taken a lot of falls.”
“I took a few. But the birds and bunnies diverted a lot of the snow snakes for me.”
“Funny. Just for that I’m calling you prinsessa.”
“Do I get to make up a name for you?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” Tyr kept his voice even, but his jaw clenched, lending an edge to his already intimidating presence. He had an intensity bubbling just beneath the surface that made me wonder what exactly he’d been doing back in that Swedish fishing village. Brynn had warned him to play nice—what did that mean? Before I could wander too far down that trail of thought, Tyr’s mouth curled up in a half-smile, and my brain went quiet.
God, he was beautiful.
He leaned over so his face was right next to mine, and my heart beat a frantic rhythm. My breath shallowed to sharp gasps. If this kept up I was going to black out. Death by nervous flirting.
“Are you in the same program as Henrik?” I blurted.
“I’m not in school. I’m just tagging along.” He ran a hand through his hair and quickly added, “So Engineering for you?”
He was avoiding the question? Sensing his discomfort made me feel a little better. Maybe he was as nervous as me.
I nodded, feeling braver. “I like structure. I like when things add up.”
“So you like being in control?” He winked. Nope, definitely not nervous; Captain Cool was back.
“That’s not quite what I said.”
“It’s kind of what you said,” Tyr pointed out.
�
�Well, it’s not what I meant. Not at all. Well, not not at all—I mean, I like control. Of things, not people. I don’t try to control people. Just situations.”
“You like to control situations?” Tyr’s lips quivered with barely contained amusement.
Abort. Abort. Pull it together, Ahlström. You were doing so well.
“No! That’s not what I mean. I just mean I like schedules, you know? And routines. Lists. Totally reasonable things. Like, I go to bed early so I don’t sleep through a workout. That’s just good sense.”
“I see.” Tyr chuckled. “You like perfekt order.”
“Don’t you?” I wrung my fingers together as I glanced up. If he didn’t, I was so the wrong girl for him.
“Yes,” he answered seriously. “I do.”
I exhaled slowly. Thank you, God.
We sat in silence for a long moment. I was afraid to open my mouth after the whole control-freak-debacle.
“So tell me, prinsessa,” Tyr broke the quiet, “do you like Italian food?”
Was he asking me out? Maybe Tyr did have a thing for clavicles! Before I could answer the question that I hoped might be the invitation to my own collegiate happily-evah-aftah, Tyr’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket.
“Skit,” he swore as he brought the device to his ear. “Ja?”
Disappointment flooded my veins, drowning me in its bitter taste. Who took a call in the middle of asking a girl out? Unless maybe he hadn’t been going to ask me out. He could have just been asking about my dietary preferences. No, that was just weird. He was definitely asking me out. Me, the girl who’d kissed three boys in seventeen years was this close to being asked out by a six-and-a-half-foot Swedish dreamboat who looked as if he’d just climbed down off Mount Olympus. But then his stupid phone had to ring. And he had to answer it.
Which was just rude, really.
“Ja. I understand. How low are her levels?” Tyr ground his fist into his thigh as he turned away from me. “How did that happen?”
His posture positively seethed dejection—his shoulders tensed, his back hunched, and his head hung low. He must have gotten some truly terrible news. Guilt at my selfishness seeped through the disappointment, and I reached out to touch his arm.