Dirty Swedish Player: A Big Stick Novel

by R. C. Stephens

  A couple walks by, and Nils asks them to take our picture since we’ve mostly been taking selfies. He starts to post on Facebook and Twitter.

  #datenight

  Another great night out with my girl.

  He can clearly be romantic. Too bad he’s only acting.

  We head back to our seats and the presenters show beautiful pictures of resorts around the world. They then end their PowerPoint presentation with statistics on how much money can be saved by buying into the time-share.

  After dinner, there’s dancing on the upper deck. The DJ plays “Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars. Nils twirls me on the dance floor. Then he begins to sing with his heavy accent. He’s so off key.

  I’m smiling so wide, I can’t stop. “I don’t think you have a future as a performer.”

  “You wound me,” he says, moving his body with such ease that we fall in sync.

  “Your ego is healthy. I think it can take a beating.” I laugh.

  “You’d be surprised,” he says, and then he continues to mouth the words to me about being beautiful and being perfect.

  “You’re quite the charmer,” I say, flirting. I just can’t seem to help myself.

  “You make it easy,” he says.

  We continue to dance to all the songs the DJ plays. There’s no alcohol involved, and yet I feel light and happy. It feels like a lifetime ago that I tutored him in school.

  He opens his arms, and I twirl away from him and then I twirl back into his body. “Geez. Where did you learn to dance like this?” I ask him.

  “The club scene mostly. I don’t know. I had to take some figure-skating classes when I was on the hockey team in college,” he says.

  “You’re good,” I say.

  “I know.” He winks.

  The music ends and a dessert is served. A breeze brushes off the water. The sky is dark now. The presenters, along with other employees, filter through the dance floor to see if anyone wants to buy into the time-sharing.

  A man comes up to Nils and me. “What a lovely couple you are.” He smiles to us.

  “Thank you,” Nils says.

  He asks the man for more information so he can contact him when he’s made his decision. The man smiles like he’s made the deal.

  The boat docks and we head back to the car. Nils is carrying a handful of brochures.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks. “Because I am starved.”

  “I could definitely eat,” I say.

  He drives away from the pier and pulls into traffic. We’re only driving about ten minutes when he makes a right turn and stops at the side of the road next to a pizza truck.

  “This is the best pizza in the city,” he says.

  “I don’t know why, but I pegged you as eating only gourmet food,” I say.

  “I don’t eat it often, and definitely not when I need to train hard, but I have the next few days off. I really want you to try this pizza,” he says, sounding so sincere. It feels like he’s sharing a little piece of himself with me.

  We leave the car and he orders us each a cheese slice. The oil drips from the cheese but damn, does it look good. There are some patio tables set up beside the pizza truck; looks like it’s parked here permanently. We take a seat.

  I take a bite and moan. “This is really good.”

  “I told you,” he says, then takes a mouthful. His eyes roll backward. What would you look during sex when you let go?

  Heat rises up my body and pulses a beat between my thighs.

  We sit quietly and enjoy the pizza. Afterward, he tells me some stories about when he first moved to Chicago. Apparently, this place was one of the first he tried. He tells me what it felt like moving to a new city on his own, and how his dreams came true when he got drafted into the NHL out of college. When we’re done, he gives me a ride home.

  “I’m going to have a busy week with training, and then the season starts the week after. I’d love for you to come to a home game,” he says.

  My insides turn to mush. I want to hate him but his revelation about liking me and feeling overwhelmed by me sits heavy on my chest. We weren’t a real couple back then, only something about being with him always made me feel magnetic and charged, kind of like I do now.

  “I’d really like that,” I answer. My eyes drop to his lips.

  His eyes drop to mine.

  “What are we doing?” I ask, unable to look him in the eyes.

  “I don’t know. What feels right?” Our heads move together, so slowly.

  “This will complicate our situation,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  “You don’t want a relationship.”

  “I don’t have time for a relationship,” he corrects, just as our lips are about to touch.

  His words make me feel like a bucket of ice water has been thrown on me, and I pull away.

  “I can’t, Nils. I’m sorry. Kissing you would mean something to me. I’m not the type of girl to just hook up. I don’t have it in me.”

  His brows pinch together causing his forehead to crease. I hope he’s torn, because I want him to want me.

  “I like that you aren’t that type of girl. I just don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. I need to focus on my career right now,” he says, and his words sting, but I try to hide the bite they leave inside me.

  “Right. That’s why I’m your fake girlfriend.” I smile, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

  “What if I want more?” he asks.

  “I’m not built that way. I’m sorry.” I reach for the door handle and his hand lands on my arm. I hope he’s having a change of heart.

  “Have a good night, Sierra. I’ll call you this week. Remember, I get three phone dates.” He winks but his mood seems somber.

  “I would have agreed to four,” I say.

  “I would have agreed to four grand,” he says with a sly smile.

  A smile spreads to my cheeks. “You have a good night.”

  “You, too,” he says.

  I leave the car and head straight into my apartment. That was a close call.

  Seventeen

  Nils

  The season has started, and things are running smoothly so far. Daria has said she’s pleased with how things seem to be progressing between Sierra and me. The senior managers also seem to be a little more chill. My social media interaction has been mostly positive, and I’ve been keeping sober and out of trouble.

  Tonight, we’re playing the Red Wings, and Sierra and her roommate, Sunny, sit in the stands watching the game. I want to be kicking ass, but we’re halfway through the game and the score is zero–zero. I’ve got the puck with two players from the Red Wings on my tail. I’m only at center ice. No way I can take the shot from here.

  Oli skates to the right and I shoot the puck his way. Crawford, a player from the Red Wings, gets the puck when Chris, a player from our team, sweeps in and steels it while I make my way closer to the net. Chris loses the puck and Crawford manages to move away. Myles sweeps in, stealing the puck. He zigzags through four players from the opposing team, and shoots it straight to me. With a flick of my wrist, I shoot the puck in the net and the crowd goes wild.

  The Red Wings manage to get a goal on us when Matt leaves the net open. The rest of the game is tied. When we go into overtime, Myles scores a goal, and we win. We’ve had a good start to the season, but we need to get into a better groove as a team.

  Coach comes down hard, and I can tell he’s freaking the fuck out. It’s a big fucking deal that Matt got called up from the minors at age twenty-four. He can’t afford fuck-ups.

  After the game, we all head to the locker rooms.

  “Good game, man,” I say to Matt.

  “I left the net. Coach is seriously pissed,” he says.

  “You can’t look at it that way. Think about how many goals you stopped tonight. The Red Wings are a strong team. You’re new to this level of play, but I’d say you did fucking great,” I tell him.

  “Thanks, dude,”
he answers, but his head is slightly bowed as he sits on a bench in front of his locker.

  “You did good, Matt. Keep up the good work.” Myles smacks him on the back.

  “I agree,” Oli says.

  Matt picks up his head and holds it high.

  That’s what I love about these guys. They have your back. They lift you up; they don’t drag you down. Before being recruited to this team, I didn’t even know that there were people like that in this world.

  I head into the shower and get cleaned up.

  When I leave the locker room, Sierra is there with Sunny. Seeing her makes me smile.

  “Hey, you.” I plant a kiss on her lips, and she startles but damn, her lips feel good. In my defense, it was a fast kiss and we agreed to those. A camera goes off behind us.

  “Great game.” She smiles wide. “I can’t believe we’re back here; this is so freaking cool. You guys did so well. I liked the way you came around the net and stole the puck. Damn, that was hot.”

  Sunny laughs. “I have to admit, I didn’t understand anything about hockey when I arrived here tonight, but our girl here is a good teacher. She taught me quite a bit. I was rooting for you guys.”

  “Thank you.” I grin. I glance at Sierra. “So, you’re still a big hockey fan?”

  “A die-hard fan. I remember when Oli came to the AMHA to see Sloane the first time. I almost melted to the floor,” she says.

  “Hey, I don’t want to hear how you almost melted for my teammate,” I say, throwing my arm over her shoulder.

  “Aw, are you jealous?” She bats her lashes.

  “Damn straight I am. The only hockey player I want you melting for is me.” I turn my head to look at her, and stare at her luscious body. Electricity zaps to my groin.

  Damn, I want to have her wreathing beneath me so bad.

  “OMG, you all are just so cute.” Sonny’s cheery voice breaks the moment.

  I walk the ladies out to Sierra’s car. I give her a quick kiss good night on the lips and tell her I will call her in a couple days since we’ll be on the road all day tomorrow.

  When she leaves, I miss her. I shake my head. I can’t go getting attached now. My head needs to stay in the game. My focus needs to be on the career I nearly lost. Yup, that is exactly what I’ve got to do. I can’t let my mind stray to a pretty girl with full lips and red-framed glasses.

  Only, I can’t help myself because that night, she’s exactly who I dream about.

  Eighteen

  Sierra

  Nils is away all week, but somehow, we manage to talk every night. He calls me and we sit on the phone and chat for hours. I want to tell him that he went over his three-calls-per-week limit, only I don’t mind speaking with him. It’s actually kind of nice to fill my lonely nights after I’m done with my schoolwork.

  My cell rings. It’s past midnight. I shouldn’t answer, but I saw Nils had a game in New York tonight and they won. When he wins, he gets hyped.

  I press the talk button. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m so pumped,” he says.

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot this week.” I chuckle. “You guys are doing good.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been really focused, and Matt is pulling through real nice,” he says of the team’s new goalie.

  “I saw that. Good for him.”

  “It helps having my head clear, too. All that drinking and lashing out was doing me no good. I see now that my game was suffering. My body feels so much stronger.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” I say, and a loud yawn escapes me.

  “Are you in bed?”

  “Where else would I be this time of night?” I say.

  “Out with friends at a bar. Isn’t that what college students do? Drink and get laid?”

  “Maybe, but not this one,” I say. “Besides, I’m a little older than most of the students in my class. I lost a year when I dropped out of Minnesota, and then it took me a year to apply and get into this program.”

  “You’re far from old. Don’t play that card.”.

  “Where are you?” I ask him, because it sounds super quiet, which means he isn’t at a bar or club. I know going out used to be his post-game ritual, so I wonder how he’s handling this new, calmer way of life.

  “I’m in my hotel room. The guys went out for a beer, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was looking forward . . .”

  “What?” I ask

  “Nothing. It’s just better I lay low and chill. Let’s talk about you being in bed,” he says, changing the subject. “What are you wearing?”

  “We are not going there,” I say firmly, while twirling a piece of my hair with my finger.

  “Oh, come on. I’m so pumped from the game and I have all this excess energy. I’m picturing you lying in your bed with your hair sprawled across your pillow, no glasses on, a little red nightie . . .”

  “It’s light pink, not red,” I say.

  He groans. Shoot. What have I done? I shouldn’t have said anything.

  “You’re killing me, woman. Does it have lace? Are your nipples hard?” he asks.

  What should I do? He’s breaking down my walls.

  “It does have lace,” I say. “My nipples could probably cut glass right now, but that doesn’t matter; you’re my fake boyfriend. You’re paying me money to do a job.”

  “I know that, but can’t we combine business and pleasure for once? I promise I can make you feel good,” he says in a sultry voice.

  Wetness pools between my thighs and I squeeze my eyes shut, warning myself to gain some self-control.

  “We don’t need the complications. You’re doing so well,” I remind him. I leave out the part that I am horny as hell and want to jump his sexy-AF bones.

  “I don’t know if you would be saying that if you saw my hard-on right now. It isn’t healthy to go so long without any sex,” he says. I’m surprised he’s gone this long.

  “You could always hook up with a bunny,” I suggest. Since our relationship is fake, it wouldn’t be cheating.

  “I don’t want a bunny, Sierra,” he says. “I want you.” The need in his voice turns my blood hot, and a thumping feeling travels from my chest and lands between my legs.

  “You want me to sleep with you? Then what? Where does that leave me? You know I’m not hook-up material. You know what I need,” I say. I pose a challenge that I want him to accept, but deep down, I know he won’t.

  “I have to focus on my career. You know I travel a lot. I can’t deal with distractions,” he says.

  I want to argue that he talks to me every night and acts like my boyfriend anyway, but I don’t say a word because I don’t need to convince a guy that he should be with me. He should want me out of his own free will because I am his next breath. As cynical as I am about relationships, when I do fall, I want the whole love affair. I don’t want to settle for less.

  “Then you’ve got your answer,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment.

  The burn between my thighs hasn’t subsided. Why I choose to torture myself with these calls, I have no clue. I’ll just have to get myself off to thoughts of him when I hang up. At least I’ll have a good night’s sleep after.

  “Change of subject then,” he says.

  “Good idea. I have the perfect topic to cool us down,” I say.

  “Wait.” He pauses, and the minute he does, I realize what I’ve said. Shit. “You’re feeling horny, too?”

  I cover my face with my hand, as if he can see me.

  “We’re changing the subject, remember?” My heart beats fast. If he knows I want him, it will just make matters between us even harder.

  “Fine. Okay,” he agrees, but it doesn’t sound like he wants to forget my little slip-up.

  “I spoke to your mom this afternoon. I told her we’ve been in touch,” I say, carefully.

  “You didn’t tell her about our arrangement, did you?” He asks the question fast, and I sense his nerves.

  “No, of course not. I would neve
r do that. I just, I don’t know . . . sometimes, I talk to her and she seems sad on the phone. I thought speaking of you would cheer her up,” I say.

  He scoffs. “I doubt that.”

  “She was really happy to hear you’re doing well. She said she’s kept her eye on the NHL so she can watch you play.”

  “Who cares? Honestly, the woman turned her back on me. She hasn’t tried to contact me once,” he says, and I sense his anger is rising. I hate to have that affect when he’s been doing so well lately.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want you to be angry or hurt. She just mentioned to me that she had wanted to send for you right away when she arrived in the US, but my father didn’t want her to. He didn’t want her dealing with a young boy; he wanted her all to himself.” I sigh. My father can be a selfish bastard, that’s for sure. “She had nothing, Nils. No one to depend on. All she had was my father, and she wanted to please him. I know that sounds awful, but I felt sorry for her.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” he hisses, and I hear something smash.

  “What was that? What’s happening?” I ask, frantically.

  “Nothing,” he snaps.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I just . . . I don’t know, I guess maybe I’m projecting. I’d love for my mother to reach out to me. Even though she left me with a man who shipped me off to my aunt. I still want to see her. I want her to want to see me. It’s pathetic, I know.” I sigh.

  “Sierra.” His voice has turned soft and gruff now. “Are you crying? I’m sorry. I know it must have been so hard for you when your mom left. I wish you had this great mom that wanted to spend time with you.”

  “Thank you,” I say softly trying to bite back tears. His words striking an open wound. “Not having a mom in my life has left a part of me always feeing empty.”

  “I get that. I totally do. The emptiness sucks. I’m just harboring this anger toward her. I know it isn’t completely her fault, but my dad was a cruel bastard. You don’t leave a kid with a man like my father. I get that your dad isn’t the nicest, and he’s selfish and controlling. I’m not saying one is worse than the other; I just . . . with the physical abuse he put me through . . .” His voice cuts off as the tears I tried so hard to hold at bay come streaming down my cheeks. I can’t fathom what he went through. “I tried forgiving her when she brought me to Minnesota. I truly did. But then when I fucked up with you, she choose you, which is great don’t get me wrong. It just would’ve been nice to have her support and guidance, too. Maybe I wouldn’t have continued to fuck up if I had that.”