“Okay. Okay. I get it, oh logical one.” Olivia grinned at the highly methodical way his brain worked. “Fine. I’ll help you set it up.”
They took the stairs to the basement, which was bigger than her entire apartment. Suddenly, the idea of him staying over in her small bedroom started to feel like inviting a bull into a china shop and she laughed.
“Something funny, kämpe?”
She rolled her eyes at the nickname.
“You have all this space, and my bedroom is tiny. I can hardly imagine you fitting in there, let alone my shower.”
Anders turned and put his arms around her, pulling her close, and she pushed him away. “You’re sweaty and gross.”
He laughed and tugged her even closer. “If we were in your bedroom or shower, together, you really wouldn’t be worrying about me being sweaty and gross. And we both know how well I fit.” His lips brushed her neck and behind her ear. The sensation tugged on something deep inside her core.
Olivia bit down on her bottom lip.
He stepped away from her and adjusted his shorts.
“Next time I come up with a rule that involves no sexual touching, you have my full permission to shoot me,” he said. “Now, help me set up my gym.”
“Tell me again why I’m about to do this,” Anders said, tugging on his baseball cap. He straightened his sunglasses and looked at Olivia, who grinned back at him.
“Because you’re too focused on function. Wouldn’t it be more enjoyable to step into your home gym and feel something?”
Anders raised an eyebrow. “I think we’ve already concluded I’m feeling something.”
“Anders,” she cried. “Stop it with the innuendo. This was your idea.”
He looked out over the packed parking lot of cars, toward the giant, red Target sign above the door, wishing they were still tucked away in his home. “Nope, leaving the house was definitely not my idea.”
“Not Target. The non-sex thing. And anyway, to stay on point, your gym should be a super inviting place that you want to spend time in, even if you don’t feel like it.”
He’d never had a problem gearing up for a workout. It was good for his mental health and his career, and he didn’t want to mess with that. But a piece of him was buoyed simply by her enthusiasm for the project.
When she’d started asking him about his concept for the gym, he answered honestly. To get in workouts when he couldn’t get to the Rush training facility. Olivia had shaken her head and spent a half hour asking about themes that he liked while they assembled the multi-functional weight bench. Motorbikes. Hockey. Would he like to hang his jerseys? Album covers?
He’d been indifferent, but he’d liked the way her mind worked. And her constant offering of suggestions had made him think of the bag of Swedish treats she’d bought for him and the colors of his country’s flag.
“Fine. Let’s go find yellow and blue things and get out of there.”
Olivia placed her hand on his, the feel of her fingers sliding between his making him forget the large store they were about to enter. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if you feel I’ve taken over.”
And goddamn, if her face didn’t look all soft and apologetic, and so kissable. He ran his thumb over her lips. “You haven’t. Let’s go. My credit card is yours.”
Olivia grinned and jumped out of the car. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Not as much fun as unwrapping her out of the clothes she was wearing. Being around her, watching as she pursed those plump lips of hers as she’d weighed design ideas, was driving him nuts. When she’d finally taken off her coat, and he’d seen the black leggings and a black-and-white plaid shirt that was open one button more than his dick could deal with, he’d been struck stupid. Flashes of ivory lace had never been so arousing.
The idea that sex was temporarily off the table made him want it even more. Thoughts of what he was going to do with her after date number five flooded his mind.
So, yeah. The idea of Target was not a winner, but it was probably safer than staying home.
Being the newest member of the Rush gave him the advantage that not everyone in Denver knew what he looked like yet, although hockey fans often recognized him. He’d worn jeans and a black sweater and coat, nothing with a logo that would make him stand out.
For the afternoon, he wanted complete separation between him as a hockey player and him as Liv’s . . . Liv’s what? Boyfriend? Man? Whatever he was, he was hers for a few hours.
Her hand was warm in his as he led her across the parking lot, and he reluctantly let it go when she grabbed a shopping cart. “Right, we already have the paint, so now it’s about accessories.”
They’d already picked up a deep yellow paint for an accent wall. According to Olivia, it symbolized positivity, energy, loyalty. She’d made him grab the flag he’d brought home from the Olympics, the one he’d wrapped himself in during the final parade when they’d settled for a rather mediocre fifth place, but everyone was so fucking glad to be going home they still felt like celebrating. The plan was to frame it and hang it on the yellow wall.
Olivia took her coat off and placed it over the edge of the cart. “Let’s start with towels.”
Anders followed behind, partly because it was polite to allow other shoppers to pass and partly because he could shamelessly check out her ass. While setting up the gym, she’d mentioned that she wanted to lose weight. He couldn’t see why, he loved something to hold on to, but if she was unhappy, he could help her with that.
Fuck. The idea of her curves in a sports bra and spandex had him glad he was wearing a coat to hide his semi-hard-on.
“Which ones do you like for working out?” Olivia asked.
He shrugged. “Ones that wipe up sweat. Lots of it.”
Olivia laughed and the sound rippled through him. “Okay. But hand towels, bath towels. Like, what size?”
“Honestly, Liv. I don’t fucking care.”
She squinted her eyes at him. “Are you being obtuse?”
“If I knew what obtuse meant, I’d let you know.”
“Difficult. Pretending not to understand.”
He took her hand in his and kissed it. “No, kämpe. I’m not being difficult. You worry about things I don’t care about. I worry about things you don’t care about. You pick the towels, because it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Fine,” she said, but kept her eyes on his. Heat fizzled between them. He could feel it pass from her fingers to his. His chest felt a little tighter. For a millisecond, it felt as though this were their home they were decorating, not a rental that wasn’t even his. And that their home would be as colorful as it was practical. A real home that was vibrant and safe and filled with meaning. It would have the kind of stability he’d never felt growing up, moving from town to town with his father’s job as a junior league coach in Sweden. Moving around so frequently had forced him and Karl to rely on each other. Making friends had been a futile episode of meeting someone new, only to leave them behind twelve or twenty-four months later. The pain of it had hurt more than the loneliness of not making any friends, so he’d stopped trying and found comfort in his own company.