Crease Collision (New York Condors Hockey #1)

KAI

CHAPTER ONE

Glove hand up, step right, adjust…

Got it!

When I was a kid, catching a foul ball would have been a big deal, but now it feels like business as usual. I make saves like this all season. Habit doesn’t care if it’s August and I’m off the clock.

My heel slips on the concrete when I try to sit, and I tip backward into the row behind me. Perfect. This is how I trend. I can already see the caption: Condors goalie eats it at a ball game, can’t even stay on his feet.

I brace for the hard edge of a seat to slam into my back. Instead, strong hands catch me. I feel someone’s breath on my neck and a warm chest at my back, broad enough to lean on all day.

A man’s behind me. Hell yes, says the part of me that’s always up for some fun. Not in public, says the part that runs the rest of my life.

I should stand up, laugh it off, and turn the whole thing into a joke. That would be the right move, and I’m good at it.

But I don’t.

His grip tightens, and his breath brushes my neck again. I feel safe. The thought comes and goes before I can grab it. Here I am, in a crowded park, letting a stranger hold me up like it’s a thing I do.

It is not a thing I do.

“Are you planning to take the ball home, or just fall for it?”

I know that tone, snark with the safety off, like my teammates. Curiosity wins out, so I steady myself and turn to thank him.

That’s when I lose track of everything except what I see.

Holy shit.

He’s tall, with long honey-blond hair and eyes as blue as the fjords Mom and I saw in Norway. His pecs show off for me, twitching under a T-shirt that’s stretched tight across his chest.

It’s Thor, if Thor walked through the wrong gate at JFK and ended up at Empire Stadium. The smirk suits him, and so does the way he’s looking at me. If he’s trying not to flirt, he’s doing a terrible job.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“Nah.” I hand him the grin I usually save for my buddies. “Thanks for the save. Do you always catch strangers at ball games?”

His smirk warms into a real smile. “Only when they look like you.”

Not a hundred percent straight, apparently.

He has a slight accent. Scandinavian, if I had to guess. My mind races, speed skating on its imaginary rink. I let it happen because otherwise I’d realize I don’t want to stop talking to Thor.

“Sit down, guys.” A man two rows back is craning his neck to see around us.

“Want to come down here?” I ask Thor, nodding toward the empty seat next to me. “Better view.”

He laughs again, and damn, even that sounds flirty.

“I am not sure,” he says. “The view is already excellent when you are standing.”

I stare at him for a moment before it clicks. He’s talking about my ass.

My cheeks burn, and what the actual fuck? Since when do I blush? I rub my jaw as if that will help. Then I wink, something I do about as often as I blush. “Come on down. I’ll upgrade you.”

For a moment, I think it’s lost in translation. He’s looking at my face like he’s trying to memorize it.

“In that case, I have no choice,” he says, then works himself out of his row and down into the seat beside me. “Jag heter Oskar.”

“What?” As soon as that’s out, I want it back. But he’s still smiling, so I roll with it. “I caught ‘Oskar,’ but you’ll have to run the rest by me again.”

He chuckles. “Excuse me. I am Oskar.”

I set my glove down so we can shake hands. His grip is big and warm, rough enough to show he’s worked for those muscles. My body notices, but it’s more than that; I like how it feels when he holds my hand. He doesn’t let go right away.

“Kai,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure.” He nods at the field. “So this is what you do for fun? Sit in the heat and hope not to be hit by a ball?”

“Sometimes. Don’t usually try to take out the guy behind me, though. Sorry about that.”

He looks me up and down. “Do not be. It was worth it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Hopefully.”

We watch the game for a bit before I take off my hat and wipe the sweat from my forehead. When that’s done, I turn toward him. “You like baseball?”

“Yes. I have never been to a game like this, though. I am from Sweden.”

Damn. He really is a Nordic god.

“You have baseball there?”

“We have a league, but it is not all this.” He gestures at the field and crowd, pointing at the guy in the next row wearing a foam crown.

I wave my hand as if it’s all courtesy of me. “We go all out for baseball here.”

“This is obvious.”

“Don’t be so formal.” I bump his shoulder. “You sound like you’re meeting my mother. Relax.”

He narrows his eyes and speaks carefully. “Thank you, but I am not tense.”

“I meant when you talk.”

“Oh.” His mouth twitches. “Okay, dude. I’ll chill.” He looks quite pleased with himself. “See? I watch American TV.”

“Impressive.”

He nods. “Perhaps you can be my language tutor.”

I’d tutor him all right. Maybe even show Thor a few new tricks with his hammer.

Somehow, I keep a straight face. “Perhaps.”

The crowd roars when one of the Empire players hits a home run. After the noise dies down, Oskar turns back to me.

“You ever play?” I ask. “Or do you just show up and make everyone else look bad?”

“Nja.” He tilts his head. “I only played baseball with friends in the summer.”

That makes sense. Who knows if they even have Little League in Sweden?

“Been in the US long?”

“Four days.”

“Wow. This is a hell of a way to start.”

“With you falling on me?”

“I was going to say the heat. But sure, let’s go with me almost crushing you.”

He lifts a brow. “Perhaps I will crush you next.”

My ears start buzzing, and my brain is back on its skating rink. I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “Are you an expert on America yet?”

“Not really, but I am learning. I have wanted to live here for a while.”

“What brings you to New York?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“A job.”

I don’t ask what kind since he’s already told me more than I usually want to know. Keeping things simple is best. A little conversation, a night of great sex, and no pretending it means anything.

He brushes his knee against mine and leaves it there. The tangle of our leg hairs sends a jolt straight to my balls.

“I also hoped to meet good-looking men here,” he says. “This is now accomplished.”

My cheeks heat up again, so I try to distract him with a smirk. “Duly noted.”

“Only duly? That is all I get?”

He leans back, and when his shirt rides up, I gasp. His abs should be illegal in a family stadium.

“Noted for possible action.” I let my eyes say the rest as they travel over his body.

He bites his lip, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Action. I like this word. In Sweden it can mean different things. Is it the same here, tutor?”

My throat is so dry I have to force my voice out. “Yes. At least two things.”

“Ah.” He looks at my mouth, then at my lap, and finally at my eyes. “I hope you follow through with some action. We would have fun.”

“Looking good so far.” A foul ball flies off somewhere, but I don’t track it. “Don’t lose sight of the puck.”

He freezes. For a second, his smile holds, but his eyes are recalculating. I’m a little smug because I’ve thrown him off balance.

“No chance,” he says, in control again. “This is a game we both can win.”

I’m still thinking about that when he slides two fingers up the inside of my thigh to the hem of my shorts.

I should stop him. There are phones everywhere. With cameras. Fans know I’m gay, but I don’t want them thinking I let guys do this in public.

Except apparently I do, at least with Oskar. His fingers stay.

A woman in front of us opens a water bottle, giving me an idea.

“I’m thirsty,” I say. “You?”

“Very much so.” He winks so hard I’d laugh if we weren’t settling something so important.

“Let’s grab a beer, then.”

Bad decisions start this way. But something tells me a night with Oskar will be worth it.

I stand and point up the stairs. “That way.” Taking my ball and glove, I follow him up to the concourse.

He turns and says, “Now that we are here, I do not want beer. How about fika?”

“Fee-what?” I ask, loving how his face lights up. For the record, I know what fika is, but I like his accent so much I hope he’ll say it again.

“Fika. A coffee break. But a baseball arena may not be the best place for that.”

“Stadiums. Baseball has stadiums. Or ballparks.”

“So…” His lips twitch. “I guess the coffee is not so good in baseball stadiums.”

“Look at you, catching on fast.”

“I am an excellent student, tutor.” He leans in until our arms touch. “Did you want to stay for the rest of the game?”

I shake my head. “I’m more interested in other games.”

“Me too. Shall we find somewhere to play?”

“Exit’s this way.” I’m already walking toward it.

This is probably a bad idea, but I don’t care. Not when something inside me is saying I shouldn’t let him walk away.