Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I’ve lived here my whole life and haven’t been to the top either. I mean, my mom worked two jobs when I was growing up, so there wasn’t any money for that kind of touristy stuff, and then once I started modeling, I was always traveling.”
“You have been modeling a long time?” he asked.
“Since I was fourteen.” I paused. “When did you start playing hockey?”
“I cannot remember. Maybe four or five? I have played my whole life.”
His accent was strong, though I understood his words clearly. “Did you grow up in Sweden?”
“Yes. In Sundsvall, which is in the north and east of my country. Close to the sea.”
“I’ll have to look it up,” I told him. “I like learning about new places. Everyone always recognizes the capital cities, like Stockholm, but you don’t hear much about the smaller towns.”
He nodded, pulling up in front of Carmine’s Steak House. A valet opened my door, and I carefully stepped down, always cognizant of how I positioned my body. One bad step or twist could send the muscles in my back into spasm overdrive, and I didn’t need that tonight.
We were shown to a table in the back and Lars pulled the chair out for me. He was a little quiet and reserved, but that was okay since I could talk enough for five people.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I said once we’d ordered. “Do you have siblings?”
“I have a sister, Ingrid. She is married with three children.”
“Are your parents still in Sweden?”
He nodded. “My mother, yes. My father died when I was three.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your mother never remarried?”
“No.” He paused. “And you? Brothers or sisters?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s just me. My father left when I was a baby and Mom didn’t want to have any more kids. She didn’t remarry either. She lives about ten minutes from here.”
“You are close?” His blue eyes met mine.
“Very. You?”
“No. Not so much. My mother, she is more excited about the grandchildren than hockey.”
I widened my eyes in surprise. “Really? That’s a shame because hockey is awesome and you’re amazing on the ice.”
He looked shocked. “You watch the Mavericks?”
“Of course! I go to as many games as I can every season, depending on my travel schedule.”
“You travel often for modeling?”
I nodded. “I had to take some time off because of an injury, but in general, yes. I’m usually in Europe a few times a year and I used to go to New York once a month.”
We chatted about random topics all through dinner, with me doing most of the talking and him giving short answers whenever I asked him questions. I liked men who didn’t spend the whole evening talking about themselves, but in this case, it meant I spent most of the meal talking about myself, which I also didn’t like.
“We go to Arch now?” he asked as we walked outside, one of his hands at the small of my back.
“Do you still want to go?” I looked up at him curiously, wondering if he wasn’t that into me, if I’d talked too much, or if he was just shy.
“Yes, of course.”
It was a short walk from Carmine’s to the Arch and he hesitated as he stared up at the top. “This is very high,” he murmured.
“Are you afraid of heights?” I asked.
“No.” He frowned, but we continued inside the building.
At the ticket counter, he bought two passes and looked around. “Is there elevator?”
I shook my head. “It’s a tram.”
“Tram? What is tram?”
“Like a gondola or a little car. A cable pulls it to the top.”
“A cable?” He looked wary. “I am a very big man. This is safe?”
“Of course.” I smiled and held out my hand. “I’ll hold your hand if you’re scared.”
It seemed like it took him a second to realize I was joking but then he smiled back. “Perhaps this is good idea.”
I slid my fingers through his and found his hand warm and dry. And big. Like the rest of him. I honestly couldn’t get a read on him. I kept wondering if he was having fun or if he liked me. I’d never met anyone as guarded as he was, but holding his hand was nice—it was one of my favorite couple-ish things. I enjoyed physical intimacy like sex, but there was something about holding hands that just got to me. To me, it expressed an emotional type of intimacy, a sense of affection and comfort. Maybe I was weird, but the way a guy held my hand told me a lot about him as a man and that, combined with my gut, told me Lars was a good one.
Too bad this couldn’t be anything more than one date.
“This will hold us?” he asked, staring at the car that would carry us up one side of the Arch and then down the other after we reached the top.