Only to find it taken.
A woman is standing where I just was, haphazardly stuffing a sheet of paper into an envelope. She clearly lacks self-awareness, as she doesn’t register me standing here, staring at her. I open my mouth, hesitant, then check my watch again. Quarter over nine. Something must be said.
“Excuse me, I was in queue here.”
She finally looks up. Her large, brown, scrutinizing eyes circle over my body in a way that makes my skin prickle, lingering briefly on my chest and arms like she’s sizing me up for a fight, before returning to my face. She looks unkempt, dressed in light denim and a faded, cropped black shirt that saysScream Queen, which reveals a sliver of creamy skin. Dark, windblown hair frames her face, like she’s been driving with the windows down, stopping just above her shoulders.
“You what?”
“I was in queue,” I repeat.
She still looks confused. I let my gaze flicker over her, taking note of the thin-line tattoos on her arms: a hunting knife on her forearm, one of those carved American pumpkins, and a ghost holding a bag that saystrick-or-treat. None of it looks professional.
“I was already in line here.” I spell it out for her.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that. You wouldn’t happen to have a pen on you, would you?”
I blink, disbelieving. The queue shuffles forward, and I cut back into my spot.
“No.” I turn my back to her.
A warm hand lands on my arm, making me recoil. I hate being touched—especially by strangers.
“Sorry!” she exclaims as I jerk away from her. “I don’t mean to be annoying, but I’m late for an appointment. Is it cool if I go ahead of you?”
Her eyes go large, her tone sweet and doll-like as though she’s trying to charm me into doing her a favor. Unfortunately for her, those sorts of tricks don’t work on me. We don’t coddle women where I’m from. Even if they would theoretically be pretty, were they not disordered and strange and annoying-as-shit.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.” I shove my hands in my trouser pockets for good measure and turn back around. Hopefully she fucks off.
“Seriously?”
“I have somewhere to be as well,” I snap over my shoulder as the queue shuffles forward again. I would have never been so rude back home, but after seven years here, my edges are frayed.
“Don’t have to be such a dick,” I hear her mutter.
As if I’ve invited this little altercation. I turn, giving her a withering look. She holds her ground, even having the nerve to scoff at me. Whoever spoiled her didn’t spare a sense of etiquette. Or a sense of dress, judging by the padlock chain around her neck.
“You should consider better time management,” I say. My blood is rushing because I’m already going to be late—and I’m never late. It drives my teammates mad, but I’ll walk several laps around a parking lot just to arrive somewhere perfectly on time, as is the Swedish custom.
Another desk opens, and the clerk summons me forward before the little queue-jumper has a chance to say anything else. I cross to the counter in three long strides, eager to be away from her. Still, I see her fumbling for a pen out of the corner of my eye when she’s calledto the next desk. From this angle, I can see the way her denims hang from the dip of her waist, the rise of her crop top as she leans over the countertop to reveal a smooth, inkless stomach.
Insufferable and sloppy. I don’t know why I’m still looking.
“Thank you,” I say to the clerk when they finish processing my order, dragging my eyes away.
I pay and leave, satisfied that I’ve timed the shipment so that it will arrive exactly on Mikael’s birthday. He’ll be ecstatic, and I’ll be forced to make a phone call to Birds of Paradise, but that’s alright. Anything for him.
He’s all I really have.
Chapter 5
Mattias
I’m late—five minutes past the hour. Poirier won’t care, but it still pisses me off. I shut my car door with more force than necessary, snatch my training bag and head inside where I find my teammate already on the treadmill.
“Figured I’d get the boring shit out of the way,” he huffs at me.
I hop on next to him. I hate treadmills, too. Running outside is highly preferable, but it’s the middle of summer and I don’t do well with sun or heat.
