"Ground rules," he says.
I cross my arms. "You have rules… I’m shocked."
"I always have rules. Keeps everything in its rightful place."
That’s the first honest thing he’s said all night.
"You stay out of my way during the day until we can get you a flight out," he continues. "No following me. No showing up where I’m skiing. No ambushes at the bar. And no taking up the bathroom in the morning until after I’ve taken my shower to get ready. I’ll be gone by 6:30 in the morning."
"I can’t use the bathroom until after you shower? Are you serious?"
He nods. "Lifts open at eight am. Lines start forming before that. I can’t have you holding me up so you can pluck youreyebrows. Do that after I leave–it’s a rule. One last rule… Don't wait up at night for me. Got it?"
"Got it," I say, trying my best not to roll my eyes at his obsession with skiing and the absurdity of his rules. "You don’t have to worry about me following you. I’m not skiing and I have no interest in watching your odd mating rituals or staying up to see your walk of shame," I say immediately.
His mouth tilts. "We’ll see."
I glare at him. "I’m here to work."
"You’re here because you couldn’t take no for an answer," he corrects.
My jaw clenches.
"And at night?" I ask.
"At night," he says, voice low, "you keep your side of the bed. We don’t touch. We don’t pretend this is anything it’s not."
"And what do you think this is?" I demand.
"A mistake," he says without hesitation.
It lands like a slap.
I take a step forward before I can stop myself. "You deciding to run away before we could get your mess settled was the mistake, Luka. Not me showing up here to save your career. You’re welcome by the way. I don’t usually make house calls."
His eyes flicker, not with anger but with something else. Surprise. Like he wasn’t expecting me to talk back. I have a feeling that many people must be scared of him, but I'm not, Russian mob rumors be damned. Then he turns away like he’s already bored.
"I’m showering," he says, and then turns, walking through the bedroom door and then I hear the bathroom door shut.
I stand there in the silence, staring at the bedroom door. I should be relieved that I won’t be sleeping on the marble floors of the resort, with my luggage bag as a pillow and my parka as the only option for a blanket.
I exhale slowly, forcing my pulse down.
This is temporary and by tomorrow, I’m sure the hotel will have a room for me. I can handle one night as long as Luka keeps to his own rules—we stay on opposite sides. No funny business.
I drop my suitcase by the side of the bed, which doesn’t look like Luka has claimed it, or anyone else, for that matter. I quickly changed into the only short sleeve and shorts set of pajamas that I brought, since I have never needed anything warmer in Arizona.
They’re not sexy pajamas by any means, and that’s just as well. The last thing I need is Luka thinking I have any interest in him other than as a client.
I sit up in the king size bed and open up my laptop while I hear the shower running, and the way the sound changes as it hits Luka’s tall, broad body… I shake the thought of him naked in the shower out of my mind. That’s the least helpful thing I could be thinking about right now as we’re about to share a bed.
I check the internet and there's service, thank God. Not great service but I’ll take what I can get while I have it. I open up my browser and type in Luka Popovich Olympics.
It works slowly but finally an article pops up from a gossip magazine:
ICE KING EXPOSED: Luka Popovich’s Nude Olympic Stunt Sparks Committee Fury
The Hawkeyes winger may have skated too far this time.
