The waitress brought our plates, forcing us to move our hands to make room for the food. I let my gaze linger on Niklas.
“Anything else?” she drawled.
This woman wasnotgoing to ruin my lunch. Niklas’s words from our discussion of the Italian men came back to her:Maybe you should do the same to me a little more often. Maybe I should.
“He’s doing just fine, aren’t you, Niklas?”. I leaned across the counter to steal one of his fries, deliberately giving him a view down the front of my shirt. I straightened up and took a slow bite. His gaze wandered from my chest up to my mouth. I licked my lips, and his mouth fell open a little.
“You’re all set, aren’t you Niklas?” I asked, smiling.
Niklas gave his head a little shake. “Yep. I sure am.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the waitress retreat.
“You are trouble,” he groaned, before breaking into a laugh.
“It was your suggestion,” I said innocently. “‘Maybe you should do the same to me a little more often,’ remember?”
Niklas turned to his eggs and took a bite. “You sure you want to up the game like that? Because you know how much I like to win.”
*
“Where are we going now?” I asked.
Niklas squeezed my knee. “It’s my turn to choose, so sit back and relax.”
He drove for another few minutes before he pointed at the sign ahead: Birmingham Ice Sports Arena.
“Didn’t I just watch you skate a couple days ago?” I asked.
“Watch me?” he chuckled. “No,älskling, you’re getting out there with me.”
I shook my head.
“On skates? You’re crazy.”
Niklas parked the car and gave me an amused smirk. “You could try shoes, but I think it might make things harder.”
“You know what I mean,” I said, swatting him on the leg.
“Yep. You mean, ‘Please take me skating, Niklas.’” He got out of the car and pulled a bag out of the trunk. “Look—I even brought you a coat and gloves.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said dryly.
The arena was almost empty for open skate. I scanned the room to see if anyone recognized Niklas, but if they did, they didn’t let on. I laced up my skates absently, trying to figure out how to preserve a little of my self-respect on the ice rink.
“Not even close to tight enough,” laughed Niklas, gesturing down at my lacing job. “You’re going to wobble right out of your skates. Can I help?”
I sighed and nodded.
He kneeled in front of me and took his time untying my own work and then crisscrossing the laces until he reached the top. After he finished, he rested his large, warm hands on my thighs and looked up at me.
“Too tight or okay?” he asked.
I tried to wiggle my feet a little, but Niklas had thoroughly trussed them. “I’ll tell you if I lose feeling in my toes.”
“Good,” he said, giving me a sporty,go-get-‘umpat on my legs. “Let’s get on the ice.”
He got to his feet and stretched. He grabbed the sweatshirt he had stuffed in the duffel bag and pulled it on, his shirt riding up a little to show a hint of the flexing muscles underneath. I licked my lips and forced my eyes up. He offered me a hand, and I took it.
