Page 32 of Off the Post

Just great. Now my boss thinks I’m hooking up with the Vikings’ goalie.

Worries flood my mind as we head out to the elevator bank. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t at first notice the fans that come up to Soren outside the office across the hall. There’s a chorus of hushed whispers and nervous giggles.

“It’s The Wolf!” Someone stage-whispers to their friend as they congregate in front of us.

One fan reaches out and touches Soren’s arm. I notice an imperceptible flinch, the corners of his eyes tightening as if the interaction hurt him in some way. The woman, probably in her late forties, pulls out her phone and waves it in front of him.

“Oh, Wolf, would you mind? My son is a huge fan. Could we get a selfie?”

A faint growl emanates from his chest, but he complies. “Ja.”

The three women all pose around him, the older woman hoisting her hand in front of them to take a selfie, but then she waves her phone toward me and gives me a huge grin. “Would you mind?”

“Sure thing.” I accept the phone and take a few steps backward to get them all in the frame. “Everyone ready? Say… The Wolf!”

They all smile—well, Soren’s expression is more grimace than grin—and say his name aloud.

After a few shots, the older woman steps forward and plucks the phone from my grasp. She scrolls through the images and heaves a swoony sigh. No thank you or appreciative nod.

When she returns her attention back to Soren, she smiles broadly and extends her hand. Soren keeps his hands tucked firmly in his pockets and gives her a tight smile. The woman, nonplussed by his obvious discomfort, squeezes his bicep.

Some people are oblivious. This must be seriously difficult for him.

“Okay, well, if that’s all, we need to get going,” I state bluntly, hoping now that they’ve gotten their picture, they’ll all go their merry way.

The elevator arrives, and Soren stops the doors from closing as the women offer their goodbyes, flushed and starry-eyed over meeting their hockey-playing hero. Then they head toward the bathrooms, giggling and conversing.

As we step inside and Soren presses the button to the ground level, I openly stare at him, impressed by how he handled that interaction when I could see how stressed it made him.

“Does that happen to you often?” I ask, whirling my hand in the air. “People just getting into your space without asking?”

He shrugs, brows narrowing at the thought. “Ja. I guess so. It happens to all of us. Tanner too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t like it.”

He tucks his hands back into his front pockets and shakes his head from side to side.

“Nein. Not really.” He sighs, and brands me with a piercing gaze. “You noticed.”

“Yes. And I hope I didn’t make you feel that way the day of the photoshoot. Now that I know you don’t like it⁠—”

My words are cut off when he extracts his hands from his pockets and corners me against the elevator wall, palms bracketing my head. I tilt my chin up and stare into the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s like looking into a forest of evergreens.

“You never made me uncomfortable,” he confirms, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Just the opposite.”

And for the briefest of moments, a tiny blip of a second, I think he’s going to say something more. That maybe he’s going to whisper in my ear, in that low timber of a voice, and say, “You’re so fucking sexy, Ali. I want to fuck you up against the wall right now.”

Okay, maybe not that much, but at least maybe that he wants to kiss me.

My knees wobble and my breath catches in anticipation.

But before anything else happens, the elevator bounces slightly and the doors slide open with a mechanical whoosh. Soren drops his arms to his sides, turns to face the open door, and shoves his hands back into his pockets, leaving me once again internally levitating off the floor, floating on the deliciousness of what could happen next.

I’m also left with a slight sense of disappointment that nothing did happen now.

16

Soren