Page 8 of From Helsinki with Love
I must be hallucinating. There’s no fucking way someone would look that good without being Photoshopped or filtered with the best filters out there. My situation reminds me of that scene inCrazy Stupid Lovewhere Emma Stone tells Ryan Gosling how he must be photoshopped.
If there ever was a stereotypical Nordic man, this guy is it. Blonde tousled hair, clear blue eyes, trimmed beard, maybe six foot three in height, and all the muscles. It honestly looks like he walked out of theVikingsTV show. Without all the tattoos, that is. At least I haven’t seen any yet. Maybe he’s hiding some under the gray Woodpeckers hoodie he’s wearing.
I only recognize the hockey team logo because Dad is a huge fan. He grew up in New York City before my grandpa was elected as the Vice President. He then spent his high school years living in the capital, where Dad also studied for his pre-law degree before attending the best law school in the country, just like I did. Like father, like daughter.
Personally, I never understood ice hockey. It seems too risky for my liking—all the fighting, hits, high speed, and other things like that make my stomach squeeze. Baseball and basketball are more to my liking and less physical.
It must be the wine, but I feel like talking with the stranger who caught my attention in 1.2 seconds with his imperfectly perfect exterior. It’s unfair that even his slightly crooked nose looks like a piece of art that could be in MoMA. Some people get lucky with the genetic lottery, and this guy is one of them.
It doesn’t help that there’s something familiar about him. Like I have seen him before. But I can’t place him.
Opening my mouth to say something to the guy, I notice he’s wearing wireless in-ear headphones while looking down at his phone, where a hockey game plays on the screen.Of course…he likes hockey, ugh.
I already saw the highlights of the fight from last night’s Woodpeckers vs. Lynx game showing up on the TV screen above us. That’s the only reason why I recognize the game he’s currently watching. I ignored the rest as I couldn’t care less. But it looks like the man candy next to me has a different opinion on the matter. His brows are drawn together as he intensely stares at the screen. His unflinching expression surprises me. Like how can he watch that brutality without any reaction?
Who am I to judge? My guilty pleasure is90 Day Fiancé.Team Angela, anyone?
The bartender interrupts my thoughts as they place another glass of wine before me. Lifting it to my lips, I take a sip and relax more. I moan happily when the crisp flavor with a slight citrus tang and honeysuckle aroma hits my tongue. It’s too good. I can’t control my reaction.
The hunk sitting next to me must have heard me, as there’s a deep chuckle on my left. Turning his way, I am met with those damn blue eyes. And I notice he isn’t wearing headphones anymore—just my luck.
“Oh shut up, hockey hunk.” His entire face shifts as I say it. The smile is gone instantly. Trying my best to fix what I just said, I start to babble. “I mean, you’re a hunk of a man. Like a really big guy. Look at those damn arms showing when you roll your sleeves like that. And then you’re wearing a Woodpeckers hoodie. That’s why the hockey hunk—”
I don’t manage to get the words out of my mouth before he throws his head back and laughs.
“What’s so funny now?” I ask him, confused as ever.
“Look at those damn arms? Did you actually say that aloud?” he gets out before he loses it again and chuckles. He sounds American with a hint of an accent.Maybe Swedish? Norwegian? Other Nordic countries I can’t name right now?
“Ugh, don’t mind me. But they are nice arms. Like very, very nice arms.”
Shut up, Vivi. Your flirting skills are even worse than expected after five years in a relationship. But now that you’re single and ready to mingle, you must relearn those flirty ways. However, now isn’t the right time or place for that.
The guy still looks at me with interest and offers his hand to me. “Jasper Åkerman, a real-life hockey hunk, the star center of The Woodpeckers at your service,” he says, his lips turning up even more.
Shit. Did he mean that? No way. He can’t be a player on my dad’s favorite team. I shake his hand and get my shit together for a moment. “Vivian Powers, a kickass human rights lawyer with no time for bullshit. But you can call me Vivi.”
There’s a moment of surprise when he processes my words. But then it’s gone, and in its place, I see interest. And a hint of something else more intoxicating.
“Vivian. I like that.” We stare at each other until Jasper clears his throat. “So, you’re the woman with the pink vibrator.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he means, and when it clicks, my cheeks feel warmer than a moment ago. Shit, that’s how I recognized him—he was the hot guy who walked past me earlier—just my freaking luck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is that why your cheeks suddenly turned a pretty shade of pink?”
“No. Yes. Fuck. I don’t know,” I ramble, gulping my wine.
Jasper laughs more, and the sound warms my insights. “Well, at least you won’t get bored on your trip,” he comments.
It takes me a moment to realize what he means. “Let’s hope not. However, Ididforget extra batteries.”
It’s only a joke; my vibrator is charged through a USB cable.
“I bet you can find those anywhere you go.” He winks before continuing. “So, where are you heading, anyway? Somewhere nice and warm, I hope?”
I shake my head, a knowing smile forming on my lips. “Not exactly. Today’s destination is snowy Helsinki.”
