Page 31 of Heat It Up (Off the Ice)
“I saw you a few other times at The Coffee Bar. You must like it there.”
“Muumu lives in the stone age. It’s the only nearby place that has free WiFi.”
“You can come to my apartment anytime and use mine. I live near you, and I wouldn’t mind practicing my English.”
I almost trip at the comment. There’s nothing wrong with his English. “Okay.”
A smile brighter than the sun appears on his face. God, am I making a mistake going to his apartment? But then he already knows where I stand on dating, so maybe it means nothing beyond me getting to use his WiFi.
As we run back home, Joni points out his building. I arrange to meet him there in an hour and race home to shower. If I’m lucky, Claire will be on the Internet at the same time as me.
Muumu isn’t home when I enter the apartment. She’s probably upstairs, scheming with Joni’s grandmother. I hurry to get ready, wanting to leave before she comes home and I have to tell her where I’m going.
I search through my purse for my phone, so I can call Joni and check that it’s okay to go over early. The phone isn’t there. I hunt around my bed. Nothing. I had it last night when I went out. I check the back pocket of my skirt. Still nothing. Crap. Where the hell did I put it?
I sink onto my bed, but in my dazed stupor, I misgauge the edge and fall to the floor.Earth to Universe, can you cut me a break here?
I had the phone at the nightclub, but that’s the last I remember seeing it. Maybe it fell out of my pocket when Kyle got into the fight with that drunk loser and I tried to protect him. I didn’t see it on the ground, but his injuries had distracted me. It could have fallen from my pocket without me noticing.
Or I could have lost it at the nightclub.
I can’t do anything until the place opens, so I head to Joni’s apartment, cursing myself the entire way for paying more attention to Kyle than I did to my phone. I can’t even phone him to see if maybe I left it at his place. I have his number.
Programmed.
In.
The.
Freaking.
Phone.
And after what we did last night and after the revelation that he’s no better than Ian and my Dad, I can’t bear the thought of seeing him face-to-face again.
The corners of my mouth flick up at the thought of sending Muumu and Joni over to get it for me. I’m sure she would give Kyle an earful if she knew the truth. Sure, he wouldn’t understand what she said, but her tone would say it all.
I chuckle as I imagine Kyle’s expression if that happened. He’s not one of those jerks who would tell her where to go. He would just listen to her, and every now and then mention an interesting physics fact.
My heart oddly aches at how much I already miss his physics explanations, his thrilled grin whenever I ask him questions about the topic, and our True and False game.
Joni’s apartment is similar to my grandmother’s, except the furniture spells bachelor pad. Framed superhero movie posters hang on the opposite wall to the large screen TV, and echo the theme of a number of books on the shelves next to it.
I set my laptop on the dinner table. While I wait for it to start, I pick up the open sketchpad. When Joni doesn’t protest, I leaf through it. Each page either has a comic-style sketch on it or an actual comic strip. They aren’t all the same. Some are of your typical male superheroes, along with their big-breasted heroines. Others are PG friendly, with adorable wide-eyed animals. The male lust-filled comics are written in Finnish, the animal ones in English.
I read a few of the animal ones and laugh. “These are really good.”
Joni blushes. I’ve never seen him do that before and it’s cute. “Thanks,” he says.
“Do you do this professionally?”
“I would like to, but it’s hard to break in to.”
I flip another page. “So what’s your daytime job?” Judging from the furniture, it’s not cleaning toilets like me.
“I work in advertising, in the graphic department. I love it, but I love that more.” He nods at the sketchbook in my hand. “I’m lucky my two loves are related.” He is lucky. I love photography, but it’s tough to make a living in it—just like it is with his comics.
I turn the page and my face heats at the image on the paper. “That’s me?” I squeak. The low cut, black bodysuit that lookalike me is wearing reveals a cleavage and big breasts that I don’t have in real life. My blond hair flows down my back, contrasting against the stark color of my outfit. Joni has drawn it so there’s a slight breeze blowing through my hair, which is glowing in the light. I’m a combination of innocent and kickass, especially with the whip to match my ensemble.
