Page 11 of You Can't Ruin Christmas

Chapter Six

“This is my secret sauce to help repair the muscles after a workout,” Sven is explaining. “I add BCAAs and glutamine.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly. “I have no idea what those things are.”

“Amino acids,” he says, moving to the kitchen. “I’ve been working on some signature, holiday-themed protein shakes. Maybe I could sell them to clients, or open a little shop inside the gym. Maybe I could even open my own gym someday.”

It’s nice to hear him talk about his goals. Moving to sit on a stool at the kitchen island, I watch as he moves around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. Egg yolks, cream and spices, plus his favorite protein powder. He’s surprisingly adept in the kitchen, and has made me a few post-workout meals. He whips them up in record time, making delicious eggs, bacon, and a sausage that makes my mouth water just as much as imagining the sausage beneath his spandex. Sebastian couldn’t pour himself a bowl of cereal to save his life.

“Is that your dream? To open your own gym?” I ask him, enjoying the sight of his large arms whipping the mixture in a bowl. I could just watch him all day. Watch him do anything at all. This could only be nicer if he were completely naked—maybe wearing only a tiny apron. Mmm.

But he smiles a little sadly. “Mary, you know my dream was to play hockey. But after I ripped the ligaments in my knee, I don’t think that’s going to be a possibility anymore. I’m just trying to bounce back and adjust with this whole personal-training thing. Maybe put my kinesiology degree to good use. But it’s not what I dreamed of every single day, as a kid growing up.”

“I’m so sorry, Sven. But didn’t you say the surgery went well? Don’t you think there’s a possibility that you might be able to play again?” Even as I ask him this, my heart sinks. I used to think it was cool to date a hockey player. I was completely prepared to spend the next decade or so being a hockey wife, and I know how difficult that would have been. Basically raising my kids alone for a good portion of the time.

But now, after being ditched by Sebastian in the name of hockey, it doesn’t seem that appealing. I like the idea of being with someone who will be around. I like the idea of being with Sven, and just spending lots of time cuddling on the couch with him and watching old movies. I like the idea of watching him make eggs for breakfast not just for me, but a little family.

I know that’s crazy—we’re not even actually dating yet. I do feel like there’s a palpable chemistry between us, but I might be completely mistaken. This could be all about the quid pro quo of me designing his website, and him designing my revenge body.

But what if we were to start dating? I couldn’t keep him from hockey, and from his dreams. I am a northerner myself—not as far north as Sweden, but growing up in Minnesota, hockey is in my blood too. Snowflake Creek isn’t too far from the Twin Cities, and driving a few hours to see a hockey game was one of our favorite things to do as a family.

“I miss playing hockey more than I thought I could miss anything in my life,” Sven tells me. “It’s hard to even think about it without getting angry and sad and… jealous of Sebastian. I dedicated so much time to it, my whole life. It’s unfair that he gets to play and I don’t.”

“It is unfair,” I agree.

“But I also miss my brother,” Sven admits. “Seeing what hockey did to him, seeing how he turned his back on everyone—I am glad that I didn’t get to play.” Anger flashes across his face. “I wouldn’t want that to happen to me—lose sight of what’s important in life, and who’s important.” He looks at me as he says this.

I don’t know how to respond, so I just nod.

“But it’s been really nice working out with you,” he tells me. “That makes me miss him a little less. He and I used to work out together all the time, you know.”

My face twitches. Wait. Is he usingmeto replace his brother? Does he think of me in a sibling-like way? I’ve been feeling guilty this whole time for having way too many dirty fantasies about him, and cautioning myself against not to use Sven as a replacement for the boyfriend I just lost—but has he been guilty of the same thing?

Oh, no. That means I must have been imagining all that sexual chemistry and tension. He just sees me as a little sister, doesn’t he? And here I am, imagining him making eggs for my future children.You’re an idiot, Mary. Such an idiot.

“I used to really value all that time we spent together in the gym,” Sven is saying. “I thought it was like our special brother-bonding time. Working toward a common goal. I didn’t realize how little he cared.”

“I always thought he cared about you a great deal,” I assure Sven. “Maybe this is just temporary, and he’s just overwhelmed with the transition to the major leagues. Maybe you guys will be brothers again someday soon.”

“Mary, I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Sven says softly. “He has ruined the holidays for my whole family. I spoke to my mother yesterday, and she said that Sebastian hasn’t called her once since he went to play for Philly. And he won’t return her calls. She’s the one who used to drive us to all our hockey games. Do the laundry and clean our smelly, filthy clothes after playing on the lake all weekend. We owe everything we are to her, but now that he’s a bigshot, he doesn’t have time to call his mother? I can forgive him for a lot of things. I don’t really care about the way he’s treated me. But hurting you, and hurting our mother? I can never forgive him for that.”

Sven turns away from me to conceal the emotion on his face. But I can see that he has stopped whisking his egg mixture, and his shoulders are trembling with anger.

I don’t even think as I push myself off the bar stool and walk into the kitchen, putting my arms around Sven and embracing him from behind. His abdomen feels so thick and solid, it’s a little like embracing a tree trunk. A California redwood. But I place my cheek against his back, and let my hands wrap around his muscled abdomen, trying to give him some of the comfort that he offered me the other night.

It doesn’t matter if he only sees me as a sister. I care about him, and I want to give him this hug. Even if I feel very small next to him, and my strength is so pathetic that he can barely feel the hug. Even if feeling him pressed against my body is igniting all my hormones on fire, I will try to ignore that and keep it platonic. Even if his abs underneath my hands feel so perfect that I’m struggling to resist the urge to slide my hands all over his body, and let my fingers slip under the waistband of his shorts.

Even if the bare skin of his back against my cheek is begging to be kissed, I will restrain all these inappropriate urges. He is just a friend, who I am trying to comfort and soothe. I am just trying to be nice. Even though my heartbeat is pounding furiously in my ears, and every time I breathe, the scent of him floods my senses.

I try to hold my breath, but then I realize that my hands have been sliding over his abdomen without my permission, and one is moving up his chest to feel his heartbeat through what must be several inches of pectoral muscles. Is it my imagination, or does his heartbeat also feel fast?

“Mary,” he says softly, putting down the bowl containing his protein-egg nog mixture, and the whisk.

“Yes?” I respond. It sounds like a warning. It’s hard to figure out what’s going on inside his head. I don’t know.Mary, go away? Mary, get your hands off me?Fearing the worst, I remove my hands from his body and peel myself away from him. It takes a great effort, and I miss his warmth as soon as there is cold air between us. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, tripping over my words with embarrassment. “I just…”

He turns around, and the look on his face is unmistakable. It’s desire. Hardcore, non-sisterly, intense, ravenous, wanting-to-fuck-my-brains-out fire-hydrant-style desire.

And it’s so much that I skip right over being happy that he thinks of me that way, to being afraid that I’m not going to be able to handle the ferocity of it. Like… this man could literally break my body in half.

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