18. Chapter 18

Shane appears in the doorway of the stockroom. Obviously, Cole sent him to check on me. I only spare him a glance as I continue to count boxes of antiseptic wipes.

Shane sighs. "Listen, I can't pretend to make small talk in an effort to figure out what's going on with you. You're hiding back here. We both know the inventory program I set up will calculate this at the push of a button. We're worried about you."

I shrug. I'd talk to Shane or Cole if I knew what to say. Everything hit at once. Mads fucking me over regarding my ex, my parents trying to give my inheritance to my sister to ‘keep it in the family,' and Von treating me as the enemy, then confusing me with aloof stalker vibes. I'm not sure I can trust Von's motives or his intentions.

"You haven't tried to seduce me in a week. Did you hit your head?" He mimes smashing his head on the door frame.

I shrug. Von must be rubbing off on me with my shrugging and nodding.

"Is it something your parents said or did? Cole is ready to drive upstate and knock some heads." He steps closer.

Shane's kidding, but I crack a smile. Having friends willing to fuck shit up for me is oddly comforting. "Nah. They're assholes, but I can handle it."

"Good for you. If I never have to see my parents again, it will be too soon." Shane's body starts vibrating with anxiety.

"Am I interrupting?" Cole looms in the doorway, freakishly sensing Shane's distress.

"Dammit, Cole, five more minutes and I would've had him." I nudge Shane with an elbow and wink.

Shane rolls his eyes and steps into Cole's arms. "We're going to dinner. Join us."

"Thanks, but I'm meeting Em out tonight. I'm introducing him to Mads and Jayce. He used to play hockey, and I thought he might want to play in some of the pickup games. One of these days, I'll get you out on the ice, Shane."

That's the excuse I'm using. Mads wants me to forgive her and pretend she didn't gut me.

Still petty.

But I'm not over it, or ready to endure her over-the-top effort to force me to forgive her. I figure if I introduce her to Em, it will take the focus off me. Em's story is closer to mine than I thought. He also played a semester of college hockey but had to leave school. He's struggling to find his way, and Mads is a sucker for a lost soul. I'd love her to take Em under her wing and lift him up. That's her specialty.

Shane shudders at the thought of playing hockey.

"You guys get out of here. I'll lock up."

After they leave, I suspect I should've asked Shane for advice on Von. His analytical brain could dissect our interactions and give me an objective perspective. Can I trust Von?

As if my mind simply conjures up the man I can't get out of my head, Von is standing on the other side of the picture window. I'm unwittingly participating in a stare down.

Confused, I do the only thing I can think of to defuse the energy crackling through me. My fingers fly across the screen, typing out a message to Von.

Me: where's my coffee

My self-restraint and self-preservation are hanging on by a thread and humor is the shield preventing me from throwing the door open, dragging him inside, and having my way with him, leaving rational thought behind. I wait for Von to read his phone, but he ignores it to maintain eye contact with me.

Me: If you don't have a gift, I'm going to assume you're a stalker. Maybe I should tie you up

The stalker routine––done with it. I've never been tempted by someone as much as him. It's best to burn out this thing between us, but I'm not certain he's interested. I've given Von so many flirty verbal cues. He never responds. His lust-filled eyes drink in my body. I love being admired as much as the next guy, but he was clear that I'm not welcome in his life. He needs to be straightforward if he's going to stalk my life.

I hold up my phone and shake it, hoping he understands I'm texting him. He keeps staring.

Motherfucker.

I can't walk away.

I bring my phone to my ear. His phone startles him and fucking finally, he looks at it to answer the call.

"What do you want?" I ask before he speaks.

"You."

That one word causes my stomach to flip like I've plunged into a free fall. I search for a snarky retort, but when my Viking eye fucks me, it's hard to think. Keeping the phone to my ear on the off chance he has more to say, I unlock the door.

"I took my past out on you." His words rush out. "A couple of my partners were with me for the fame and an ex-boyfriend sold stories to the tabloids. I assumed the worst when you've done nothing but help me with my art and never asked for anything in return." Von pleads for understanding.

"I would never." I throw my hands up.

"I know." Von scrubs his hand over his face. "Thank you. And I know it was you who got them to print their retraction."

"I'm sorry that I'm responsible for exposing you to the tabloids." Although I'm sorry, he had to know eventually someone would connect his name as an artist to his fame. We live in a world of global social media.

He takes a hesitant step forward. "I like you, Alec. Can we see more of each other?"

Still holding the phone to my ear, my other hand dangles uselessly at the end of my arm by my side while I process the shock of his admission.

There are solid reasons for not doing this with Von.

Valid reasons.

Lots and lots of red flags. And I don't do relationships.

It took a lot to disclose my past to Von. I ignored the voice in my head telling me it was a terrible idea because he treated me worse than garbage. He could do it again.

"I went to The Q Solutions to show you I'm sorry. Going there for you seems selfish because you do so much for them. I do not expect you to excuse my behavior, but"—he runs his hand through his hair—"if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I'll stop stalking you. It's probably not as sexy as you imagined." His smile seems forced as he takes a step backward.

All the reasons we shouldn't get involved go up in flames. This is a disaster waiting to happen, but finally burning him out of my system has to be the best option.

"Wait." I stride toward him and take a page out of his book, grabbing his face and fusing our lips together. His kiss brings my fantasies to life. It's desire and care and a dash of dominance. I sigh into his mouth, rethinking my stance on kissing. I never understood the point until Von. Damn him.

Von pulls back to cup my jaw. "J?vlar. I can't stop thinking about you. Wanting you. I can't sleep. I can't work. I am dying to kiss you again."

His stormy blue eyes implore me. I'm doomed.

Wordlessly, I tuck my phone into my back pocket, then grip the waistband of his jeans to tug him against me. Leaning in, my lips ghost over his ear. "Now that you got me, what do you want to do with me?"

A shiver runs down his spine and one arm bands around my waist, locking us together. "Can I take you on a date?"

I jerk back in surprise. I was prepared for this to be purely sexual. A date. No one has ever asked me out. I'm not the guy you take on a date. I'm the guy who will fuck you in a bathroom.

"If you do not want to, I understand. You said you're not a relationship guy. I can live with that. But I will prove to you I'm not a fan who will fuck you and throw you out."

"Technically, I walked out on you. But if you do that again, this ends. Whatever this is can't happen if you don't trust me to have your back. Treat me with respect." I squeeze his waist, prompting him to talk.

Von fervently nods and lets loose a string of Swedish words. "I will not do that again." His words bleed sincerity. "We don't have to label this."

"We had a phenomenal time when you were pretending to be my fake boyfriend. So let"s go with that until one of us decides we're done." We'll keep it casual. It"s best for both of us. Neither of us will get attached and we can have mind-blowing sex.

Von's face falls, but he says, "Okay."

"I'll make you a deal." My thumb strokes his waist and Von nods warily. "I'll pick a place, let you call it a date, and we can see where the night goes, but…it will depend on your game."

"Fotboll?"

"No, your flirting game."

Von's hands fall away from me. "We should say goodnight now. I can barely find words to speak to you, and I don't know how to flirt."

"That's a good start, Viking." Linking our arms, I steer him toward the door. "There might be hope for you yet."

Von lets out a breath and unlinks our arms to curl his arm around my waist. I'm not used to nonsexual physical touch. It's couple-y and it should make my skin crawl. But I don't hate it. I'll never admit it, but I can't get enough of it.

We end up at a café a few blocks from Unframed Art. Von asks me what's good and decides I should order for him. He trusts me. I debate affirming his trust or fucking with him. After scanning the menu, I realize there aren't any items that would be surprising or exotic. So no crazy food order to fuck with him.

While I order our patty melts, Von twists his hair into a man bun. Our server stutters and visibly shakes. I can't blame her.

Von, with his hair down, is a living warrior Viking, but when he pulls it back and exposes all the sharp angles of his face, it transforms him into a runway model yet somehow more human—like he's attainable.

"She flirts with you better than I can," Von grumbles.

"She almost orgasmed when you put your hair up," I counter with a grin. "Are you jealous, Viking?" The server was overly friendly in hopes of a big tip, not in an I-want-to-sleep-with-you way.

Von's brow scrunches together as if he's considering my question. His eyebrows fascinate me. They're so light they're barely visible, but in certain light, they're thick and accent his eyes.

"If anyone should be jealous, it should be me." Von raises one of his eyebrows at my statement. "She has parts you enjoy, which I don't, and she would definitely go for you. She would be an easier choice." His face scrunches, and I'm unsure if it's confusion or distaste. I rein in my insecurity to point out the obvious. "You know, marriage and kids."

Von shakes his head with his blue eyes, pulling me into their depth. "Not for me." His tone leaves no room for argument.

The air tingles with excitement between us, and I won't ruin it by asking outright which is not for him, marriage or kids. Neither is for me, but maybe I can get a roundabout answer. "No?"

"There is only one person in this room that I'm interested in." His shy smile stops my heart.

"Should I go get her?"

"You are determined to tease me."

I shrug. When his face falls, his vein pops out, and suddenly my game isn't fun anymore. I scramble to put our conversation back on track. "Tell me some weird Swedish sayings."

Von shifts in his seat thinking. "The thing with traveling is that you realize at a young age that some things we say are crazy. For instance, we say, Ingen fara p? taket which directly translated means, no danger on the roof. It's our version of no worries."

My laughter lights him up.

"I want to lick your dimples again," he says, turning bright red.

"It's a turn on when you say shit like that. When you speak before you think. And it's sexy when you blush."

The server drops off our food before he can respond and then my screen lights up with a text from Mads. Fuck, I forgot her, Jayce, and Em. I fire off a couple of texts and put my phone away, giving Von my undivided attention. "Tell me more about growing up in Sweden."

Von describes a TV movie childhood with loving parents, sibling rivalry, a tight-knit community, and lots and lots of fotboll. I'm envious of his experiences. Sweden is much more progressive, and he doesn't hide his sexuality.

Conversation is easy. Normal. As if we've known each other forever. I've never had this type of comfortable companionship with a man I fantasize being inside of.

Trust goes both ways, so I ask, "Are you really having a hard time sculpting?"

Von rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I worry that my art will not be good enough. That the charity auction was pure luck and I won't be a professional artist," Von says, but when I open my mouth to contradict him, he cuts me off. "You saw the necklace I made for Madyson?" I nod and he continues, "A few clients have requested custom necklaces. It is tedious, and I am angry it's taking time away from sculpting, but I'm not sculpting either. I'm vengefully melting metal for no reason." His voice is rough and agitated.

"Most artists have to do things to pay the bills in order to make the art they want. Is it fun putting another tramp stamp on a college co-ed or ink a bland skull on a bicep? Nope. But other days I get to create amazing designs. Hell, rumor has it that Michelangelo hated painting the Sistine Chapel. He only did it to afford the marble he needed to sculpt what he wanted." I don't mention his fears because he clearly doesn't want to bring any attention to it. His statement was a confession, and he wants to act as if it didn't happen. I won't press him.

Von freezes with a fry halfway to his mouth and his low brow shoots up. "Rumor has it?"

"I mean, I can't quote a textbook, but you know according to word on the street." I laugh, hoping I'm factually correct. "I'm saying make the custom necklaces. It will get your name out there. Bring them to The Artistic Edge and ring them up in the middle of your metal masterpieces. Who knows, maybe they'll buy a sculpture to go with their necklace."

Von chews and I see his mind working. "Madyson said something similar."

"You're starting a new business. You need to get your name out there any way that you can. Remember, don't look a gift horse in the mouth." I eat the last bite off my plate, but I'm not ready for this to be the end of the night. "No harm in trying to be the modern-day Michelangelo."

Von rolls his eyes at the absurd idea.

"You should sculpt yourself. It'd be even better than the David. No teeny-weeny." I waggle my eyebrows, deciding the best ways to silence the negative thoughts in his head are to distract him, tease him, and help him see his talent. Von cracks a smile that reaches his eyes.

Mission one—accomplished. Mission two—ready, set, go.