Page 15 of Ice Cold Hearts
Okay, so maybe it's a stretch to apply it that way, but I'm running with it.
When the receptionist tells me over the walkie that Mr. Kozlov has arrived, I’m more than ready for him. I’ll greet him professionally, run a perfect treatment session, and then have him walk me to my car. The fact that the route I have planned for us has the fewest security cameras is purely a coincidence.
I bounce down the hallway like a runaway balloon and fling open the door with a little more gusto than usual. What I see in the waiting room, however, is enough to send me plummeting back down to earth at terminal velocity.
Newton, you’ve let me down.
Alexei is there, but so are two other men. Even though there’s no one here but the receptionist and me, they’ve kept on their sunglasses and hooded sweatshirts.
They look like the opening line to a classic joke—a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead all walk into a hospital… except there’s nothing funny at all about it.
My eyes land on the man on the left. Based on the completely normal and not-at-all-creepy internet sleuthing I did on Tuesday after work, the redhead has to be Ian. Honestly, I’m even more impressed that no reporters followed them because Ian has been their favorite topic for the past few weeks. I waded through at least ten different articles all talking about his shoulder injury and what he’s calling his rookie redo season. Even so, I’m relieved they managed to get here unnoticed. I don’t need the press witnessing this horror show.
Alexei sits in the middle like a king flanked by his loyal knights. I search his face for any indication of his mood, but he is unreadable today. That doesn’t bode well for me.
The only man left is to Alexei’s right, and he’s the only one I can’t bear to look at. Even with a plain gray hood obscuring most of his golden hair and shades hiding those robin’s-egg-blue eyes, I know exactly who this man is. The question is why did he feel like he needed to bring two other people to confront me? There’s no way I’m that intimidating. Or maybe he just wants witnesses to build his case? Why else would he be here if not to make a custody bid? The thought makes me sick.
You don’t even know what he wants, a smaller, more rational part of my brain reminds me. Jumping to conclusions is going to help you as much as jumping off a cliff without a parachute will. Besides, a total scorched earth approach doesn’t line up with what you know personally or what you researched about him.
I take a few deep breaths to gather my courage and call them back to my office.
They follow me at a respectful distance, but the memories that he brought along with him overtake me and I nearly drown in them.
An impromptu party by the lake hosted by people I barely knew.
The woodsy scent of expensive cologne.
Strong hands around my waist and far too much alcohol.
We’d both been celebrating that night. I’d landed my first big-girl job at Grace Harbor not even a month after I’d graduated. He was still riding the high of one of the best seasons of his pro career. The minute he walked in, nearly every girl in the place swarmed him like Japanese honey bees on a hornet.
I’d love to say the reason I didn’t do that was because I held myself to a higher standard of behavior, but that would be a bald-faced lie. The truth was I was already extremely tipsy and was dancing on the table in the dining room for my own crowd of admirers. Knowing exactly one person at that party had its benefits. No one there had heard of my reputation as an insufferable science geek.
He’d wandered into the room, and everything came to a dead halt. When I turned to see what the fuss was about, I lost my balance and quite literally fell into him. If he hadn’t caught me, I probably would have sprained or broken at least one of my limbs. Even drunk, he had impeccable hand-eye coordination.
For the rest of the night, we’d been inseparable. He was unbelievably charming. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stepped straight out of a romance novel. We’d danced, then drank, and danced some more until we were both covered in a slight sheen of sweat. One of us, I don’t remember who, had the bright idea to cool off with a swim. Somehow, we’d managed to sneak out without drawing any attention to ourselves. I do remember that it was his idea to skinny dip, but we never made it into the water. I’d only managed to take off my shoes before he offered to help me untie the halter top of my dress. What followed was one of the best fucks of my life.
The next morning, I woke up on the beach with my head on his chest and his shirt covering me like a blanket. The sun had just started to peek over the horizon, and there were already a few boats out on the lake. Since I didn’t have any liquid courage running through my bloodstream, I’d decided to make a stealthy exit. There was just one problem. My dress was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, his shirt was long enough to cover all the important bits, so I’d grabbed my heels and my purse and headed back to the cabin my parents had rented for me which was (thankfully) on the complete opposite side of the lake.
Not long after that, I learned that his shirt wasn’t the only thing of his that I’d walked away with that night.
At the door of my office, I tried to stuff those memories deep down under a layer of professionalism. That effort apparently came at a cost because once we were all seated in my office, my mind went completely blank and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to them.
Before things got too awkward, he spoke up.
“I bet you weren’t expecting to meet someone better looking than Alexei here, much less two someones.” He grins, gesturing at himself and Ian before extending his hand. “I’m Oliver, and that’s Ian. I hope you don’t mind that we crashed the appointment.”
He doesn’t recognize me. He must have been more drunk than I thought that night.
I don’t know if I’m more pleased or more disappointed that he doesn’t know me. I’ll wade through all that later, preferably in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and an obscene amount of chocolate.
Disregarding the damage to my pride, I am relieved that this meeting was just going to be a regular physical therapy session rather than a confrontation.
I shake his hand with a reserved smile and introduce myself as well.
“So, what made you crash the appointment?” I ask a little anxiously.
“Alexei was so distracted during practice that he started making rookie mistakes,” Oliver says.