Jake narrows his eyes at me. “Who did you come to see then?”
“Well…actually, I came to see Ilmari.”
If possible, Jake’s eyes go even wider. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Is he home?” I peer over his shoulder down the hall.
“Hey, Mars,” he shouts. “Get over here. Right fucking now!”
In moments, Mars steps around the corner from the living room. Like Jake, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. His blond hair is down, falling to his shoulders. I’ve never seen him wear it down before. With the beard and his scarred brow, it definitely adds to the whole sporty Viking aesthetic.
Jake Price is fit, but Ilmari Price is literally carved from stone—eight-pack, a tight “V”， and pecs that could break boulders. He strides down the hallway, bag of open pistachios in hand. His eyes go wide as he takes me in.
“Did you order a spicy redhead?” says Jake, jabbing a thumb in my direction.
“No,” Ilmari replies.
I glance between them. This ball of emotion sitting in my throat might just choke the air right out of me. It’s been lodged there since I impulsively ordered an Uber and drove straight to the Cincinnati airport.
“Were we expecting you?” Ilmari says at me.
“No,” I reply, suddenly breathless.
Oh shit, here come the waterworks. I fucking hate crying. Before I can stop myself, I’m closing the distance between us. I let out a sob as I fling my arms around his neck and press myself against him, crying into his naked shoulder. His hand holding the bag of pistachios gets pinned between us with a soft crunch.
He goes stiff, muttering something in Finnish. I don’t know which he’s hating worse: the hug or the tears.
“What the fuck did you do?” Jake cries at his partner.
“Nothing,” says Ilmari, wholly indignant as he awkwardly pats my shoulder.
“Well, she was fine until you got here,” Jake challenges. He leans in closer to me, his hand on my other shoulder. “Tess? Are you injured?”
“No,” I sniffle, my hands gripping tighter to Ilmari’s shoulders.
“Are you on the run from the law? Is this like a hideout situation?”
“Christ, Jake,” Ilmari mutters.
“Well, I don’t fucking know,” he says. “Cay doesn’t call her Tornado for nothing. Maybe she spun some shit up, and now she’s on the lam. We can’t afford to hide a fugitive right now, Mars. We leave for the Winter Classic tomorrow. And I’m sure as fuck not going to prison as her accomplice. Are you kidding me?”
“No one’s going to jail,” Ilmari replies. “Just give her a moment to compose herself, and she’ll tell us why she’s here.”
“What the hell did I miss?” Jake gestures between us. “Since when are you two such good friends?”
“We’re not,” Mars and I say at the same time. “Go make yourself useful and get her a towel,” he adds, shoving his bag of pistachios at Jake’s chest.
Jake takes them with a huff. “Sure, I’ll go get a towel. Want me to go fuck myself while I’m at it?”
“Now, Jake,” Mars orders.
Jake wanders off with the dog chasing after him.
“Take your time,” Ilmari says at me, his body relaxing a little against mine.
His permission acts like the opening of a second set of flood gates. I’m a mess as I just cling to him and cry, letting go of everything I’ve been holding onto all day. One moment I was standing in my apartment, the next I was standing at the Delta ticket counter. I’ve always felt so safe in Rachel’s orbit, since that very first night we met. Her men make me feel safe too. An honorary Ray, she called me. Right now, that feels pretty fucking good.
The dog barks in excitement as Jake returns, beach towel in hand.
I’m a sniffling mess as I relax my hold on Ilmari. My hands drop from his shoulders to his elbows as I lean back, glancing up into his concerned face. His dark blue eyes are locked on me as he waits for me to speak.
Jake drapes the towel over my shoulders as I ask the question I’ve been practicing since I left my apartment. “Do you still have that job available?”
11
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Rachel presses, tucking her tablet into her backpack and zipping it closed.
“For the hundredth time, yes,” I reply with a groan.
“Because it would only take a phone call to arrange it,” she adds. “Plane ticket, hotel, box seats—the works. New Year’s Eve in the Big Apple.”