Double the heat, p.9
Double the Heat, page 9
Lennie turned to her aunt. “Would you mind if I went back to the apartment? I feel really zonked all of a sudden.”
“Go ahead, honey. I’m just going to stay about an hour or so to catch up, then I’ll be home.”
Lennie kissed her aunt’s cheek. “Thanks.”
Her aunt smoothed her hair. “I’m so glad you’re here. Though I do wish you dressed a bit more—”
“Normal? Don’t worry; I do sometimes.”
“That’s a relief.”
She and Aunt Mary started back toward the bar. Lennie could have sworn a few of the hockey players checked her out as she walked by, but she couldn’t be sure.
“To Ivan the Terrible!”
Laughing, Sebastian Ivanov tossed a shot of whiskey down his throat as his new teammates toasted him. He’d just played his first game as a second-line winger for the New York Blades, scoring a goal in the last two minutes of the third period that propelled the team to victory over New Jersey. Assistant coach Michael Dante had commended him heartily, and head coach Ty Gallagher, a renowned hard-ass, had offered a curt “Good job.” That was enough for Sebastian; after twelve years of playing in Russian and European hockey leagues, the NHL had finally come knocking—every player’s dream. Acknowledgment from Gallagher was a sure sign he was getting off on the right foot. He fully intended to play his guts out to make sure he proved he could play the North American-style game.
“So, Russky,” said defenseman Ulf Torkelson, slapping him on the back, “what do you think of the Big Apple so far?”
“So far, so good.” In all honesty, he hadn’t really had a chance to explore his new town, what with moving, training camp, pre-season, and now the actual start of the season. Even so, what he had experienced so far delighted him. The people of New York were more outgoing than he’d expected. He loved the city’s unique vibrancy, so different from the mood he often encountered at home. Best of all, there was a sizable Russian population out in Brighton Beach; in fact, his father’s only brother, Yuri, lived there. Sebastian hadn’t seen his uncle in years, and was looking forward to making the trip out to Brooklyn the first chance he got, not only to see his relative but also to eat some Russian food.
“You sign the lease on that apartment you checked out the other day?” asked Eric Mitchell. Sebastian had liked Eric from the minute he met him. The guy didn’t take himself too seriously, except on the ice.
“Yes, of course.”
He’d found a small apartment on the Upper West Side, in what the Realtor told him was “a nice, quiet neighborhood.” This suited Sebastian just fine; despite being single, he was not big into the bar scene. To play well, he needed peace, quiet, rest. He was by no means a stickin-the-mud, just disciplined.
Sebastian glanced around the Wild Hart. “I like this place,” he said to his teammates. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to spend time in the team’s original hangout.”
Jason Mitchell, Eric’s twin brother, grinned proudly. “Great, isn’t it? Eric and me, that’s one of our hobbies: finding new bars to hang out in.”
Ulf snorted. “Oh, you mean like that shithole with the tiki torches a few blocks from Met Gar?”
“That place was great,” Eric shot back.
“Yeah, if you’re over seventy and have cirrhosis of the liver.”
Another teammate, Thad Meyers, looked around. “I think this place is the perfect replacement for the Chapter House. Low key, good food …” He raised his beer glass to the Mitchell brothers. “Good job, Mitchy and Mitcho.”
“Thank you,” Eric replied smugly.
Ulf tapped Sebastian on the shoulder, pointing at the small woman behind the bar serving a gaggle of firefighters who had just come in. “What do you think of her, huh? Pretty cute.”
Sebastian studied her. It was true she was cute, but she didn’t stir anything in him. “Not my type.”
“Not my type,” Ulf repeated, mimicking Sebastian’s voice. “I love the way you talk, man. You sound like The Terminator.”
“No, he doesn’t,” scoffed the Blades’ goalie, David Hewson. “Schwarzenegger is Austrian, not Russian.”
“So?” Ulf shot back defensively.
“How would you like it if someone said you sounded Norwegian?” Eric Mitchell chimed in.
“I’m Swedish!”
“Exactly my point, you dick.”
Ulf turned to Sebastian. “Sorry if I offended you, dude.”
“No problem. You didn’t offend me.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Ulf continued, draping his arm col legially over Sebastian’s shoulder, and exaggerating his fading Swedish accent. “The chicks dig the foreign accent. They think it’s sexy.”
Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. Over the years, he’d heard that from other Russian players who had retired from the NHL and had come home to coach or to play again for the Kontinental League. He was glad being foreign might add to his exoticism, but the players had also told him that Americans knew very little about life in Russia, asking silly questions. It mystified him, since the opposite was true with Russians: they knew a lot about the States.
“You got a girlfriend?” Thad Meyers asked.
Sebastian shook his head. He’d been engaged about three years back to a legal secretary, but in the end it didn’t work out. Since then, he’d dated intermittently, concentrating instead on his career.
“We gotta get you a woman, then,” Thad continued.
“I don’t need one,” said Sebastian with a chuckle. “At least not a girlfriend.”
Ulf looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t mind”—Sebastian chose his words carefully—“a female friend. Platonic, just to do things with since I’m new to New York, you know?”
“Platonic?” Ulf thrust his head forward in disbelief. “What are you, one of those celibate weirdos or something?”
“What are you, a dick?” Jason shot back at him.
“In my opinion—” Eric started.
“Which no one gives a damn about, but go ahead anyway,” Jason interrupted.
“It’s impossible for a heterosexual man and woman to have a platonic friendship. It just is,” Eric insisted.
“You’re wrong,” countered Sebastian. “I have a friend back in Russia named Valerie. We’re very good friends. We’ve never been in the least bit attracted to one another.” Which was true. Of course, they’d known each other since they were five, but Sebastian saw no reason to mention that.
“Is she a dog?” Ulf asked.
Eric rolled his eyes. “How ’bout we make a deal? I’ll cover your tab if you don’t say another word for the rest of the night.”
“Jerk,” Ulf muttered.
Sebastian hesitated a moment, then decided to ask his friends’ advice. “How should I try to find a girl friend? Someone who might be willing to explore the sights with me?”
David Hewson drained his beer. “Post a personal ad on Craigslist. You’ll probably get a gazillion responses.”
“Yeah, from women who say they just want to be friends, but are really hoping it will turn into a romance,” said Thad.
“You ever been on Craigslist?” Jason asked him.
Thad twisted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, but I’ve heard that’s not uncommon.”
“Yeah, and I’ve heard if you click your heels three times, you’ll be back in Kansas,” said Eric sarcastically. He regarded Sebastian. “Try Craigslist. What have you got to lose?”
Two
Lennie’s excitement over being in New York had transformed itself into love in just seven short days. Classes were slated to begin two weeks after her arrival, giving her time to get her bearings. Subway map in hand, she’d already figured out how to get from her aunt’s place to FIT. She’d visited the Empire State Building, and roamed around Greenwich Village, losing herself in its wonderfully narrow, twisting streets. She’d also been accompanying her aunt to the Hart, and already felt part of their “family.” She felt especially tight with Christie, probably because they were close in age. It was nice to have already made a friend.
Lennie was at the Hart solo tonight—Aunt Mary was home sick with a cold. She sat at the bar for a while, chatting with Christie and listening to PJ Leary prattle on about the novel he was trying to sell (something about leprechauns and magic, talking salmon). Lennie was fascinated at first, but after ten minutes, her eyes started glazing over. Eventually, she removed herself to a small table for two across from the bar so she could go through all the text messages from friends up in Saranac Lake. She was engrossed in a message from her sister, Lauren, when the door of the Wild Hart opened, causing a small breeze to sweep into the room. Lennie glanced up. Standing there was an incredibly good-looking man, his dark brown eyes intently scouring the pub. When his eyes lit on Lennie, he cocked his head questioningly, a small smile of uncertainty playing across his lips. Lennie smiled back. He looked familiar. It took her a minute to place him, but then she remembered: he was one of the hockey players who’d been at the Hart last week.
He obviously took her smile as some sort of sign because he approached her table, extending his hand. “Hello, I’m Sebastian. Are you new to New York?”
“Yes, I am.”
He looked relieved. “I thought you might be.”
Lennie was taken aback. How did he know that?
“I’m Lennie Buckley.”
“Nice to meet you, Lennie. May I buy you a drink?”
“Sure.” He was forward, but Lennie liked it. She was glad Aunt Mary wasn’t here; if she were, she’d probably throw a fit at the sight of Lennie sitting alone with one of the “brutish” hockey players.
“What would you like?” Sebastian asked politely.
“A beer would be fine. Sam Adams?”
“Good choice. I’ll be right back.”
Lennie nodded, watching him as he crossed to the bar and placed his order with Jimmy. Perhaps he was one of the hockey players whose eyes she had felt on her when she walked past their table last week. Maybe he knew she was new to the city because he’d seen Aunt Mary walking her around and introducing her to everyone. That had to be it.
She was struck again by how handsome he was. Lovely, thick, dirty blond hair, and those eyes—intense, yet slightly guarded at the same time. His Russian accent made him even more attractive. She’d met a couple of Russian guys when she was in Europe; they were all very polite and well dressed, priding themselves on their appearance. A little bit cocky too. She caught Christie looking at her, her right eyebrow raised inquisitively. Lennie shrugged and turned up her palms as if to say, “You got me.” “Later,” Christie mouthed.
Sebastian returned to the table with two bottles of Samuel Adams. He looked almost shy as he touched his bottle to hers. “Za vashe zdorov’ye. It means ‘To your health.’ ”
Lennie smiled, charmed. “To your health too.”
Sebastian took a sip of his beer, then looked embarrassed. “Please forgive me—I forgot to ask if you wanted anything to eat.”
Lennie loved his politeness. “I’m fine. But if you want something, go ahead.”
“No, I’m fine as well.” He ran a hand through his hair, relaxing. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Lennie smiled again, intrigued. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she let him continue talking.
“I thought you might change your mind. After all, it can be awkward meeting strangers, especially since we haven’t even talked on the phone, only e-mailed.” He took another sip of beer. “I was a little uneasy about going on Craigslist to find a woman who was new to the city like I was, and just wanted to be friends. But when I saw you called yourself ‘New to New York’ and read your e-mail, so friendly and simple, I thought, ‘Ah, now here’s someone I could see spending time with.’ And here you are.”
“Yup, here I am.” He thinks I’m someone else. Lennie knew she should tell him that he’d made a mistake, but she didn’t want to. She was intrigued that he was new to the city, just like her, and wanted to explore it with someone who was also new in town. And he was hot.
Of course, if the person who’d agreed to meet him showed up, she was screwed, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, it was kind of fun playing with him.
“I like your accent,” Lennie told him.
“What accent?”
They both laughed. Lennie had to be careful what she asked him about. She had no idea what he’d revealed to the real “New to New York,” or what the woman had revealed to him.
Sebastian rolled his beer bottle between his hands. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know that I didn’t already tell you?” Lennie replied carefully.
“How long you’ve been here, what brought you here …” There was that look in his eyes again: friendly but intense. Probing. Lennie felt herself responding to it as a mild current of heat made the circuit of her body. She was definitely attracted to him.
Lennie filled him in on the basic details of why she was in New York, figuring that too much info might tip him off to her being an impostor. Every time the pub door opened and a woman walked through it, she held her breath. So far, so good.
He was easy to talk to. She was nervous at first that he might think she was some kind of a flake, but no: he seemed really intrigued by the time she’d spent in Europe, and impressed that she was going to FIT. He was thrilled she liked hockey, as well as skiing and skating. With his chin resting comfortably in his palm, he never once looked bored. She was in no way bored, either, when he told her about himself.
“I was raised in western Siberia, in a very mountainous region. That’s where I learned to ski.”
“And hockey?” Lennie asked.
Sebastian looked sentimental. “I started playing when I was four. My father was my coach for many years.” Sentimentality turned to pride. “I started playing in the Kontinental Hockey League when I was sixteen. Have you ever heard of it?”
“No, but I take it it’s a big deal.”
“A very big deal. It’s Russia’s version of the NHL.”
“When did you come here? To the States?”
“I just got here. I’m playing for the Blades. One of the best teams in the league, you know.”
“I do know.” She found herself fighting disappointment as she reminded herself that he’d placed the ad on Craigslist specifically looking for friendship, and nothing more.
The evening flew, and much to Lennie’s relief, no one had turned up claiming to be “New to New York.”
“So.” For the first time all night, Sebastian looked a little shy. “Would you like to do something next Sunday? Maybe take a sightseeing tour on one of those buses? Unless you think that’s too corny.”
“No, I would love it.” She loved doing touristy stuff. In London she’d taken a tour of the Tower. In Paris she’d gone on one of those boat rides on the Seine.
Sebastian looked pleased. “I’ll find out where the tour starts and meet you there, yes?”
Lennie nodded as they exchanged cell numbers. “What do I owe you for the beer?”
Sebastian looked mystified. “Nothing. On me.”
“That’s not right. I mean, we’re friends. It’s only right I should contribute.”
“Next time, maybe,” he said. He came round the table and pulled out her chair for her like a true gentleman. “It was very nice to meet you,” he said. “Shall I see you home? It’s very late.”
Lennie was charmed. “No, I can manage. I live right around the corner.”
He struck his forehead lightly. “That’s right. With your aunt. Please excuse my forgetting.”
“I forgive you,” she teased. “Good luck with your games this week. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
Sebastian laughed lightly. “I hope so.”
For a split second, Lennie thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but instead he took her hand and squeezed it warmly, causing her heart to sink with disappointment just the tiniest bit. “I’ll see you Sunday. I think it will be fun.”
“Me too.”
“Good night, now.”
“Good night.”
Lennie watched him go, the handsome, intriguing, polite, athletic, charming man with whom she was now “friends.” You just never knew, she marveled. She’d come in here to pass time, and the evening had ended with a social outing next weekend. Amazing.
“Hereone week and you’re already picking up guys, huh?”
Lennie chuckled at Christie’s remark. The minute Sebastian left, Christie wasted no time in frantically waving Lennie over to the bar, greeting her with a single command: “Spill.”
“Nothing to spill about. And PS, I don’t pick up guys.”
Christie was alone behind the bar, cleaning up. Jimmy O’Brien was “dead on his feet,” which was totally understandable, given his age. Still, Christie confided in Lennie that she wondered if Jimmy was just “sticking it to her.” Jimmy was a retired cop. According to Christie, there had always been antagonism between the FDNY and the NYPD. The cops thought the firefighters had it too easy, sitting around “on their asses at the firehouse until called out to a fire,” while they, the cops, were always out on the street, facing down danger. Jealous, Christie told her. She and Jimmy frequently traded snarky remarks. The regulars loved it.
The regulars … Hell’s bells, thought Lennie. She’d already figured out the Hart was such a hive of gossip that PJ and The Mouth would tell her aunt she’d spent the night chatting away with one of the hockey players.
“What’s the deal with you and the hottie?” Christie asked.
“God, isn’t he?” Lennie agreed. “He’s new to New York. I’m new to New York. We’re just going to hang out together. That’s it.”
Christie snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because I was watching you two. You seemed so, I don’t know, connected.”
“Really?” Lennie was pleased.
“Yeah, really. So, what did you find out about him, apart from the fact he’s a hot hockey player for the Blades?”
Lennie told Christie all about Sebastian, trying not to sound like a breathless teenybopper.
