You Can't Ruin Christmas Page 3

  “Only two and a half hours?” I say, gaping at him. “Sven, we were up drinking late last night! I’m hung over!”

  “Then have electrolytes.” He tosses me a Gatorade. “No excuses.”

  I move to open the bottle, but my hands are still useless from just waking up. I’m not weak—but I am literally half-asleep right now. I hold it back out to him. “Can you…?” I mumble.

  He sighs as he takes it from me, and effortlessly twists the cap before handing it back. Then I notice the label.

  “Gatorade Zero?”

  “You had enough sugar last night,” he explains.

  I roll my eyes as I sip the beverage. He somehow looks extremely well-slept and well-put together for this early in the morning. Since I have been mostly working from home lately, I haven’t been paying too much attention to the clock, and only getting presentable if I need to go to the store to grab something. I’ve also been pulling really long hours, and sometimes even all-nighters, so I’m sure I look as frazzled as I feel. I just want to pout and ask him to get into bed with me, so I can use him as a pillow for the next two and a half hours instead of getting up.

  But that sounds lazy, and I don’t want him to think I’m lazy.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask him, yawning.

  “We are going to warm up your muscles, and take it slow. Burn off some of the calories that you ate last night, and engage muscles that you didn’t know you had in a full-body workout.”

  I lift my eyebrows. I am trying very hard not to say that I can think of another way to warm up my muscles and burn off all the calories I ate last night, if he will just join me under this blanket…

  “It’s your first time, so we’re going to test your overall strength, and I’m going to make some notes about your fitness levels and your one-rep max.”

  “My what?”

  “We don’t have much time,” Sven says, glancing at his watch. “I know it seems like a lot, but two hours will fly by. Should I give you a few minutes to change into something more comfortable, or do you want to work out in your pajamas? I have some equipment in the loft, so we could start here if you didn’t want to go to the gym.”

  “I should probably freshen up,” I say, remembering that I never removed my already-smeared makeup before bed. I probably look like yesterday’s trash, left out overnight and cooked in the sun, with flies buzzing around it. I can also feel that my hair resembles a bird’s nest atop my head. Not a cute bird’s nest, either. A haphazard, insane bird’s nest, made by a bird with no artistic talent. The bird that none of the other birds want to live near, because he brings down the curb appeal of the neighborhood with his horrible excuse of a nest.

  Sven steps closer hesitantly, moving around the bed. “Mary, if you’re really not feeling well, we can skip the workout today, and start tomorrow.”

  His face looks so concerned and sensitive. I am about to tell him that would be awesome. I am so tempted to reach out to grab his wrist and coax him into bed with me. I inwardly remind myself that I can’t do that, because this is the bed I used to share with his brother, and that’s weird. Also, I need to actually get to know Sven, and make sure that I’m not just starved for penis and seeking a rebound.

  But as he steps closer, my gaze slides down his body.

  What the… Is he wearing spandex?

  My eyes grow wide as they settle on the giant bulge at his crotch. I am suddenly feeling very awake. I try to resist the smile spreading over my face. Gotta love European men and their fashion choices. Nothing has been left to the imagination. Absolutely nothing.

  Throwing the blankets off my legs, I declare, “No way. I’ve got plenty of energy. Like you said, no excuses.” I take a sip from the Gatorade while rising to my feet. “I just need a quick shower, then I’ll be ready to get my Body by Sven.” While staring at Sven’s incredible body. And sneaking many glances at his crotch. And fantasizing about all the things I want to do with what’s under his spandex.

  “Good,” he responds. “I’ll be waiting for you on the couch. Don’t take too long getting ready—no point in being too clean when we’re about to get dirty.”

  Oh my gosh. I nearly spit out my hangover Gatorade. Everything he says makes the teenage girl in me giggle madly, but I try to restrain myself. I am sure that the corner of my lips quirk upward to reveal what I am thinking about his words.

  He’s halfway out the door when he realizes what he’s said, and he turns back to me, holding up a finger to correct himself. “I mean—sweaty. We’re probably going to get sweaty, not dirty. I mean, but sweaty is dirty. So we will be getting sweaty and dirty together. But in a clean way. And… I should probably go.”

  I wait until he leaves my bedroom, and I do burst out in giggles like I’m twelve.

  This is going to be fun.

  Chapter Five

  Okay, so Sven is kind of a genius.

  He wasn’t kidding when he said that he had personalized the workout. He printed out a full-color picture of Sebastian’s face and placed it on the punching bag before giving me kickboxing lessons. He said horrible things about Sebastian to get me riled, up, and make me dig deep for energy and strength I didn’t know I had, in an effort to pummel the image of my ex into dust.

  That first morning, I wasn’t at the top of my game. I was definitely feeling the effects of the hangover, and a little worried that Sven wouldn’t want to keep training with me once he saw how pathetic I was. The laws of physics dictate that a five-foot-four female is going to be able to lift significantly less weight than a six-foot-something male. Something I learned the hard way, going to the gym with my brother many years ago, where he tirelessly made fun of me.

  But now that I’m older, I’m over it. I’m not trying to lift as much as Sven. I accept that it would be humanly impossible, unless I get bitten by a radioactive spider or something. I’m trying to lift as much as I possibly can, and become a stronger, better, healthier me. The early morning workouts were not the best time for peak energy levels, though, with my erratic schedule, and putting in some extra hours working on Sven’s website. We started fitting in workouts at all hours of the day, whenever we both had some spare time and energy.

  I have been trying my best, and after drooling over his spandex-swathed package, I started mentally running over my closet in my mind, and thinking about the most seductive workout gear I own. It wasn’t much, so I actually went out and purchased extremely tight-fitting and curve-hugging, butt-lifting and boob-plumping workout gear, in an attempt to tease him as much as he was teasing me.

  I believe it’s starting to work, because during one of our home-workout sessions, when he was correcting my posture as I was doing squats, he abruptly had to pause and turn to leave. I was confused when he walked into his bedroom and shut the door forcefully. But when he returned a moment later wearing baggy gym shorts, I felt a thrill of victory course through me. I think that maybe there was some kind of reaction he needed to conceal, if you know what I mean. Below the belt. Something that would have been way too visible through the spandex.

  My huge smile betrays that I know anyway, and Sven frowns.

  I wonder if that happens to him often during workouts? I mean, he wouldn’t wear the spandex on a regular basis if all his clients gave him raging boners, right? Would it be too presumptuous or arrogant to think that it’s rare for someone to have that effect on him, or that he only feels that way about me? Yes—I think that’s extremely wishful thinking, but it makes me happy anyway.

  For the most part, Sven has been extremely professional. Too professional. So it is exciting to see a few cracks of humanity in the otherwise impenetrable armor of this gym god. My body has been starting to respond to the exercises, and after a few sore days when I could barely move, I’m starting to feel my muscles. I imagine I can start to see some more tone and shape underneath the softness of my skin, but it might be just my imagination. Either way, my confidence is already growing by leaps and bounds, and knowing that I’ve had
this effect on Sven is only helping.

  But he seems annoyed about it. He glares at me a little, as if to let me know that two can play that game. All of a sudden, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head, revealing a set of washboard abs that you could probably grate cheese on. Is that why they call it being shredded?

  I’m sure he catches me staring with my mouth slightly open in awe, because he smiles and casually stretches, while flexing at the same time. As if he needs to flex anything. That’s just not fair.

  “I was getting a little hot in those clothes,” he explains, grinning at me. “We’re not at the gym, so maybe I can wear something a little more casual, if you don’t mind.”

  “Uh, I don’t mind,” I say, trying to gather my composure and stop staring like I have never seen a shirtless man before in my life. My fingers twitch with the desire to touch him, and run my hands over the curve of every carefully sculpted muscle. And maybe press my body up against his and wrap my legs around him to feel the warmth of what was happening under that spandex…

  He lifts a neon green piece of rubber. No, not that kind of rubber, although I wish it was. “Resistance bands,” he explains. “I figure that you’ve got some of the basic bodyweight exercises down pretty well, so we can add these for an extra challenge.”

  “Sure,” I answer, dutifully lifting my feet so he can slide the green band over my ankles and up my legs, to rest around my knees. I’m sure he’s not intending to let his hands caress the sides of my calves like that, and rest a little too long pressed against my thighs.

  “Try ten squats with the resistance band around your legs like this,” he says, stepping away.

  I comply and try the exercise as he watches. He nods.

  “Okay, now get onto your hands and knees,” he says.

  I feel a shiver run through my stomach. “My hands and knees?”

  “We’re going to do fire hydrants,” he explains, “to work your hip abductors.”

  Trying to hide my reaction to being ordered around by him, I lower my body to the floor, bent over on all fours in a very vulnerable-feeling position.

  “Raise your left leg away from your body,” he instructs, gently guiding my knee. “Here, let me adjust the position of the bands.”

  When he kneels behind me, I can’t exactly see what he’s doing as he repositions the resistance bands properly for this exercise. But I can feel his hands on me, tantalizing everywhere he touches, and I can think of a few things I want him to do to me in this position. I can feel his baggy shorts brush against me as he moves, and even that whisper of a touch awakens my nerves. I am tempted to move back a little to see if I can connect with his body and feel him against me, but I don’t know how I would possibly explain such wanton behavior.

  When I feel his hand on the small of my back, it sends heat right through me. My breathing is getting a little heavy, and I try to conceal it, so he can’t see how flushed I am.

  “Arch your back a little more to engage the muscles,” he says softly.

  He’s telling me to arch my back. To stick my butt up in the air even more, and basically give him an excellent view of everything I’ve got going on down there, underneath my tight, pale grey leggings.

  Exhaling to gather my composure, I follow his instructions and complete the exercise, with his hand on my back the whole time. Imagining him staring at my crotch while I’m moving my legs apart like this. My thighs are burning, and the workout is challenging, but the friction of the movement combined with the eroticism of the position is causing me to be more than a little turned on by this.

  “Switch to the other side,” Sven tells me after a few more reps, and is it my imagination, or does his voice sound a little husky and low? Is that his bedroom voice? Does he still have an erection?

  Because I am flexing all my muscles and arching my back and lifting my butt so hard that I feel like if I get any more aroused, it’s going to start soaking through the light-colored fabric of these workout pants. So he better have a raging boner—I have never had to work so hard to try to seduce someone in my life.

  “Your form is really good,” he says, and his throat is tight and hoarse.

  His hand slips a few inches from my lower back to just rest gently on the curve of my hip. I inhale sharply but I do not falter in performing the exercise.

  “Whoa!” says a female voice. “Am I interrupting something?”

  I jump slightly, and look up to see our roommate, Heather, has just walked in with her suitcase. She is a flight attendant who only comes home for a few days each month, and of course, this is the moment she walks in.

  “Hey Heather,” I say weakly. “I’m getting my Body by Sven.”

  “Fire hydrants,” Sven explains, gesturing to my position. “It strengthens the abductors through a motion that resembles a dog lifting his leg to pee on a fire hydrant.”

  Oh my god. No. I quickly turn over so that my butt is not in Heather’s face, although my cheeks are quite red. I also close my legs, and I’m pretty sure I am never opening them ever again.

  “I see,” she responds, nodding with a wicked smile. “You seem like a very hands-on personal trainer, Sven. Maybe I’ll have to book a session, sometime.”

  “Sure!” he responds, and I instantly feel annoyed and jealous at his enthusiasm. “My rates are on my website, which you can find on my Instagram. Mary made the website for me.”

  “I’m still working on the website,” I correct. “I mean, I polished it up a little, but I have some ideas to make it even better.”

  “Nonsense, it’s perfect,” Sven says.

  “I will check it out,” Heather says, as she heads for her room. But then she turns back and looks at us suspiciously. “Does Sebastian know about this whole—” She waves her hand in the air, gesturing at us instead of using words. “Personal training arrangement?”

  “Sebastian dumped me,” I explain to her. “For dozens of screaming hockey fans.”

  “Oh no,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry, babe. I guess he had one too many concussions out there on the ice, huh? But for what it’s worth, you look great! That is a hot-as-hell revenge body if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Thanks, Heather.”

  “I am exhausted and I need to crash,” she says. “But you kids have fun, and I’ll be wearing ear plugs, so don’t worry about making too much noise and waking me up.” She winks at us before moving through the door of her room.

  “We weren’t going to do anything noisy!” I call after her. “Maybe just the punching bag, but—”

  “No explanations needed!” she shouts. “You do you, Mary! Or you know, do whoever else you want to do! In doggy-style, fire-hydrant-style, or whatever!”

  “Oh my gosh,” I say, putting my red face in my hands to conceal my humiliation.

  Sven, on the other hand, is grinning.

  “Come on,” he says, offering me his hand to help me stand up. “Let me make you my special egg nog-flavored protein shake.”

  Taking his hand and rising to my feet, I am still blushing hard. “That sounds delicious.”

  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 spand
ex. 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.