Page 45 of The Truth of Our Past

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 på taketwhich 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 offotboll. 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.

Chapter nineteen

Von

Alec insists on taking me on an inspiration tour today since he has the day off. My confession about my fears surprised me, but I guess it shouldn’t.

He has shared some of his past with me, and I can trust him. I rarely let new people into my life––he’s an exception.

I was hoping last night would end with us in bed together. I’m trying not to be grumpy, especially after my sister offered me advice that I found both insulting and eye-opening.

I’ve never in my life had to put effort into dating. By the time I was fifteen, I was playing with the academy for our international team. If I found someone attractive and if my schedule permitted it, we’d date. But traveling to make the Swedish international team and then playing in the PremierLeague left little time for relationships. My sister pointed out that my partners made the sacrifices, and I did whatever thehelveteI wanted.

Perspective is everything. I thought I was attentive, caring, and loyal. Loyalty is the only quality I consistently maintained. I would never cheat. So I achieved the lowest level of a good boyfriend. According to my sister, I haven’t been willing to reach higher than basement level. Admitting she is right hurts.

But I can be better in the future. In the meantime, I can practice good boyfriend behavior on Alec. He’s not interested in a relationship, but I can practice putting someone else’s needs ahead of mine. Maybe when I go back home, I’ll be ready for a real relationship.

“You’re scowling as if you want to go on a murderous rampage.” Alec’s lips turn up in a half smirk.

I unclench my jaw. “Sorry.” For some reason dating a Swede who isn’t expressive like Alec doesn’t appeal to me.

“You don’t have to do this. I thought it’d help—”

I interrupt. “No, it will help. A day with you.” And that is one hundred percent the truth.

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