Page 40 of Yule Know It When You See It
After tapping his pen against his desk twice, Axel rises and slides his hands into his pockets. “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be helping Rupert?”
“Yup.” I lift my chin high and glide to my desk, throwing all my belongings on it, and draping my jacket over the chair.
That deep, gravelly chuckle of Axel’s rumbles at my side. “Okay, so what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t keep focused. My mind was—elsewhere.” Fully aware of what I’m doing, I bend over my desk, taking the mouse in hand and wiggling it to wake up the screen.
Not disappointing, Axel’s gaze drops to my butt, sweeping a lazy line up my back. “Oh, yeah? Something distracting you?”
We haven’t talked about this. Haven’t spoken about public office displays of affection. Would Simone even condone fraternization in the workplace?
Turning to face him, I grip my desk’s edge. “Incredibly,” I breathe out, trying desperately not to surround it with a moan.
Axel stays put, but his eyes pan from my lips to my breasts and back to my face. “The fact we—haven’t typed a word for the story?”
His expressions and actions tell me his mind isnoton the story either, but this time, we’re not alone in the office. The thought has my gaze cutting to Axel’s desk, recalling how he’d sat on it with his legs wide open, beckoning me. I rub my nails down my throat until Axel clears his throat, snapping me back to reality.
“Yes, the story. Absolutely.” I nod once and return to the monitor, pulling up a Word doc. “Which one of us should type?”
Axel steps away, and I suppress a whimper from the empty feeling behind me when he’s no longer there. He turns seconds later, wheeling his desk chair to position beside mine. “I don’t need proof to know you’re the faster typist of the two of us. Do you mind?”
Grinning, I take a seat and crack my knuckles. “Not at all. But please tell me you’re not one of those types that use only two fingers on the keyboard?” I lift both index fingers and mime typing in mid-air.
“Thankfully, no. It’d take me forever and a day to write a column if that were the case. But I might do it now and again if writing a byline or something. Why risk hand cramps, right?” Axel splays his fingers and wiggles them.
I smile at him, and we pause, taking a moment to drink each other in with longing gazes. “I say we jump right into the start of the hockey game ten years later. Show our heroine at the game and smack the readers with the back story once she recognizes her ex on the enemy team.”
Axel sneaks a hand under the desk and, incognito, squeezes my thigh before retreating back to his lap. “Sounds good. Now, how close are her seats? You remember the first game we went to? That far back, even a little closer, would be hard to make out their faces.”
“Hm.” I rest my elbows on the desk and steeple my fingers, tapping them against my lips. “Even when we were super close at the Hawks game, the helmets, the visors over their eyes, and constant movement make it hard, too.”
“The way I see it—” Axel leans his forearms on my desk. Heat radiates from his skin like a roaring fire, and I find myself edging my elbow closer to siphon some of its warmth. “—you can either have them sitting directly behind the enemy bench—”
Confused, I cut him off. “Why would anyone want to sit behind theenemybench?”
“Mostly to heckle the team.” Axel snickers. “They like to beat on the glass, yell insults, try to distract the players.”
“Does that actually work?” I bump my foot against his beneath the guise of my desk.
He runs the tip of his boot up my calf, and my elbow rolls off the desk, making me yelp. Grinning at his victory, he moves his foot to a safe distance again. “Nah. You get immune to it after the first few games, and it becomes white noise. You also have so much adrenaline going, your singular focus zeroes in on the game itself.”
“Interesting,” I interrupted. “Sorry. What was the other thing you were going to say?” Without thinking it through, I pat his bicep. It’s so firm and bulky in my tiny, frail hand I have to physically push my chair away from him using my foot not to grope him further.
Axel’s gaze darkens, and he stares at the spot I touched before raking a hand through his hair as if he too needed to force himself to concentrate. “You could always have him and some other dude get into a fight. They tear off their gloves, whip off their helmets, and throw punches. They always show it on the jumbotron.”
My spine zips straight, and I bounce in my seat, already typing the opening paragraph. “He’d be unmistakable at that point. I love it. And a fistfight? That’s hot.”
Axel leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “Do women really find the idea of two guys beating the piss out of each other attractive?”
“Why not? It boils down to our ancestral roots and animalistic sides where the males fought each other to prove their worth for a mate.” I hit the period button with an exaggerated hand snap. “Did you ever get into a hockey fistfight?”
“Tons. I was a defenseman. Came with the territory.” He leans past me and points at the screen where I’d already written an entire first page. “Did you type all of that from our three-minute conversation?”
Tons? Axel Nord on skates, defending his team’s goal by physically fighting an opposing player? There’s no doubt in my mind Axel rarely lost, and the very idea of it has my knees pinching together.
“Hm? What? Yes. You’re inspiring. What can I say?” I rest my cheek in my hand and smile at him while batting my eyelashes.
He bops my nose with one finger and juts his head at the screen. “Let’s keep going then. We could have this whole thing done by end of business day.”
