Heat it Up: Off the Ice - Book One

Diversion Books
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Copyright © 2016 by Stina Lindenblatt
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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First Diversion Books edition June 2016
ISBN: 978-1-62681-873-6

To Muumu and Vaari.
Even though you’re in Heaven now, you’re always in my heart…

Forgiveness. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it, or if you say it five times fast, or even if you sing it in the shower to the beat of your favorite pop song. The meaning never changes. It’s that word most of us don’t even think about as we go through our day-to-day life. If someone bumps into us, we don’t have to yell “I forgive you” as the person hurries off.

No, saying the word is easy, but meaning it…now that can be tough. Sometimes it’s easier pretending. Pretending nothing is wrong and that you’re moving on with your life.

Pretending. That’s a much more interesting word.

I stare at the urinal, willing it to spontaneously clean itself. When it doesn’t (stupid urinal), I pull on the rubber gloves and let out a long breath. With the industrial strength cleaner, which reeks of pine and disinfectant, I scrub the urinals, thankful no one back home can see me. And for the first time since I arrived in Helsinki, doubt slips in. What was I thinking?

I was thinking it would be great to get away from the memories haunting me every day. Sure, I could have stayed in Minneapolis for the summer and hung out with my friends, maybe even landed an athletic-therapy internship. But when I saw the ad in Student Services for the overseas work-swap program, and saw Finland listed, there was no way I could
not
do it. It was like destiny.

Only I hadn’t imagined destiny would equal quality time with my new porcelain friends.

I finish the urinals, which are now clean enough to…I won’t say eat off, because I don’t think they’ll ever be that clean. But they’re shiny enough for Mr. Clean to give them his bald-headed stamp of approval.

Two guys walk into the bathroom. Awesome. I must’ve forgotten to put up the sign warning people that the bathroom’s closed. Their gazes sweep over my body, hidden beneath this hideous brown uniform. From the expressions on their faces, they have quite the imagination. I wouldn’t be surprised if my C-cup bra has magically transformed into a DD. My face grows hot under their scrutiny. They smirk at me and say something in Finnish, none of which I understand. Judging from their tone, they’re not commending me on a great job. Too bad. A little recognition would’ve been nice.

Note to self: guys are jerks no matter what country they live in. It must have to do with the Y chromosome, where the douchebag gene is located.

As I contemplate waving the disgusting mop in their faces to chase them out of here, a girl my age, wearing the same hideous uniform as me, strides into the bathroom. She glares at the guys and lets loose a rapid stream of Finnish that leaves them chuckling. But more importantly, they back away, wave, and exit the room. Maybe she’s my guardian angel.

Funny, I always imagined my guardian angel to be male. With hot abs.

“Hi,” she says. “Fanni told me you’d be in here and we should have lunch together. I’m Maija.” Relief washes through me at her ability to speak English, which sounds exotic buried in a Finnish accent.

I nod, having lost all ability to speak after not saying much in any language for the past week—with the exception of emails to Claire and my mom.
Earth to tongue. This is Houston. Will we have communication anytime soon?

“Sorry about those idiots,” Maija says.

“That’s fine. Believe me, guys aren’t any different where I’m from.”

She makes a face. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought it was only Finnish men who are idiots.”

I laugh. “No, I think it’s pretty much universal.”

“Will you be finished in half an hour?” she asks as I give her the standard once over. She’s about my height and slim, with dark blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Like me, she has a little makeup on, but nothing that will make us look glamorous—as if that would even be possible with the uniforms and sneakers. At my nod, she says, “I’ll meet you in the staff locker room at eleven. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

With the new incentive ahead of me, beyond escaping this room as soon as possible, I move quickly to finish up and meet Maija as planned. After we scrub our arms and hands with more soap than I normally use in a week, she takes me to the staff lunchroom.

The windowless room only has enough space for two long tables, so we’re forced to sit with four women who looked to be in their fifties. Maija introduces me and they smile. Or at least they smile until one speaks to me and Maija has to explain that I’m from California and I don’t speak Finnish. That wipes away their smiles. It’s not where I’m from that’s the problem. It’s that I don’t speak their language. I can’t contribute to the discussion, and Maija will have to translate. I don’t even bother to correct her and tell her I’m from Minnesota. There’s no point.

The women go back to their discussion. I take a bite of my open-faced cheese sandwich.

“I’ve always wanted to be a character actor at Disneyland. But not a Disney Princess,” Maija says. “Have you worked there?”

I shake my head. “I’m from Minnesota, not California. But I know what you mean. I wanted to be one when I was eight after we went there one summer.” The rest of the lunch break is spent with Maija asking me a gazillion questions about Minnesota.

“Why did you want to come to Finland to clean toilets?” she eventually asks.

Good question. “My mom’s from Finland but I haven’t been here in years. I thought it would be a great chance to spend time with my grandmother and get to know her better. Cleaning toilets was the added bonus.” I laugh at her shocked expression about the toilets. “I’m kidding. When I signed up for the work-exchange program, I thought I’d get to do something related to what I’m studying at college.” Especially when I found out I’d be working in a sports center. Silly me.

“What are you studying?”

“Athletic training.” At her confused expression, I clarify, “I want to work with athletes who’ve been injured so they can play again. I’d love to work with a sports team one day.” But it’s a tough field to get into.

“What about you?” I ask Maija.

“I’m studying economics.”

After lunch, and in preparation for Operation Scrub the Sauna, I pull on the oversized rubber boots in the women’s staff locker room. Normally, I’m fairly graceful. Normally, I’m not wearing boots made for a six-foot-tall man.

With a resigned sigh, I stumble down the hall to the saunas. The boots make an awkward thunk, thunk, thunk on the tile floor as I do my best not to trip and land on my face.

The facility is open until ten at night, but management doesn’t want to hire late-night cleaning staff, so instead the saunas are each closed for thirty minutes so we, or I, can clean and hose them down.

I spend the first half hour in the women’s sauna, sweating like I’m running a marathon. A drop of sweat trickles down my back and I don’t complain when the spray of water bounces off the top bench. It soaks through my uniform and bra. I’m tempted to turn the hose on myself and drench my entire body.

But that would be a little hard to explain should I bump into anyone on my way back to the staff room, especially my supervisor.

I finish the room and head for the men’s sauna, my damp skin cooling off in the short distance. I knock on the pine-wood door, wait for a three-count, then crack it open. A blast of stifling heat hits me, along with the heady pine scent, which smells a million times better than the fake stuff found in disinfectants. “Hi, is anyone in here?”

When there’s no reply, I inch the door open and peer inside just in case someone didn’t hear me.

Once I’ve made sure no one’s here, I push the door open and drag the hose in. A strand of hair falls from my ponytail and plasters itself against my face. I ignore it and get to work, placing the bucket with soapy water on the floor. It sloshes over the side and lands on my booted foot.

I spray the wooden benches, then grab the bucket and climb onto the first row. With a large brush, I scrub the upper bench. Even though it’s hot, I manage to sing a new song that’s been playing in my head over the past few days. It’s the closest thing I have to music, and as exciting as this job is (ha!), it’s better than nothing.

As I sing and scrub, I move my hips to the music in my head. I spray the bench, rinsing the soapy water. And like last time, the cold water splashes off the wood and hits my uniform. At the sound of laughter, I whip around in time to see two guys step into the sauna. Both are tall and covered in muscles, except the blond guy is much bulkier than his friend.

Both are naked.

Yikes! Without realizing what I’m doing, I shoot a blast of water at the dark-haired guy’s leg, barely missing his man parts.

“Fuck,” he says, echoing my sentiments, and jumps back. His friend bursts out laughing.

Fortunately, wooden railings separate me from the blond guy, and a two-by-four cuts across where
his
man parts are located.
Thank you, pine-tree gods, for your much-appreciated sacrifice! I owe you one.

With mortification laughing at me in the corner, I jerk the hose in that direction and fumble to turn off the water. My face heats up more, which is hard to believe given where I’m standing. The blond continues laughing and I keep my gaze locked on the nozzle. It’s not like I haven’t seen a naked guy before. I have. My ex-boyfriend. And…well, that’s it.

I finally manage to twist the traitor of a nozzle. If it had been on my side, it would’ve already cooperated and let me bail a minute ago. The water transforms from a blast to a spray. My breath comes out hard, almost a grunt.

The blond guy says something in Finnish.

“Sauna is closed,” I say in their language. Or at least that’s what I’m aiming for. God, what’s wrong with this stupid thing?

The dark-haired guy takes the nozzle out of my hand, unconcerned by his nakedness—not that I’m looking. “Newton’s third law of physics states that an object in motion will stay in motion if nothing acts against it.”

I startle at his American accent, but don’t wait to hear what else Newton has to say.

I bolt.

“Wait,” the dark-haired guy calls out.

The only other thing I hear as I escape through the door is the blond guy. “Dude, I told you women don’t like physics. It’s boring.”

Nik recounts what one boy said during training camp today. I laugh despite the growing ache in my leg. Nik’s too busy telling me what happened, he hasn’t noticed my slight limp. That, or he decided not to comment. As long as he doesn’t mention it to his uncle, things will be okay. I don’t want to risk my job. I live for coaching those boys and being on the ice again.