Page 26 of Crease Collision

Oskar snores again, then jerks awake and turns his head. “Hi,” he croaks.

“Hi.”

He trails his fingers across my chest and smiles. Only a few inches separate us, and I can’t resist kissing him. This thing between us won’t last long, which means I’d better enjoy it while I can.

CHAPTER NINE

OSKAR

When I leave the hotel gym at noon, I have run six kilometers, lifted weights, and done enough crunches to make my abs sore. In the elevator back to my floor, I check my phone. Nothing.

Kai went home yesterday with a kiss and a promise to message me later. But he didn’t text last night and has not been in touch this morning. I don’t know what to make of his silence, so after I clean up, I will eat lunch and text him. Surely he has not decided to ignore me after only a few days.

While I am drying off after a shower, I remind myself we are nothing to each other officially. We have not dated, and this is not a marriage.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in navy blue shorts and a gray T-shirt, I leave the hotel. I shove my phone into my pocket only to check it twice during the walk to Times Square. Near Seventh Avenue, the smell of hot dogs overwhelms me. Hot dogs are popular back home, and today I can use some comfort food. I approach a kiosk where a shapely blonde woman is waiting.

Her face brightens. “Hi, handsome. What’ll it be?”

She is more attractive than I thought from across the street, and I do a quick double take. It has been a while since I was with a woman. Then Kai crosses my mind, and she becomes only another person selling hot dogs.

A few minutes later, armed with two “specials,” I sit on a nearby bench. Only one other person is there, a teenage guy slumped at the far end, texting with someone.

I open both hot dogs and arrange them beside me. It takes three tries before they look right. When they do, I snap a photo and attach it to a text message.

OSKAR: Hello beautiful man. I bought lunch and got one for you in case you are nearby.

After hitting send, I dig into a dog. It’s good, but midway through, he still has not responded. I check the message again to make sure it sent. It did. My stomach twists, but I force myself to eat.

He doesn’t answer until I am taking the last bite.

KAI: God, I haven’t had one of those in ages. They look so good.

I wipe my hands on a napkin and start typing.

OSKAR: Delicious. I will buy you one if you come to meet me.

My phone rings, a video call from Kai.

“I can’t believe you’re eating hot dogs,” he says as soon as we connect. “How can you do that and keep your amazing body?”

He’s grinning at me. His hair is styled nicely, and his button-up shirt makes me wonder if I have interrupted him in the middle of something important.

“I don’t eat them every day, but they remind me of home. We Swedes like hot dogs, or as we call them, korv med bröd.”

His lips twitch. “Say that again?”

“Korv med bröd?”

“I’m sorry, once more.”

“Korv med bröd. Sausage with bread.”

A blush colors his cheeks, and before I can react, he asks, “What’s your favorite hot dog in Sweden?”

“On flatbread with mashed potatoes, shrimp salad, cucumber salad, and anything else you want.”

He laughs, which makes me ridiculously happy.