Page 1 of Crease Collision

CHAPTER ONE

KAI

Glove hand up, step right, adjust…

Got it!

When I was a kid, catching a foul ball would have been a big deal, but now it feels like business as usual. I make saves like this all season. Habit doesn’t care if it’s August and I’m off the clock.

My heel slips on the concrete when I try to sit, and I tip backward into the row behind me. Perfect. This is how I trend. I can already see the caption: Condors goalie eats it at a ball game, can’t even stay on his feet.

I brace for the hard edge of a seat to slam into my back. Instead, strong hands catch me. I feel someone’s breath on my neck and a warm chest at my back, broad enough to lean on all day.

A man’s behind me. Hell yes, says the part of me that’s always up for some fun. Not in public, says the part that runs the rest of my life.

I should stand up, laugh it off, and turn the whole thing into a joke. That would be the right move, and I’m good at it.

But I don’t.

His grip tightens, and his breath brushes my neck again. I feel safe. The thought comes and goes before I can grab it. Here I am, in a crowded park, letting a stranger hold me up like it’s a thing I do.

It is not a thing I do.

“Are you planning to take the ball home, or just fall for it?”

I know that tone, snark with the safety off, like my teammates. Curiosity wins out, so I steady myself and turn to thank him.

That’s when I lose track of everything except what I see.

Holy shit.

He’s tall, with long honey-blond hair and eyes as blue as the fjords Mom and I saw in Norway. His pecs show off for me, twitching under a T-shirt that’s stretched tight across his chest.

It’s Thor, if Thor walked through the wrong gate at JFK and ended up at Empire Stadium. The smirk suits him, and so does the way he’s looking at me. If he’s trying not to flirt, he’s doing a terrible job.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“Nah.” I hand him the grin I usually save for my buddies. “Thanks for the save. Do you always catch strangers at ball games?”

His smirk warms into a real smile. “Only when they look like you.”

Not a hundred percent straight, apparently.

He has a slight accent. Scandinavian, if I had to guess. My mind races, speed skating on its imaginary rink. I let it happen because otherwise I’d realize I don’t want to stop talking to Thor.

“Sit down, guys.” A man two rows back is craning his neck to see around us.

“Want to come down here?” I ask Thor, nodding toward the empty seat next to me. “Better view.”

He laughs again, and damn, even that sounds flirty.

“I am not sure,” he says. “The view is already excellent when you are standing.”

I stare at him for a moment before it clicks. He’s talking about my ass.

My cheeks burn, and what the actual fuck? Since when do I blush? I rub my jaw as if that will help. Then I wink, something I do about as often as I blush. “Come on down. I’ll upgrade you.”

For a moment, I think it’s lost in translation. He’s looking at my face like he’s trying to memorize it.