“You qualify in two days, right?” Demi's across from me on the train as we zoom to Seoul for the night. The train is crazy fast and even for an adrenaline junky like myself, it's a tad scary.

“Yeah.”

“Nervous?”

“Never.” I manage to say it with a straight face.

“Liar.”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

She smiles, kicking me lightly with her foot. She's wearing leggings, boots, and a long sweater. Her makeup is a heavier than it usually is tonight, and she's replaced her lip balm with lipstick. That kind of upset me. I like to explore all the flavors of the rainbow on her.

“You're always hitting and kicking me.” I push my boot back on her leg, nudging it.

“Does it bother you?” She digs in her purse, pulling out a pack of gum.

“I'm used to being messed with. Two older brothers.”

She continues to watch me, obviously expecting more information. “And...”

I raise my eyebrows. “And that's it. I'm the youngest of three.”

“Mom and Dad?”

“Mom.”

Like she's done many times, she studies me, like she's trying to figure out all the answers to what makes me tick. “Okay.” She lets it go, which somewhat surprises me, but like she said last night, she doesn't expect a whole lot from me. I’ve always appreciated that from women, but with this one, it bothers me.

“I'm it in my family,” she says.

“Quit after you huh?”

“Because you can’t improve upon perfection.” Her lips turn up and she tucks one side of her hair behind her ear.

“Well, mine kept trying and they never achieved perfection.”

“Oh, I don't agree with that.” Her foot kicks my leg again. “They have a gold medalist.”

It's not the bragging rights my family enjoys, it's my money.

I switch seats, sitting down next to her. “Wanna make-out?”

She draws back, her head knocking on the train wall. “There are people around.”

I take in everyone around us. The closest couple has their backs to us. “No one's around.” I slide closer and her hand lands on my chest.

“Trying to distract me?”

I nuzzle my head into the crook of her neck and she moans. “Is it working?” I whisper in her ear.

“Maybe.” She wraps her hands around my neck and turns her body, welcoming me into her personal space.

My lips move up her neck, my tongue searing a path to her earlobe where my teeth find the small piece of delicious flesh to nibble on.

“You're bad news,” she jokes, her fingers playing with my hair.

Capturing her lips with mine, my hand glides up the outside of her leg, lifting both over my lap and I slide a tad closer.

I lick the seam of her lips and she opens for me, her tongue pushing into my mouth and when our tongues touch, an electric current courses through my body. I worried that Demi would still be standoffish with me when we were hanging out. The last Winter Classics we kept it strictly to the bedroom. We would meet up at one of our rooms, screw and then go our separate ways. There were no hockey games, no trips to Seoul, and there definitely wasn't any talking about our private lives.

With my hands on the curves of her body, our tongues entwine in a slow, easy kiss. I can't help feeling like things are different this time. Like we're developing a friendship, accepting each other and actually enjoying each other's company.

I close the kiss, my head moving back a little to see her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. All I want is to move back in, stay glued to her for the entire train ride. Truth is I'd rather rent a hotel room and forget the show, especially after discovering that even though she’s not wearing her ChapStick, her lipstick does, in fact, have a flavor. “Strawberry.”

She smiles, her hand still rubbing along the back of my head. “Bingo.”

With her legs over mine and her hand in my hair, to an outsider, we look like a couple. That's exactly why I mentally reprimand myself for initiating the make-out session. I can't lead her on and I won't hurt her.

“Make-out session done so soon?” she asks, swinging her legs back in front of her and off my lap.

Maybe she's on the same page as me. If she liked me that way she would’ve stayed in that position to be close to me. I've had girls who couldn't accept that we'd be nothing more than fuck buddies. They usually keep their hands on me as much as possible, using the excuse of sex when in reality they're looking for the affection a boyfriend would give them.

Demi pulls out her phone, her thumbs going a mile a minute with a smile on her face like it really makes no difference if our make-out session ended or not. Huh.

---

The game show was kind of a bust, probably because neither of us speak Korean and we're used to reading subtitles at home.

“I thought it'd be better,” Demi says as we exit the early taping.

“Maybe if we understood it more.” I open the door for her and we walk out to the streets of Seoul.

“True. Why did I think they'd have subtitles on a screen for us or something?”

“Let's chalk it up to our brains are fried from training.”

She hits me with her shoulder. I'm really starting to like these little hits now and then from her. “Yep, let's go with that.”

My stomach growls and she glances over.

“Hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Me, too.”

She looks around. “What do Koreans eat for a late breakfast?”

I try to spot something familiar. “Let's start walking. There has to be something.”

She starts down the sidewalk and I quickly catch up to her. We're in the middle of a shopping area when I see a line for a street vendor.

“Let's go there.”

She looks back at me, her eyebrows crinkled and raised. “Um...”

I tug on her jacket. “Come on. Live dangerously.”

She willingly comes, although begrudgingly. “Do you eat from the vendors in New York City?”

I position us in line, a few people turning their heads and giving us the up and down, probably assuming we could be athletes for the Winter Classics. No one asks us though.

“I don't go to New York very often, but I would.”

For the first time in the last few days, the Demi I always assumed she was appears. She's apprehensive, on edge and definitely isn't game for eating from a cart in the middle of Seoul.

Leaning in close, the scent of strawberry from the new layer of ChapStick she applied when we got out of the game show building awakens my sexuality. “It wouldn't be this crowded if it was poison.”

Usually that line would earn me a little slap in the stomach, but instead, her hands stay tucked in her jacket. She gives me a quick nod.

I tug on her jacket again, stepping out of line. “Come on.”

She doesn't move.

“We'll go somewhere you're more comfortable with.”

One guy leaves with five sandwiches wrapped in paper.

“I'm good. Let's just get this, but then I'm torturing you while I shop.”

I stare up at the big mall in front of us, my body already feeling limp from exhaustion.

“Anything but shopping.”

She smiles, and that timid Demi leaves briefly until we're standing in front of the street vendor again.

“Four Tost-u.” I raise four fingers in case the guy doesn't understand English. I really meant to learn Korean before this Classics, but time kind of got away from me.

The man hands us four of the sandwiches, I pay and leave the rest for a tip.

“Kamsa-Hamnida,” Demi says, bowing her head to the man.

“Chaman-hey-yo,” he says back, a grin tipping the corners of his mouth in a surprised and appreciative manner.

We walk to a nearby bench, with only one spot open so I motion for Demi to sit.

“You speak Korean?” I ask, handing her a sandwich.

“Jom.” She places her hand up with her fingers slightly apart.

“I should’ve known.” I take a huge bite of my sandwich. Delicious.

She laughs, staring at the sandwich like it's a cow's tongue or something. “Should have known what?” She picks up the sandwich and my laugh threatens to spill out as she slowly brings it to her mouth with a scared expression.

“That you'd learn Korean before coming.”

She nibbles a bite. “Just between training.” She chews and then swallows the breadcrumb she ate.

“What do you do anyway?” I ask. “Like for fun.”

The sandwich sits in her lap and she stares out at the street like it holds the answer I'm asking for.

She shrugs. “The usual, go out with my friends, movies, bars. Probably the same things you do.”

“I doubt that.” I ball up my first sandwich wrapper and shoot it into the nearby trashcan. “Three points.” I murmur.

I unwrap my second sandwich and I take a big bite.

“Why do guys do that? Have to shoot a basket every time they throw something away?”

I laugh, chewing and looking down at her. “Because it's fun,” I mumble, covering my mouth.

She brings the sandwich back up to her lips and I wait for her to take a second bird bite. “I'll have to take your word for it.” This time she takes a normal sized bite.

“No, you don't.” I offer my hand, crunching the second sandwich wrapper into a ball.

She accepts my hand with her free one.

“Here.” I place the wrapper in her hand.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Humor me.” I eye the wad of paper.

She takes another bite of her sandwich and then throws the paper and it hits the side of the trashcan. “See, stupid.”

“You're just upset that you didn't score a point.” I jog over and get the wrapper from the ground to bring it back. I take a seat beside her and hold out my hand.

She doesn't hold out her hand this time but rather stares at mine. “It was on the street.”

“Yeah, it was. We'll sanitize your hands after.” I look down at her purse. “I'm sure you have a bottle or two.”

She scoffs and hip checks me. Good, we're back to touching.

I hold the paper in the air to drop it and she finally puts her hand out.

“Try to arch it more.” I imitate a basketball throw.

She purses her lips, handing her sandwich to me.

“The competitor is coming out now.”

She ignores me, crunching the paper in both of her hands. Her tongue licks her bottom lip and she throws it. She's got a good arc and it goes into the trashcan.

“Impressive.”

She acts like she's waving off my compliments, but I see her smile. Then she opens up her purse and grabs a small bottle of sanitizer.

I stand there, holding her sandwiches. She looks over at me with those gorgeous green eyes of hers. I don’t mention that I was right about the sanitizer. Then she grabs her sandwich, finishes eating it, crumples up the paper and throws it again into the trashcan. A perfect three points.

“Addictive, huh?”

She shrugs, and I hand her the last sandwich.

“Nah, you can have it.”

“Split it?” I offer, tearing it in half.

“Sure.”

I not only taught her how to throw a three-pointer into a trashcan, but proved to her that street food isn't that bad. My skills and experiences might be different than hers, but it feels nice to show her a new thing or two.

Outside of the bedroom that is.