“You have a sister too, huh?”
“Yes, Liliya. She’s eight.” Since we were stopped at a light, I pulled the photo of her from my book and held it so Derek could see.
“She’s much cuter than my sister,” he said. “And probably much less annoying.”
I laughed. “I don’t know. I think your sister is pretty nice.”
He shook his head, accelerating again. “She’s nice, I’ll give her that. She’s just a little crazy.”
About twenty minutes later, he turned into a driveway next to a two-story brick house with a porch light on over a white front door. It was very nice, but it wasn’t the kind of house I’d pictured him in. Somehow I’d imagined something more modern and masculine for Derek—a condo with lots of glass and metal and sharp edges or something, rather than something traditional.
That’s ridiculous. You don’t know him at all.
He parked in the garage at the back of the yard, and I followed him to the back door. He opened it and stepped aside, as if to let me go first. I hesitated. It didn’t seem right to step inside someone's house before him, especially since I was an unexpected guest. I looked at Derek, and there was an awkward moment where neither of us knew what to do.
“Okay, then.” He walked in first and turned on the light, and I entered behind him.
The first thing I noticed when I entered Derek’s house was how good it smelled—fresh and clean, a little woodsy. I inhaled deeply as he moved around me to shut the door. “What’s that smell?” I asked. “It’s amazing.”
He looked confused for a moment and then he sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.” After setting his keys on a shelf, he removed his shoes and lined them up neatly against the wall next to a few other pairs. I left mine along the wall too and followed him into the kitchen.
He turned on the lights and gestured toward a round wooden table, which was surrounded by four chairs. “Take a seat. Let me just get some lights on and then I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You really don’t have to.”
He pinned me with a stare. “I know.”
My insides tightened. Is this what Ellen had meant by gruff? I kind of liked it—the intimidating look in his eye, the no-bullshit tone, the way he said how things were going to be and wouldn’t listen to arguments. It was sexy as hell.
Derek disappeared through an archway, and a light came on in the next room. I looked around, taking it all in. From the polished wood floor to the dark-stained cupboards, to the light stone counters to the glass backsplash tiles in different shades of green, the room looked like something from a magazine. And it was so clean! Everything shined—the stainless appliances, the marble counters, even the green apples in a bowl on the table. Were they even real? I was leaning over inspecting them when Derek returned to the kitchen.
“You’re probably hungry enough to eat plastic, but don’t eat that fruit.”
I laughed as I straightened up. “I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. This kitchen could be a movie set, it’s so perfect.”
“Thanks.” He went over to the big white sink and washed his hands. “It was quite a project, but I’m happy with the way it came out.”
“Did you do it yourself?” I asked, impressed.
“Most of it.” He rinsed the soap from his hands and dried them with a towel that had been folded on the counter. “Which was probably why it took so long, but I never trust anyone to do a good enough job. I’m a little bit of a control freak.”
I nodded. Ellen had said that exact same thing while we were waiting for him to arrive at the bar, but I didn’t think I should mention it. “Could I use the bathroom, please?”
“Sure. It’s right over there.” He pointed toward a door off the back hall.
“Thanks. Be right back.”
I went into the bathroom, pulled the door shut, and looked at myself in the mirror a moment, trying to imagine what someone like Derek saw when he looked at me. It wasn’t terribly encouraging. My hair was messy. My eyes were bloodshot. My face had the pale, sallow look of someone who hasn’t slept or eaten well in a couple days.
And my heart was beating faster than normal.
Good thing he couldn’t see that.
Five
DEREK
He seemed so young.
Maybe it was just because he’d needed rescuing tonight. But even beyond that, there was something youthful and endearing about him. The way he’d stared out the car window at those crumbling old theaters. The excitement in his voice when he talked about coming to California. The way he wasn’t being a dick about his bag being stolen at the bar. It made me feel bad that I’d grumbled so much about helping him out. Poor guy—what shitty luck he’d had, getting robbed when he’d barely gotten off the plane. He had to be exhausted as well as hot.
Hungry. I meant hungry.
Not that he wasn’t attractive. A person would have to be blind not to appreciate the perfect symmetry of his features. The vivid hue of his eyes. The chiseled jaw. It was an objective fact: as human beings go, he was nice to look at. No harm in admitting that. Nothing sinful about it. And as someone who was fitness conscious, I could see that he kept himself in good shape and appreciate the work it took. I didn’t have to feel bad about it.
Frowning, I concentrated on seasoning the strip steak I’d taken out of the fridge for him. I heated some oil in a pan, and when it was ready, I threw the steak on. It sizzled noisily.
I wondered how old he actually was. What he did for a living back in Russia. Whether he was single. How long he’d be here. What it was about life there that made him want to escape. The weather? The economy? The politics? I hadn’t been this curious about someone in a long time.
From around the corner, I heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on.
It felt a little strange to be alone in my house with another man. I liked to entertain and had friends over for movie nights or dinner parties pretty often, but I couldn’t think of one time it had just been me and another guy here hanging out. Most of my good friends were married now, and had been since I’d bought the house. I’d never even had a woman sleep over. Gabrielle and I had split before I got the keys.
I’d actually been on the verge of proposing when she’d seemed to snap, suddenly convinced I didn’t really love her. Of course, she didn’t see it as sudden—she claimed there had been distance between us for months, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Fragments of our final argument pummeled my brain like a hailstorm—her demands and accusations, my questions and pleas, and then finally, the sad dissolution.
Be honest for once.
Why are you doing this?
You don’t want me.
Don’t throw this away.
There’s nothing real here.
What do you want?
I want more.
I’ve got nothing more to give you.
I tried to fix it, tried to make myself into the man she wanted, tried to feel the things I was supposed to feel. In the end, I was numb. Exhausted. Empty.
Next time, I’d do better.
Frowning, I recalled the earlier disaster with Carolyn. She hadn’t seemed too bothered by it, but I was. There had to be something I could do to create some chemistry, but what? I went to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients for a salad—lettuce, tomato, cucumber, carrots, radishes. While I was slicing the tomato, Maxim came back into the kitchen, inhaling deeply.
“That smells so good. My mouth is watering.”
“Hope steak is okay.” I placed some greens on a dinner plate, added the tomato slices, and started slicing a radish. “I had one thawed out I was going to make for dinner tonight but I ended up going out.”
“I’d probably eat the plate you put it on, I’m so hungry, but yes. I love steak. This is so nice of you.”
I met his eyes only briefly and looked down at the cutting board again. Fuck. That blue. “I don’t mind. I like to cook.”
“I’m starting to fee
l glad my ride didn’t show up at the airport to get me. I would not be eating so well if he had.”
I finished the salad and turned the steak over. “So he just didn’t show?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. But I’m hoping it was only a miscommunication. Hey, could I charge my phone?”
“Yeah. I have a charger right there on the counter.” I pointed to where I meant, and he took his phone from his pocket and plugged it in.
“Thanks. I can’t believe I forgot mine.”
“It happens.” I noticed he was looking over my shoulder into the dining room, a curious look on his face. “Go on. You can look around if you want.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be too forward. But your house is so nice.”
“I’m sure. And thank you.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the small fridge under the counter. “I decided to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?”
“No, thanks. I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
“Something else?” I asked, pulling the corkscrew from a drawer. “Vodka?”
“I’m not really a vodka drinker either.”
“I thought everyone drank vodka in Russia.” I took a glass down from the cupboard and winced. “Sorry. That’s probably a stereotype.”
But he smiled. “Plenty of Russians drink vodka. It might be a generational thing.”
“How old are you?” I couldn’t resist asking as I yanked the cork from the bottle.
“Twenty-four.”
Twenty-four. God. I poured a lot of wine into my glass. A lot.
“I take it you’re a wine drinker?” he asked.
“Sometimes. I like whiskey too.” I set the bottle down and took the steak off the heat. “Go on and look around. This will be ready in a few minutes.”
He disappeared into the dining room, and I took a good, long drink.
Six
MAXIM
It was obvious Derek had good taste and took a lot of pride in his home. It wasn’t huge or overly luxurious, but it was beautiful and clean, and every single room had small touches that made it feel warm and welcoming. Like the kitchen, each room I saw could have been a Hollywood set.
The dining room walls were painted a soft blue-gray, and a shiny silver bowl full of white blooms rested on the long rectangular table. Beyond that was the living room, where thick white rugs covered the floor, and wide chairs and couches in neutral colors were arranged around a big ottoman. Lots of framed photographs stood on the white mantle over the room’s brick fireplace, and I walked over to look closer.
A picture of Derek and Ellen from their childhood made me smile. He looked about ten years old; she, maybe half his age. Another boy, a little shorter than Derek, stood between them, and I wondered if there was a third sibling. All three of them wore bathing suits and were smiling broadly, squinting into the sun. They were all missing at least one tooth.
There were more family pictures, taken at graduations and Christmases, and someone’s wedding—the other brother’s, perhaps? It looked like Derek might have been the best man. I wondered if Derek had ever been married, or if he had a girlfriend. He must. What guy at his age, who looked that good and was obviously kind, smart, and successful, would still be single?
“Food’s ready.”
At the sound of his voice, I turned. “I was just looking at your pictures. Can I ask you about them?”
“Of course.” He came into the room and stood next to me, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“You have a brother as well as a sister?”
“Yeah. David. He’s two years younger.” He pointed to the photo of them in formal dark suits. David was tall like Derek, but not quite as ruggedly handsome. “That was his wedding three years ago. He and his wife live in San Diego, and they have a six-month old son now, Gavin.”
“Is this him?” I gestured toward a photo of Derek cradling a baby in his arms.
“Yeah. That was at his baptism. I’m his godfather.” A note of pride crept into his voice, making me smile. “Anyway. Ready to eat?”
“Definitely.”
We went back to the kitchen, where Derek had set a place for me at the table, complete with placemat and a linen napkin, a steak knife on the right and a fork on the left. A glass of ice water was on the table for me, too. “This is like a five star restaurant,” I said as I sat down, placing the napkin on my lap. “I feel underdressed or something.”
“Nah. I just have a thing about paper napkins. I hate them.” He set a plate in front of me, and I could have wept, it looked so good—a perfectly seasoned seared steak and a fresh garden salad. Simple but perfect.
I dug in immediately.
Derek cleaned up the kitchen, then brought his wine to the table, taking the chair across from me. “Wow. You were hungry.”
I grinned sheepishly and cut a bite off the last remaining portion of steak. “My grandparents grew up in hard times, and they taught me to never leave the table until I finish everything on my plate, because you never know if you’re going to have a good meal tomorrow. But also—this is delicious.”
“Was the steak cooked okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Good. I guess I should have asked you how you like your meat.”
I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth for a second before recovering. Don’t be a pervert. He meant the steak. “I like it the way you did it,” I assured him. But I couldn’t look up from my plate, and I felt self-conscious as I chewed. Then I swallowed too soon and had to take a big drink of water to wash it down.
“This your first trip to the U.S.?” he asked me, crossing his arms over his chest.
“My second. I visited New York three years ago.”
“How long will you stay?”
I decided to be honest. In Russia, people believe it’s bad luck to talk about an undertaking before it’s complete, sort of like putting a hex on it, but something about Derek made me want to confide in him. “I hope forever.”
“Really? You’re hoping to immigrate?”
“Yes.”
“Can you? I mean, is it legal?”
“Yes and no. It’s complicated.” I finished the steak and took another drink of water. “I can stay for six months with no problem because of my visa. After that, I’ll have to figure something out.”
“You don’t sound too worried about it. Are you?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Might be tough.”
“It will definitely be tough. And probably risky, but I don’t mind. I like taking risks. In Russia we say ‘Kto ne riskuyet tot ne pyet shampanskoye,’ which I think roughly translates to ‘He who takes no risk doesn’t drink champagne.’”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Here we say, ‘No guts, no glory.’ Same idea, though.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Do you have a lot of family in Russia? Won’t you miss them?” He sounded genuinely curious.
I thought of my mother, newly divorced for the second time and struggling to support herself and Liliya, and felt a pang of guilt. “I will miss my family, yes. I hate feeling like I’ve abandoned my mother and sister. But my mother understood why I wanted to come here.”
“And why was that?” He reached for his wine.
“I want to be a Hollywood screenwriter.”
He laughed a little. “Then I guess you’re in the right place. Have you written any screenplays?”
“I’ve started about fifty of them, but I’ve never completed one,” I admitted. “I want to take some classes here. I’ve taken some online, but I think being in a classroom with a teacher and other students will be much better, especially for my English.”
“Your English is already pretty fucking good. What kind of work did you do in Russia?”
“Thank you. I was a technical writer for a petrochemical company. It was okay work, but never my passion. What about you? What do you do?”
He took another drink and set th
e wine glass down. “Commercial property development for my dad’s company.”
“Do you like it?”
“I guess so.”
“But it’s not your passion?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know that I have a passion, not like you do.” Then he smiled wryly, his eyebrows lifting. “You know, I’ll be honest, I was surprised when I first met you. I expected someone completely different.”
“Really? Like who?”
He cringed, but then he started laughing. “Like Boris Yeltsin. In one of those furry Russian hats.”
I laughed too. “What a disappointment I must be.”
He sat back, the smallest smile tipping his lips. “Nah.”
My heart pumped a little harder in my chest. This felt good, sitting here across the table from him, being the sole object of his attention, making him smile. I liked the grit in his voice, the easy way he leaned back in his chair, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. I liked the broadness of his chest, the fullness of his mouth, and the way he was looking at me right now, almost like we shared a secret. I wanted to write it all down in my notebook so I’d remember the details about tonight forever.
“I should let you get some rest.” Rising to his feet, Derek picked up my plate and took it to the sink. I brought my glass over, and he rinsed everything and loaded the dishwasher.
“Where should I put the napkin?” I asked, holding it up.
“Oh, here.” He took it from me, and our fingers touched. “I’ll throw it in the laundry.”
He disappeared down the back hall. A few seconds later, he returned to the kitchen and reached behind me to turn off the lights. For a moment, we stood there in the dark, neither of us moving. He was close enough that I could see the rise and fall of his chest, hear his breath, close enough that I found myself thinking two very dangerous words—what if?
Then he brushed past me. “You have to be exhausted. Come on upstairs. I’ll show you your room, and then I’ll come back down and turn the rest of the lights off.”
Strong Enough Page 3