Strong Enough

by Melanie Harlow

  “What will you do with your day off?”

  “I have some errands to run, but I also wondered if you wanted to do some shopping. I actually picked up a few things for you on Sunday, but I’m not sure if they’ll fit or if you’ll even want them.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I meant to leave them in your room for you yesterday, but it was sort of a hectic day, and I forgot.”

  “You bought clothing for me on Sunday?” I don’t know why I was so surprised—it was exactly like Derek to do something so nice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  He waved a hand in the air, dismissing it. “They might not even fit. And it’s only one pair of pants and two shirts. You’ll need more than that.”

  I nodded. “Shopping today would be great. I just have to be back at three-thirty for Ellen to pick me up.”

  “I can drop you off at work when we’re done. Coffee’s still hot if you want some.”

  “Thank you.” I took a cup from the cupboard and filled it. To make sure I was actually awake, I pinched myself. Twice. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Not yet. I can make some, or we can go out.”

  An idea came to me. “Actually, let me do it.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do what?”

  “Cook breakfast,” I said excitedly. “There’s something I’d love to make for you if you have the right ingredients. It's called syrniki, and it is the most amazing thing in the world. My mom used to make them for me.”

  “What is it?” He looked suspicious.

  “Don’t you trust me?” I teased. “I promise it will be delicious, and I’ll clean up the kitchen, too. Can I look in your fridge for what I’ll need?”

  “Ask me. I’ll tell you if I have it.”

  I thought for a moment. “Eggs. Cottage cheese. Lemon. Butter.”

  “Yes to all.”

  “Flour and sugar?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about raisins?”

  He tilted his head and squinted. “I think so. Maybe in the pantry.”

  “Sour cream and honey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good! That’s everything.”

  He started to get up. “What kind of cookware do you need?”

  “Just a frying pan, but you sit down,” I scolded. “Enjoy your morning off. I want to do everything.”

  He looked amused but sat down again. “Okay. Have at it.”

  I gathered all my ingredients but found that I couldn’t remember exact amounts for things. After searching for a recipe online that was close to my mother’s and coming up empty, I decided to call her. It was ten P.M. there, but she was a bit of a night owl, and I thought she might be up.

  Liliya answered the phone and squealed when she heard my voice. “Maxim!”

  “Hello, malyshka,” I said warmly. Her voice reminded me of home, and I felt a tug of longing for the people I loved there. I spoke Russian to her. “What are you doing awake?” From his chair at the table, Derek watched me, a curious look on his face. “My sister,” I whispered in English. “I called my mom to ask her something about the recipe.” He nodded in understanding.

  “I’m terrible,” Liliya said crossly. “I can’t sleep.”

  “Why not?”

  “I had the bad dream again.”

  “About the monster?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he do this time?”

  “He said I would never see you again.”

  My heart squeezed. “That’s not true. I promise.”

  “But why did you go so far away?”

  “I wanted an adventure, remember? I wanted to see new things. Speak a different language. Meet movie stars.”

  “Did you meet one yet?”

  “Not yet. But do you know what I’m looking at right now?” I walked over to the sliding glass door and looked out into the yard.

  “What?”

  “Sunshine and palm trees and tropical flowers. Everything is bright and sunny and colorful. And when I breathe in the air, it smells like oranges.”

  “Can I visit you?”

  “Yes. As soon as I can arrange it. But it will take a while for me to get settled, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you put Mom on, please?”

  “Yes, but don’t hang up. I want to talk again.”

  I smiled, meeting Derek’s eyes. “She misses me,” I told him.

  “Of course she does.”

  My insides melted a little.

  “Maxim!” My mother sounded worried. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine. How are you?”

  “Good.” Then her voice was muffled. “Liliya, stop! I’ll give you the phone in a minute. Sorry,” she said clearly again. “Liliya misses you.”

  “I miss her too. I miss both of you. But I’m thinking of you because I want to make syrniki, and I forgot parts of the recipe. Can you tell me how much of each ingredient to put in?”

  “I just guess at it by now, but I think I have it written down here somewhere. Hold on.”

  While she looked, I asked Derek where I could find a pen and paper to write it down. He came around the counter, opened a drawer, and took out a pencil and stack of yellow Post-It notes. Then he refilled his cup of coffee while my mother recited her old recipe and I wrote it down.

  “Perfect, Mom. Thank you so much.” I turned around and found Derek leaning back against the counter across from me, lifting his cup to his lips. I switched to English. “I don’t want to screw it up because I’m making it for someone special, and he’s very picky.”

  He rolled his eyes, but smiled too.

  “Let me know how they like it,” my mother said. “Liliya wants to talk again.”

  “Okay. And then I should go.”

  “Okay. Bye, honey. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  My sister came back on. “Maxim, sing me the song.”

  I cringed. ‘The song’ was the theme to Spokoynoy nochi, malyshi, a Russian children’s show that had been around forever. It was silly and childish and I did not want to sing it in front of Derek. I don’t even have a decent voice. “No, malyshka. I can’t sing it right now.”

  “Please, Maxim! I can’t sleep without it. It’s the only thing that will help.”

  A stab to the heart. “Can’t Mom sing it for you?”

  “No. She doesn’t remember it.”

  I groaned, and Derek looked at me quizzically.

  “Please, Maxim. I miss you so much.”

  I exhaled, defeated. “Okay.” Then I closed my eyes—as if that would save me from mortification—and started to sing, at a much quicker tempo than usual.

  Liliya caught me. “Slow down, Maxim! You’re doing it too fast!”

  I dutifully slowed down and sang it the right way, my voice cracking in all the usual places, making her giggle. When I got to the last line, I peeked at Derek, whose amused expression made me want to bury my face in my shirt.

  “Okay now? Think you can sleep?” I asked Liliya.

  “Yes,” she said. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, malyshka. Ya tebya lublu.”

  “I love you, too. Bye.”

  I hung up, set my phone on the counter, and braved a look at Derek. Tried to hold my chin up. He drank his coffee, his eyes dancing with glee over the rim of the cup.

  “What?” I said, feeling the heat in my face. “She couldn’t sleep. That’s a kid’s song from an old Russian television show I sometimes sing to relax her.”

  “Nothing. It’s adorable. I didn’t know you sang lullabies.”

  “I don’t. Only that one.”

  “Maybe you’ll sing it to me sometime.” He tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.

  God, I love making him smile. “Ha ha. Go ahead and make fun of me. You’ll be sorry when I don’t share my syrniki with you.” I turned my back to him and opened the bag of flour.

  A moment later, he stood right behind me, pressed against my back. He looped his arms around my wais
t and kissed my neck. “I’m only teasing. I actually find it very sexy that you’d sing your little sister a song to help her sleep.”

  “You do?” I looked at him over my shoulder.

  “Yes.” He put his lips on mine, and it was sweet and soft and easy, much different than the fiery kisses we’d shared last night. We weren’t racing to undress or touch each other or get to the next hot thing. We were content with a kiss.

  We were in the moment, and it just felt good.

  Twenty-Five

  DEREK

  A lullaby.

  I couldn’t get over it. He sang a lullaby to his little sister when she couldn’t sleep. Of all the things about Maxim that I’d learned, that one was my favorite. And he’d looked so miserable as he sang it in my kitchen. His singing voice was almost as terrible as mine.

  But it was so fucking sweet. And I hadn’t been lying when I said I found it sexy—I did. There wasn’t much about Maxim I didn’t find sexy. Even in my old jeans—or maybe especially in my old jeans—and his work shirt, he looked amazing. But he was amazing on the inside too. Smart and funny, kind and genuine.

  And I trusted him. It was astonishing to me how much I trusted Maxim after such a short period of time. We’d only met four days ago, and yet I felt more at ease with him than I’d felt with anyone in a long time. I could be myself around him in a way I couldn’t around other people. My real self, without hiding anything. There was such relief in that, and I felt incredibly grateful for it. If he never paid me a dime for the clothes or the rent or anything else I did for him, I wouldn’t care. This feeling was worth everything, even if it wouldn’t last forever.

  “Okay, here you go.” He set a plate down in front of me, and I moaned in anticipation, my mouth watering. On it was what looked like four thick pancakes, fried to a golden brown, dusted with powdered sugar, and drizzled with honey. A big spoonful of something white—sour cream, maybe?—sat off to one side, and raspberries were scattered on top of it all.

  “This looks delicious. What are they again?”

  “Syrniki. You say it now.”

  I made an attempt, which I thought was pretty good, but Maxim laughed anyway.

  “There, your first Russian word. I want you to learn four more by the end of the day.” He put his plate down and took the chair across from me. I noticed how he’d known where everything was to set the table, from the placemats to the napkins to the utensils, and got a ridiculous kick from seeing him so familiar with my kitchen.

  “I’ll try,” I promised. Unable to wait a second longer, I picked up my fork and knife and cut a bite, making sure to get a little of everything so I’d taste all the flavors. I put it in my mouth and moaned again.

  Maxim grinned. “Good, right?”

  I chewed slowly, appreciating the slight crisp on the outside and the soft, doughy inside. A little sweet, a little savory, the perfect balance. “How do you say delicious in Russian?”

  “In this case, vkusnyy.”

  “Well, this is fucking vkusnyy.”

  He laughed. “I’m so glad you like it. You’ll have to let me cook dinner for you sometime too.”

  “You can cook for me any time you want,” I mumbled, my mouth full. “This is so good.”

  He smiled, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Thank you.”

  After breakfast, I helped Maxim clean up the kitchen and we went up to my bedroom so I could give him the clothing I’d bought. He stood near the doorway while I went to my closet and retrieved the bag, pulling out the receipt and tucking it into my pocket. He’d see the price tags, so it was probably a silly gesture, but maybe I could convince him they’d been on sale. I had a feeling he was going to protest they were too expensive.

  When I came back in the room, he was still standing by the door, looking around curiously. “Looks different in here in the light,” he said sheepishly.

  “Oh. Right.” I glanced at the bed, which I’d made this morning after changing the sheets. The sight of it made my stomach muscles clench. Was it too soon to do it again? Was he sore? Don’t think about it. “So. Here you go.” I handed him the bag. “If you want to try them on in here, you can. I have a full-length mirror on the door.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” I said, moving toward the door. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to get him to strip in front of me—not that I’d complain. But he caught my arm.

  “You can stay.” He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

  Fuck, every time he gave me that look, the one that said I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, I wanted to throw him down and roll around naked.

  I cleared my throat and perched on the edge of the bed. “Okay.”

  He took off his clothes, and I openly stared at his body. Jesus. No wonder I’d lost my mind last night. In fact, I was kind of sad to see his legs and ass disappear into the new jeans, but glad they fit him. “They look great,” I said, repositioning myself so my swelling erection wasn’t trapped uncomfortably.

  “Thanks.” He shrugged into one of the shirts I’d picked out and buttoned it up. “What do you think?”

  I think you’re perfect. “Is it a little too big? It might be too baggy around your waist. But I’m not sure the next size down would fit you in the shoulders.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. It feels comfortable.”

  “Try the other one.”

  He traded the first shirt for the second. “This one feels good too. How does it look?”

  Like I want to rip it off you. “Great. You like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s yours. I think we should take the other one back.”

  He looked worried. “Take it back? But you took it home and I wore it. They will do it?”

  “Yes. The tags are still on. I promise they’ll do it.”

  He smoothed the shirt over his stomach. “I really like this. I’m glad you chose it.”

  “Good. Do you want to look in the mirror?”

  “No, that’s okay.” He smiled. “If you say it looks good on me, I’ll believe you.”

  “It does. Do you want to wear it today?”

  He thought for a second. “I better wear my work shirt in case we don’t have time to come back here.” As he was taking off the button-down, he noticed a price tag hanging from the label. “Eighty dollars?” he asked incredulously. “For one shirt?”

  “It’s not that much.” I rose to my feet and picked up the one to be returned and placed it in the bag. That one had cost even more.

  “To me, it is.” His blue eyes were wide.

  “I told you, you don’t have to pay me back right away.”

  “I want to,” he said firmly, putting the shirt in the bag. “So we need to return this one, too. Someday I will be able to afford luxury clothes, but not yet.”

  It kind of broke my heart that he thought an eighty-dollar shirt was a luxury item. “Maxim, please keep it. As a gift.”

  “No.”

  “Listen, it makes me happy to do things for people. So it’s not for you, it’s for me. Keep it for me, so I can feel good about myself.”

  He shook his head, but he smiled. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not. I just like you.”

  His smile grew wider as he reached down and grabbed his work shirt and pulled it on. “I like you, too. And I’m so—” He looked down at his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

  “What?”

  “I put my shirt on inside out.” Quickly, he scrambled to get it off.

  “So?”

  “If you put your shirt on inside out, it means you will get beaten.”

  “Beaten! By who?”

  “By anyone.” He turned the shirt right side out and put it on again. “That’s why you should punch me.”

  I shrank back. “Are you insane?”

  “No! It’s symbolic. You have to punch me so that I will get the beating from you, not from someone who really wants to do it.” He said this in all seriousness, then turned to fac
e me. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”

  “Maxim, I’m not going to punch you.”

  “You have to!” But he was laughing now. “A little punch, okay? Otherwise, I won’t feel right.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t even believe this. What’s the Russian word for crazy?”

  “Sumasshedshiy. Say it. Then punch me.”

  “Sumasshedshiy.” I completely mangled it, then I gently nudged his rock-hard abs with my fist. “That’s all you get.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You punch like a girl.”

  “What?” I dropped the shopping bag and tackled him, throwing him onto the bed, pinning him beneath me. “Take it back.”

  He was laughing so hard his eyes were shiny. “Even Liliya hits harder than you.”

  “Take it back.”

  “No, because then you’ll get off me, and I’m enjoying this.”

  I was too, of course. What was better than Maxim trapped beneath me? It reminded me of last night. My dick, which had never really settled down after seeing Maxim undress, was now on its way to full tilt. I pressed it into him. “You’d enjoy it even more with your pants off.”

  His eyes lit up. “I agree.”

  A minute later, we were buck naked and right back where we’d been before, with me straddling his hips. We kissed feverishly as I moved my body over his. God, I’d never get enough of the way it felt to be pressed skin to skin, muscle to muscle with him this way. For a second, two weeks seemed much too short a time limit.

  Well, that’s what you’ve got. So make the most of it.

  “Derek. Will you do something for me?”

  “What?”

  “Turn around.”

  “Turn around?”

  “Yes.” He put his lips to my ear. “I want my mouth on you.”

  I hesitated, feeling strangely proprietary about my ass, given what I’d done to his last night. But it had been nighttime then. It had been dark. There had been whiskey involved. Right now it was daytime, the room was light, and I was all hopped up on caffeine and sugar.

  “Please,” he said, his tongue tracing my earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. “I promise, it will feel so good.”

  I was curious. I wanted to know what it felt like. And I was obsessively fastidious about my body, so I was shaven and clean. But…could I? Was there such a thing as being too gay? What transgressions were allowable and what was too much? At what intrusion would I draw the line?