by Alexis Daria
In the quiet, the sound of the bedroom door opening was loud, and they both looked up. A second later, Natasha paused in the arched kitchen doorway. She had changed into yoga pants, sneakers, and a loose off-the-shoulder top in bright green. Her face was bare of makeup, but her cheeks were flushed. She looked amazing.
“You’re making espresso?” she asked, sniffing the air.
“Yeah, I was making you some.” Dimitri ignored his brother’s dirty look. It was worth it to see the small smile curving Natasha’s lips.
“Actually, I was hoping to make café con leche,” she said. “Gina doesn’t like it, so I got out of the habit of drinking it, but you have such a great espresso machine . . .”
“Make me some?” Nik pleaded.
She winked at him. “I got you.”
Dimitri moved out of the way, watching her work at the counter. Her movements were precise and economical, yet everything was done with grace. She made the espresso shots and poured them into tiny cups, then steamed the milk with the wand he never used, adding sugar as it heated. The whirring sound of the wand filled the room.
Nik pitched his voice over it. “Where are you off to, Tash?”
She kept her eyes on the task at hand as she answered. “I have a few Pilates classes to teach, and two auditions.”
Nik’s eyebrows popped up, and Dimitri realized his had done the same. “Auditions for what?” Nik asked.
“A couple TV spots,” she said, shrugging. “Nothing big. Just trying to fill up my summer with work, you know?”
“Have you ever done a national tour? I’m touring with Seize the Night right now.”
She shook her head and shut off the wand, wiping it down before she poured the milk. “I don’t think I’d want to move around that much. I like having a home base.” Her gaze flicked to Dimitri and away.
He could understand that. He liked having a home base, too. It was hard enough being in Los Angeles, away from his parents. Nik had made it easier, but now he was gone, too.
Well, except for right this moment, when he was sitting in the kitchen.
Maybe it had been hard for Natasha, too, being away from New York, Gina leaving, and now, losing access to her apartment.
The way she poured the milk distracted him. “Hey, are you—” He stopped and laughed. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
Natasha pulled back the pitcher and admired the little white heart formed in the foam on top of the espresso. A pleased smile played on her lips. “It never gets old,” she said. “I used to work at a restaurant with an espresso machine at the bar. We practiced latte art when business was slow.”
He pointed to the heart. “Is that for—”
She snatched the cup away and carried it over to Nik.
“Aww, look, I got a heart!” Nik’s phone was already in his hand, so he snapped a picture. “Tash, you’re a woman of many talents.”
When she came back to the counter, Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest. “What, I can’t have a heart?”
She stared at him from the corner of her eye. “So, you’re admitting you don’t already have one?”
“Very funny.”
Across the kitchen, Nik moaned as he sipped, then gave Natasha a thumbs-up. “Excellent brew, sestra.”
When Natasha picked up an espresso cup in one hand and the milk pitcher in the other, Dimitri shot his brother a glare. What the hell was he doing, calling Natasha sister?
Her moves with the milk caught his attention. She tilted the cup as she poured, carefully turning it as she shook the pitcher lightly, pouring from farther away, then closer as the image began to appear. Even lines formed on top of the coffee, curving and becoming a beautifully detailed leaf, or feather.
“There,” she said, setting it on a saucer and nudging it toward him. “That’s for you.”
It was so pretty, so perfect. “I don’t want to drink it,” he said.
At her soft gasp, he hurried to finish his thought. “It’s too nice looking, I mean. I don’t want to ruin it.” Damn, he was always saying the wrong thing around her.
Nik came around and took a picture of Dimitri’s cup, then filmed a video while Natasha poured her own. She made a design that looked like a heart coming out of a flower, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“Cheers,” she said, smiling into the camera as she raised the cup to her lips.
Dimitri sipped his own as he watched. If he kissed her now, she’d taste darkly sweet, like espresso and sugar.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said as she drained her cup.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “You never asked.” She set her empty cup in the sink. “You’ll clean up? I don’t want to be late for work.”
Nik answered for him. “Of course he will. Don’t be late because of us.”
“Thanks, Nik.” She tilted her head, and accepted his kiss on the cheek. Then her gaze shot to Dimitri’s, and her dark eyes turned wary.
She wasn’t going to kiss him goodbye. It shouldn’t piss him off, but it did. She’d kissed his brother like it was nothing, but after all they’d done together, last night and for the past three years, a simple goodbye kiss was too awkward.
What . . . the fuck . . . was wrong with them.
“Um, I have to get going,” she said, not really looking at either of them. “See you later, D. Bye, Nik.” And then she was gone.
Dimitri sipped his café con leche and waited. It wasn’t long before Nik leaped to fill the silence, slipping back into English now that they were alone.
“Dude.” Nik gestured toward the doorway, as if Natasha were still there. “What are you doing?”
Tamping down on the urge to yell, Dimitri kept his gaze on his cup and his voice level. “She had a housing emergency and needed a place to stay. I offered.”
Nik blinked. “You offered?” Then he burst into laughter and nearly fell out of his chair. “Wait a second. You offered to let a woman you’re—”
“Watch it.” Dimitri growled.
“Listen, this isn’t the first time you’ve kicked me out of here so Natasha could come over. It’s just the first time she’s staying in my bedroom. What’s the deal? Are you guys roommates now instead of . . . whatever you were?”
Dimitri drained the rest of his cup and stuck it in the sink. “No.”
“So, you guys are still . . .”
“Chert.” Dimitri threw up his hands. “No, we’re not that either.”
Nik leaned his elbows back on the counter, making himself comfortable. “Is she living here?”
“For a few weeks.” Maybe more, if he had any say in the matter. “Until her apartment ceiling is fixed.”
“And she’s sleeping in my room?”
Dimitri glowered at him. “It’s the spare bedroom. You moved out.”
Nik waved that away. “And you’re not . . . you know.”
Rolling his eyes, Dimitri stomped over to the fridge and started pulling out stuff to make a protein shake. He didn’t particularly want one, but he needed to move, to burn off the excess energy incited by his dance with Natasha and his brother’s penetrating line of questioning. He slammed the carton of almond milk on the counter and muttered, “No, damn it, we’re not.”
For now.
The asshole had the nerve to snicker behind his back. “You’re basically roommates then.”
“We are not—” He cut himself off and shot Nikolai a glare.
His brother held his hands up in mock surrender. “Calm down. I’m just trying to get a handle on the situation. I’ve never known you to hang around with a woman you weren’t . . . you know.”
That was because he didn’t. Still, it rankled to have it pointed out so matter-of-factly. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. She’s a guest, and you’ll be nice to her.”
Nik squinted at him. “I’m always nice to her. You, on the other hand . . . you’re kind of a dick.”
Dimitri didn’t answer. Yeah, he’d said some shitty things to
her. Usually because he didn’t think about how they’d sound until they were already out of his mouth, and being around her twisted him up, made him impulsive and foolish.
But he’d never claimed to be nice. As a choreographer, he was demanding and expected perfection, with a reputation for having a short temper. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel . . . No, he wouldn’t go there, not now. Nik was too perceptive. Maybe if he pretended to hear his phone ringing in the other room, he could run away.
Instead, Dimitri grabbed a bag of mixed berries from the freezer and dumped them in the blender. The loud whirr of the motor filled the kitchen, prohibiting conversation. But the second the shake was done, Nik spoke again, his tone thoughtful.
“You once said you wouldn’t live with a woman unless you planned to marry her.”
Shit, he had said that, hadn’t he? After Juliette Jacobs laughed in his face fifteen years ago, he’d vowed never to live with a woman unless he was sure it was the real deal.
Dimitri shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “What’s your point?”
Nik stared at him, his brown eyes—a shade lighter than Dimitri’s own—wide and filled with disbelief. “You’re planning to marry her?”
“No.” Not that he was averse to the idea, but right now, he wasn’t sure.
“So, you didn’t mean it when you said that?”
“I did.” He intended to use this time alone with Natasha in his house to become sure about her, to see if they had more of a connection beyond sex and dancing. For that, he had to get Nik to leave. “Get a hotel.”
Nik huffed. “Yeah, I already figured that out. I’m just waiting for you to make me breakfast.”
Two hours later, Nik left to check into a hotel, and Dimitri was at his desk. His conversation—if it could be called that—with his brother had shed light on the strangeness of this situation. He and Natasha had been locked in this stagnant dynamic for three years. Enough was enough. He picked up his phone, intending to text her and ask if she’d be home for dinner, when strains of Tchaikovsky rang out. His mother.
He picked up. “Privet, Mama.”
She cut right to the chase, speaking a mile a minute in Russian. “Your brother just called. Mitya, you’re getting married?”
Dimitri shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mama, call the police.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m going to murder Nik.”
7
After their impromptu dance in Dimitri’s home studio, Natasha successfully managed to avoid him that night by going to bed early, while he was still at the restaurant. The next day, she hustled out before he woke up, and spent the morning chilling in the juice bar at the gym where she taught Pilates.
She brought her laptop with her, but a quick look at her bank account balance revealed she had no business checking out apartment listings yet. Instead, she pulled up the video file from the day before. She had a little time before her first class, so she could review the choreography. She wanted to experiment with combining music from classical ballets like Coppelia or Swan Lake with hip hop and pop music, and creating a dance that merged all styles, along with some Latin dance moves thrown in. It was the kind of thing she wished had existed when she was a teenager studying ballet. If she could bring it to the stage, or to schools, it could be used to teach kids and teenagers about music and dance history, bridging the gap between classical styles and current popular trends.
But those were bigger ideas. First, she had to nail the content.
As she watched the recording, she paused to make notes, jotting down what worked and what didn’t.
Then Dimitri walked into the video frame, and she jolted in her seat. She’d completely forgotten that the camera had still been rolling when he joined her in the dance.
She dropped her pencil, absorbed in watching them move on screen. He followed the style of her choreography, improvising his own moves as he led her through the dance. He brought something edgier to it, and before she could examine that too much, she made some notes based on his additions.
It was fascinating to watch herself with him. Her shoulders and neck tensed when he surprised her, then eased as they followed the music. Of course, she’d seen film of them dancing together before. On her first season with The Dance Off, he’d chosen her, instead of one of the other more seasoned pros, as his partner for the opening dance of the season premiere. That dance thrust her into the spotlight, although she hadn’t made it very far that season with her aging comedian partner. But that first dance, choreographed by Dimitri, was a thing of beauty. It captured his magnetic presence, her infatuation with him, and the incredible sexual energy that had sparked between them the day they first met. She’d watched the footage countless times, and each time, she swooned, still unable to believe her life had led her to a place where she got to dance with her teenage crush.
But this was different. This time, no one else was there. No one was watching. No camera crew, no producers, no audience. It was just the two of them, alone, sleep-rumpled and unguarded. What she saw on her own face worried her, but what she saw on his . . .
Her finger hovered over the touchpad, ready to close the file, to shy away from the raw vulnerability in his expression. The way his eyes followed her, like he couldn’t get enough . . . it was the dance. It had to be. He was acting.
The vibe changed, then. It became hotter. Sexier. The camera picked up the sound of their breathing, louder and heavier. Even watching on a small screen with headphones on, Natasha’s heart thumped harder as the dance turned more passionate.
Carajo, this was like the start of a sex tape. Her eyes followed his hands, noting the way he touched her. Stronger. Tighter. More possessive. Even she, unable to resist his touch, leaned closer into him, lingered against his body and undulated more than was entirely necessary.
Her face burned, and she darted a glance around to make sure no one else could see her screen. ¡Estupida! She was getting turned on just from watching herself dance with Dimitri! And she had to teach Pilates to a bunch of retired ladies in—she checked the time—twenty minutes.
She sipped her smoothie, but it did nothing to cool her down, especially when she saw the moment Dimitri decided to kiss her.
And the moment she decided to let him.
The camera’s microphone had even picked up Nik’s shouted greeting. The way they froze on screen, eyes wide and horrified, was almost comical. Except she was so aroused right now, nothing was funny. A fantasy flashed through her mind, of jumping in her car, racing back to Dimitri’s, and pouncing on him in his bed.
No, damn it. No sex. And she had work. So she could make money and get the hell out of his house.
Watching him shove her on screen, and his stricken expression when he’d realized what he’d done, she could see it was an accident. But she was grateful, both for Nik’s interruption and the accidental push. They broke the spell cast by the power of dance, and Nik’s presence made it easier to hang out in the kitchen afterward making café con leche.
No more thinking about Dimitri, or how pleased he’d been by her latte art. She shut the laptop, packed up her stuff, and headed to the class area early. It was the first of three classes today. She had her work cut out for her.
8
Kevin and Lori were blowing up her phone. Natasha had never realized how often they used her apartment as hangout headquarters until she no longer had it available. They went back and forth all day in their group text, throwing out potential plans. All of them involved meeting at Natasha’s place first.
To get them off her back, she agreed to meet them for coffee in Culver City after her last audition, which she was pretty sure she wouldn’t get. The casting director had stared at her phone the whole time, looking bored, and her “Thanks, we’ll be in touch” had been cold.
Natasha almost texted Dimitri to let him know she’d be out, then stopped herself. Why bother? She wasn’t his girlfriend, or his roommate. She wasn’t even a real housegu
est, no matter what he said. She had a set of keys, a remote for the garage, and she knew the security code. There was no need to keep him apprised of her whereabouts. No reason to think he’d care.
On the way out of the parking structure, she received an email from her building’s management company. They’d taken a dog through her apartment, and it was free and clear of bedbugs. They would still spray before she moved back in, but her stuff was okay.
That was a relief, but she’d already taken a ton of shit to the dry cleaners, not just items that had been damaged in the leak, but stuff that couldn’t be washed normally. She was going to have to pay some hefty dry-cleaning bills for nothing.
Kevin and Lori were already in front of the cafe when she strolled up to them. With his signature light brown waves covered by a dark blue baseball cap, Kevin bounded up to her and caught her in an exuberant hug. “Long time no see!” He gave her a smacking kiss on her temple.
Lori’s straight black hair was also covered by a hat, but hers had pointed silver studs covering the bill, and it was turned backward. She caught Natasha around the waist for a hug, and Natasha had to lean down to complete the embrace. There was a good five-inch difference in their heights.
“This place is crowded,” Lori said, jerking a thumb at the cafe behind them. Sure enough, all the outdoor tables were crammed with people, and the seating inside was similarly occupied.
“And I’m hungry,” Kevin added. “We were talking about trying the new Mexican place that opened across the street.”
He pointed, and Natasha turned. Yet another trendy—and expensive—restaurant had popped up since she’d last been to this part of Culver City.
“We could try a different cafe,” Natasha suggested. She was okay meeting for coffee—something cheap—but dinner was more than she could afford at the moment. When Kevin waved the idea away, she dropped it, in case one of them asked why.
Lori checked the menu on her phone. “Reviews say their guac is great. Although I’m sure it has nothing on yours, Tash.”
Natasha flashed them a grin. “It’s true, I make great guac.” At a fraction of the price.