by Alexis Daria
Natasha. Ambulance. Hospital.
That was all he’d gotten from the call. He didn’t know who’d made it, and he didn’t care. He’d called Gina from the car, since she would be able to reach Natasha’s other friends and family. Home had been on the way to the hospital, so he’d made a quick stop there, then broken all kinds of traffic laws to reach her.
Seeing her in the hospital bed like that, looking tired and wan, dark bruises spreading over her swollen foot and up her leg . . . He’d wanted to gather her tight in his arms. Fuck whatever anyone else thought. The fear and worry had been tempered by crushing relief. She was awake. She was alert. She was mostly okay. The urge to touch her had been overwhelming, and he’d only held back by diving into action and harassing the staff.
Nothing broken, the doctor had said. Likely not even a ligament tear, but just in case, she had to stay off it.
She wouldn’t like that.
Dimitri grinned and shot a glance at her in the rearview mirror. Lucky for her, she had someone who would take very, very good care of her.
After a quick trip into the pharmacy, he opened the back door. “Hey.”
Her eyelids fluttered. After a moment, she gave him a bleary-eyed stare. “¿Qué pasa?”
“Got your meds.” He held up the container and shook it.
“Dios te bendiga.” She stretched out a hand toward him, palm up. “Dame las drogas.”
He laughed and shook out the pills, checking the instructions on the side. “When was the last time you ate?”
At her bland stare, he cursed and wrestled a box of protein bars out of the plastic bag. “I knew it. Here, eat this.”
She scrunched up her face in a way that was really cute and rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Ay, Macho, no los quiero I don’t want those.”
“Stick to Spanish, sweetheart.” She had to be exhausted and in pain. It was easier at those times to slip into your first language. “I’ll figure it out. And you’re going to eat one, or you’ll kill your stomach. These pills say to take them with food.”
She grumbled, but took the protein bar he’d ripped open. He waited until she’d taken three bites, then handed her the pills and a large bottle of water.
“Keep eating that, and drink the water. I’ll drive us home.” He closed the back door and climbed into the driver’s seat. When he looked back at her, her eyes were closed.
“Tasha . . .”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going back to sleep, aren’t you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Eat another bite. Please.”
With a heavy sigh, she lifted the protein bar and shoved half of it in her mouth. “Only because you said please,” she mumbled with her mouth full. Her eyes drifted shut again as she chewed. “Take me home?”
His heart squeezed. Damn, he was so in love with her. Didn’t she know he’d give her anything she asked? “Of course, Kroshka.”
Her lips curved. “Gracias.”
When he pulled up to his house, he parked in the driveway, angling so he could bring her in through the front door. First, he ran to open it and disable the security system, then he went back and carefully opened the door she was propped up against.
He’d expected her to put up a fight when he attempted to carry her, but she poured into his arms, body limp. He was carrying her through the living room before she managed to rouse herself enough to complain.
“I can walk,” she said, slurring.
He barked out a laugh. “Uh, no. You can’t. Your ankle looks like a cantaloupe.”
“What?” She made an effort to lift her head. “Everything’s blurry.”
“Your glasses are in the car.”
“Where are my contacts?”
“You took them out.”
“Oh.” Her head lolled on his shoulder. “Wait. Stop.”
He paused. “What is it, Kroshka?”
She lifted a limp hand and pointed. “My room is that way. No, not my room.” Her forehead scrunched and she pouted. “Nik’s room. The room. Guest room, I mean.”
“You’re so cute.” He kissed her forehead and continued toward his own room.
“This is your room.” Even her mutter sounded accusatory.
“Oh, so you can see.” He gently deposited her onto his bed.
“I can smell.” She tapped the side of her nose and nearly poked herself in the eye. “It smells like you in here.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? What do I smell like?”
“Delicious.” She rocked her head side to side on his pillow. “Like that stupid cologne you’re always searching the internet for.”
He snorted, concentrating on making her comfortable in the bed. “It’s my signature scent. I can’t help it if it was discontinued. Trust me, I’ve contacted the designer many times. He’s on the verge of a restraining order.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
“I never said I wasn’t. Sit tight.” After grabbing extra pillows from the hall closet and ice packs from the freezer, he propped up her ankle, bandaged tightly by the nurse.
“Stop it,” she told him.
“Stop what?”
“Taking care of me.”
His hands stilled. In a quiet voice, he said, “It’s what I do.”
She didn’t realize it, but she’d just hit at the heart of who he was. It was all he wanted from life, to have the means to take care of those he cared for most. His parents, his brother, some extended family, and her. He would give her everything, if she let him. If she asked.
He still wasn’t sure where they stood, and as badly as he wanted to keep her in his life, he couldn’t tell her. Not until he was sure.
“Don’t. I’ll take care of myself.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
She opened them now, comically wide. “Yes, I can.”
“You can’t walk.”
“I—” She shut her mouth. “Where are my crutches? I know they gave you some.”
“They’re in the car. You don’t get them until you promise not to go hobbling around unnecessarily. Doctor said you have to keep your ankle elevated and stay off it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re pissing me off.”
Good. Maybe if he annoyed her enough, she’d let him past her walls. He shrugged. “Just looking out for you. Someone has to.”
Her expression turned fierce. “No. I need to take care of myself.”
Need to? That was interesting. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Why?”
“I just—I just do. I have to do it on my own.” She turned her face away from him and covered it with her arm.
Dimitri stroked her good leg and waited, hoping she’d say something else. When she didn’t, he got to his feet. “Stay here. I’m going to get the other things from the car.”
Her voice was muffled. “What about my car? It’s still at the gym.”
“I sent a couple guys from the restaurant to get it. It should be here soon.”
“Oh.” Her voice was small. “Thanks.”
“Anything you need, Tasha. I’ll do it.”
She sighed.
Dimitri went back out to the car and parked it in the garage. Okay, so she was still holding back. It was bad that she was injured, but at least now, she couldn’t get away from him. Before she was back on her feet, he’d get to the bottom of her feelings for him.
And then he’d know, one way or the other.
18
If Dimitri didn’t stop coddling her, Natasha was going to murder him.
After she fell asleep in his bed, he woke her up and forced her to eat leftovers from the night before, watching to make sure she didn’t go back to sleep until the plate was clean.
Shit, had it been only yesterday that Dimitri had seduced her in the kitchen? Only yesterday that she’d broken her “no sex” rule? It seemed like ages ago now.
She stopped arguing with him about being in his bed. Anyway, the crutches were out of reach, and his bed
was bigger. But when he insisted on carrying her into his master bathroom, she balked. He did it anyway, but she bitched at him the whole time.
“Dimitri, I’ve been injured before. I’m a dancer. It happens. Let me take care of myself.”
“Your version of taking care of yourself will land you back in the hospital,” he shot back. “You don’t know how to sit still.”
She growled, but the painkillers were still going strong, and it was easier to just go back to sleep. She didn’t even care that he was in the bed beside her.
The next morning, her ankle was killing her. He insisted on carrying her into the bathroom again while she heaped Spanish curses upon him.
He only laughed and waited outside the toilet stall. When she was back in the bed, he rewrapped her ankle, clucking over it like una viejita, and packed it in new ice packs. He brought her breakfast and would have fed it to her if she’d let him, but since she hadn’t taken her meds yet, she was in a fighting mood and snatched the plate away from him.
As the painkillers were kicking in, he kissed her forehead and placed her phone next to her. “I have to stop by the restaurant for a few hours. You should call Gina.”
She shook her head, eyes falling shut. He lifted her glasses off her face. From her left came a soft tap as he set them on the bedside table.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Why not what?” Talking was hard.
“Why not call Gina? She’s your best friend. She said she hasn’t heard from you in a while.”
“Macho, did you tell Gina I’m living here?”
“I told her you’re staying with me while you heal. She doesn’t know you were already here.””
Natasha groaned and snuggled into the pillow. “Gina’s got her own life now. I don’t want to bother her. And I need to handle shit on my own. I can’t keep leaning on her.”
His fingers smoothed over the hair at her temple. The gesture was soothing and almost too sweet. She wanted to tell him to stop, but what came out instead was, “That feels nice.”
He kissed her again, on the cheek this time, his lips lingering and his “signature scent” surrounding her.
As the painkillers drew her under, his voice was the last thing she was aware of.
“You can lean on me.”
It would be nice, but no. She couldn’t. She had to prove she could make it on her own.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. And then she was out.
The phone ringing next to her head startled her out of a deep sleep. She swiped it on and held it to her ear, gritting her teeth at the pain that radiated up her leg. The meds were wearing off. What the hell time was it? She felt around for her glasses.
“Natasha?”
Shit, it was her mother.
“Hola, Mami.” She gave up on the glasses and closed her eyes. Where was Dimitri? Not that she wanted his help, but he was the only one who knew where her pills were.
Esmeralda barreled on in Spanish. “Gina called. She said you’re hurt?”
“Just a sprained ankle. I’ll be fine.” Madre de dios, this was the last fucking thing she needed right now.
“Are you still going to be on the show? You can’t dance if you’re injured.”
“It’s not that bad, and I still have time before the show starts. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, because I haven’t bought my plane tickets yet, and if you’re not going to be in the show, I won’t buy them.”
Was this woman for real? This was about her stupid trip? God, she was so selfish.
Natasha gritted her teeth in an attempt to keep her tone measured. “I’m fine. I just have to stay off it for a few days.”
“Where are you? How are you going to do anything if you can’t walk?”
“I’m staying with a friend.”
“Who?”
Carajo. “Just a friend.”
The silence was full of disapproval.
“You’re staying with a man, aren’t you?”
“Ma, please—”
“You never listen to anything I say, but I’ll tell you, this is a bad idea. Why do you think he’s taking care of you? He wants one thing. That’s all they ever want. You can’t rely on men.”
“This is temporary—”
“¿Claro que sí? Well, what do I know. I’m just your mother. It’s not like I’ve ever been lied to by a man before.”
Natasha rolled her eyes and bit back a sigh of disgust. When her mother got sarcastic, she turned downright nasty.
“You’ve chosen a hard life. I tried to warn you away from it, but no, you insisted on being a dancer. What happened, it got too hard and you’re looking for a man to make it easier?”
“No, Mami.” Natasha rubbed at the headache forming behind her brows. “You have it all wrong.”
“We’ll see about that. You always did look for the easy way out.”
Natasha opened her mouth to dispute that she’d worked her ass off to get here, then shut it. To get where? Here in Dimitri’s bed with a busted ankle and an embarrassing number of dollars in her bank account?
“Well, heal quickly. Let me know if I should cancel my trip.”
Of course, why should she come to Los Angeles if she wasn’t going to get tickets to the premiere? Why would she come just to visit her daughter? “Seguro.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Before Esmeralda could say something else shitty, Natasha brought it to an end. “Ciao.”
She hung up.
Natasha tossed the phone into the blankets and squeezed her eyes shut. The truth burned through her. Esmeralda was right. She was a failure. She’d ridden Gina’s coattails through school, their troupe work afterward, and out to Los Angeles. The only reason she had a place to stay now and someone to help her with her ankle was because she was fucking him.
He was being so sweet, though. Thinking to call her friends, bringing her glasses to the hospital, taking care of her . . .
Well, he wasn’t a monster. They were things any decent fuck buddy would do. They didn’t amount to anything more than that, didn’t equate to real feelings.
She threw an arm over her face as tears threatened, hot and intrusive. She didn’t have time to cry, to indulge in hurt feelings because her mommy didn’t love her and the guy she adored would never commit. Yeah, her ankle throbbed like a motherfucker, but that wasn’t a reason to cry, either. She should use this time wisely, like reaching out to people who could cover her other classes or lining up apartment visits. She was running out of time to find a new place to stay.
Turning her head to the side, a blurry orange shape caught her eye. She squinted, and just made out her bottle of meds on the nightstand, next to a water bottle. And her glasses.
Her heart melted a little. Bless him. He’d left everything she needed within reach, so she wouldn’t have to get up.
Slipping on her glasses, she picked up her phone and sent one text.
Hey, I know it’s been a while, but I have a favor to ask. I’m teaching a pole-dancing workout class and I busted my ankle. Can you cover?
She added the necessary details and sent it.
And then, because it was all too much, she took another dose of painkillers and went back to sleep.
19
Natasha was cute when she was angry, and as cabin fever set in, she was plenty pissed. Dimitri had never seen this side of her, and he liked it. It meant she was getting more comfortable around him.
By the third day of her confinement, she was moving around with the crutches, and he’d set her up in the living room so he could talk to her from the kitchen. She sat on the sofa with both feet propped on an ottoman, complaining about the state of the LA housing market.
“How the hell do they get away with charging this much? That isn’t even a legal bedroom. It doesn’t have windows.” She muttered about comemierdas and went back to clicking.
Dimitri poured ice into the blender for the piña coladas. Natasha claimed her ankle didn’t hurt as much, so she�
��d downgraded from the “horse tranquilizers” the hospital had prescribed, and was on regular painkillers. Still, he was making the drinks without alcohol. “I told you, you don’t need to look for a place right away.”
“I do. I can’t be living here when the show starts.”
Before he could question her further, he heard a car pull up in front of the house. Damn, he really needed to fix the gate. He shot Natasha a quizzical look. “Expecting anyone?”
“No.” She moved to get up, but he gestured for her to stay and went to look out the front windows.
“It’s a goddamn red Tesla. Who do you know who drives a red Tesla?”
“Oh. That’s Kevin.”
Kevin Ray, The Dance Off’s number-one star dancer. Dimitri had known him for years, through the industry and through the show. They weren’t friends, but Kevin was friendly with everyone, so his behavior at the hospital had been weird. He hadn’t imagined Kevin’s dark glares.
“Why is he here?”
Natasha shrugged and set her laptop aside. “I don’t know. Checking on me, I guess. I’ve had my phone off.”
“Really? Why?”
She avoided his gaze. “Too many texts and calls.”
Dimitri opened the front door and greeted Kevin as he walked up the front steps. “Hey, man. Welcome.”
Kevin gave him a nod and an assessing glance. “Hey, D. How’s it going? Is Tash here?”
“She is.”
Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Can I see her?”
Dimitri’s protective instinct rose up, and for a second, he was tempted to block the doorway and question Kevin further. Instead, he stepped back. “Come in.”
Kevin’s face broke into his signature grin when he saw Natasha. “There’s my girl.” He kissed her on the cheek and dropped onto the sofa next to her. “How’s the gimp leg?”
Dimitri bristled. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He closed the front door with more force than was necessary and stalked back into the kitchen. “You want a piña colada?” he tossed out as he passed.
“Huh? Oh, sure.” Kevin gave him a thumbs-up.
Fake-ass bastard. Dimitri wasn’t buying it. He pulled out a bottle of rum. He’d need it to get through this “visit.”
He leaned on the bar while Kevin and Natasha gossiped about the industry and other dancers, offering a few comments here and there. When Kevin asked how Gina was doing, Natasha gave a general response and changed the subject.