“I can empathize with people. But I choose not to because I’m the only sane person in this godforsaken country. Seriously, why should I feel bad that Thora didn’t get laid? She probably saved herself from an STD and a broken heart.” Dear God—I didn’t even think about STDs. I cringe.
“John,” Camila snaps.
He lets out a breath and rolls his eyes. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Nikolai doesn’t seem like he sleeps around a lot,” I mention. Though I’m not certain about this. Katya never talks about his previous relationships. He’s a full-on mystery there, and I feel like it’s stepping out of bounds if I even ask.
“See,” Camila says, pointing a finger at John.
“Whatever,” he mumbles. “I need another drink.” He slides his cousin the empty beer bottle, and she retrieves him a new one.
“Thora James!”
I whip my head and notice Timo approaching, his face bathed in green, red and blue from three stacked necklaces. He’s added silver glitter on his bare chest and cheeks to his usual attire: no shirt, leather jacket, and dangling cross earring. He looks like part of the club folk.
John curses under his breath the minute Timo nears. He can’t keep his mouth shut though. “The under-twenty-one club is down the street,” he tells him. “It has a big giraffe and R-Us at the end.” He gives Timo a dry look before taking a swig of beer.
Timo only smiles more. “The over-ninety club is also down the street. It’s where all these headstones are, old man. Can’t miss it.” Then he rotates to me, and he lets out a long whistle, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “Thora James, turning it on tonight.”
I’m actually dressed up this time—not in sneakers or my Phantom costume. Camila lent me a tight black dress that zips in the back and lifts up my boobs. I keep tugging the hem since it rides up as I sit on the barstool, appearing shorter.
“Better than the sweats?!” I have to shout over the loud bass.
“Most definitely!” he yells back. “My brother is going to love it!”
My stomach clenches. “That’s…” not what I planned. My voice drowns in the music. Okay, don’t fool yourself, Thora. If I can’t be honest with myself, then I am fucked.
I knew Nikolai would be here tonight, as he is every Saturday.
And yeah, I wanted to look my best. I wanted to draw a reaction from him—the kind that electrocutes my nerves and tingles my skin.
Tingles.
I’m talking about tingles in association with a guy. I internally groan. Shay would call me ridiculous. But I don’t even want to take the wish back. I’m only human.
John slices through what would’ve been an awkward moment from my open-mouthed, stupefied-self. He zeroes in on Timo again. “This area…” He motions around us. “…is for people who can legally order at the bar.” He shoos him away with the swat of his hand.
Timo’s blinding, magnetic smile never fades. “In another life, you were a fat old police officer addicted to donuts.”
Camila spits out her water from behind me, and the spray dampens my neck. “I’m sorry!” she says between fits of laughter. “That’s just…”
My laugh begins at the sight of hers, and she shakes her head, her stomach heaving with humor. She has to hold herself upright.
“I can’t…” She flashes her palm like she has to step away, heading to another couple who wave her down.
I reach over the bar for a little square napkin and pat my neck, my hair in an edgy French braid. (Camila did it for me.)
“Your cousin likes me.” Timo cocks his head at John.
“She likes everyone. This comes from a place of love when I say that she has the worst sense of judgment. For everything, really. Including people.”
“Hey,” I say. “She likes me.”
“And you’re sharing a bedroom with a Kotova,” he rebuts. “That kind of puts your quality at the bottom of the barrel.”
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” I emphasize.
“Wait,” Timo cuts in with a confused look. “You don’t sleep in Nik’s bed?”
What is with everyone and this? I’m not abnormal. “I…” I trail off as his frown deepens.
“Do you not like him or something?” He scratches the back of his head, more downtrodden than usual. He didn’t phrase the question as: does Nikolai not like you or something? As if it was all my choice to sleep on the couch.
“I mean, he’s just training me.” Those are Nikolai’s words too. He’s said them to me before.
Timo looks just as perplexed as I feel. “I thought he liked you.”
I rock back, my heart convulsing. It’s like someone fisted my internal organs. “What gave you that idea?” I think I want it to be true.
I shouldn’t.
He’s just training you, Thora. Stay concentrated.
Goals. I have goals.
John stares at the ceiling like this conversation is killing him.
“You’re living with him,” Timo says. “Duh, Thora James.”
I don’t feel like I’m so oblivious. I just think we’re all more confused than they’d have us believe.
John suddenly stands and nears Timo, only an inch taller than him. “What is this?” Clutching his beer, he gestures to the three glow necklaces.
“I’m single, complicated and taken,” Timo replies with a burgeoning smile.
John looks to me. “He’s a liar.” Then to Timo. “Seriously, you’re a liar.”
“Or I’m just a mystery, old man.”
John swiftly snaps off the red and green glow necklaces, leaving Timo with only blue. “Look at that, I solved your pathetic mystery.”
Timo licks his bottom lip and laughs. “You want me to be single, John?” This took a turn. I stare between them, my eyes pinging back and forth with intrigue.
John puts the beer to his lips. “I’m out of your league, Timo.”
“If you say so.”
“TAT! TAT! TAT!” The room yells over the pumping music, and my heart double skips. John groans at the commotion, but his feet carry him closer to the spectacle.
Timo clasps my hand, tugging me along. I’ve somehow slid deeper into the Kotova circle. He slings his arm around my shoulder and follows John Ruiz. “He’s a walking contradiction,” Timo says, amused. His eyes lower to John’s ass, squeezed in a pair of dark-colored jeans.
I just ogled John’s butt. I scrunch my face. That was not on my to-do list tonight.
I don’t have to ask Timo to clarify his statement. John is cynical, pessimistic, claiming to be drama-free, but he seeks it out and thrives on watching it. He’s also popular enough that three people scoot over, awarding us the closest view.
Timo wedges between John and me, his other arm swooping around John’s shoulders. I’m shocked when John doesn’t push him off.
My gaze casually drifts to the open circle, where the crowds have parted for Nikolai. And the minute I see another girl in it, my whole face tightens. Nikolai leads the twenty-something brunette to the lone chair, his hand on the small of her back.
His hand on the small of her back.
This shouldn’t marbleize me, but I’m cold and unmoving.
“Fifty bucks she picks a tattoo,” Timo says.
“Don’t you do enough betting on the fucking floor?” John snaps.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Timo nods to me. “Thora?”
I can’t answer. My muscles coil, taut and inflexible. Nikolai sits on the chair first, his intense gaze never deterring from the girl’s. Her blue glow necklace contrasts her red mini-dress, one with sparkly stiletto heels. He says directions to her, not audible from where I stand.
Then she lies over his lap, hiking up the bottom of her dress to reveal her ass.
My stomach compresses without my permission—my heart on a strange, foreign descent. A burly man with a thick neck passes Nikolai a tattoo gun.
“I would’ve won,” Timo announces, disappointment lacing his voice. Though he squeezes
my shoulder like cheer up, Thora James. It’s okay.
I must look as horrible as I feel.
“Everyone wins eventually,” John says, his tone less hostile than usual. “It doesn’t mean you can’t lose.”
Nikolai places his hand on the girl’s ass, concentrating on the needle as it digs into her flesh. He tells her something, his lips rising in a charismatic smile that lights his gray eyes. And she laughs. I want to look away. I don’t want to watch this—because it hurts.
It shouldn’t hurt this much.
And yet, I can’t. Move. I can’t lift my foot or spin around. I torture myself by staying here.
The red glow of his necklace swathes his face, his features as devilish and masculine as that first night we met. Only I’m not the subject of his intensity. You know this happens every Saturday, Thora. I know. It’s nothing, really. It all means nothing—in every direction.
A couple brutal minutes pass and he’s finished, inking a well-drawn heart on her left butt cheek. Carefully, he places a bandage on the tattoo and tugs her dress down, covering her thong. She wobbles as she stands, and he rights her with a protective hand to her waist.
“Thora,” I hear Timo say in concern.
I open my mouth, but no words come.
In a millisecond, the girl goes from clutching his biceps. To leaning in.
Her lips are on his.
And he grips the back of her head, reciprocating the single kiss. My breath is padlocked in my lungs. Even after they disconnect. Nikolai kisses her cheek and gestures to a group of girls who cheer and shout things like get it, Rachel! They must be her friends.
The girl returns to them with the smuggest, happiest grin. She kissed the God of Russia and can now recount the tale. He’s already scanning the room with a charming smile, searching for his next volunteer. Hands shoot all around me.
Timo squeezes my shoulder again and then he shouts something in Russian. His voice overpowers the music and causes Nikolai to rotate towards us.
His eyes stop dead on me.
And that smile fades in an instant.
I can’t pick apart my feelings. Or his. But if I could assume anything at all—it’d be on the precipice of pain and distress. I’m rethinking my choice in glowstick. This is utterly complicated.
“Let’s go dance,” John tells me, reaching for my arm past Timo.
“Yeah, I could dance,” Timo nods.
“Not you—ugh, whatever, come on, Thora.” John guides me through the masses and closer to the mosh pit dance floor, people jumping or grinding, depending on their level of intoxication.
I’m surprised my feet moved at all.
John tips a waitress an extra twenty to steal the drinks off her tray, and he passes me the shot and keeps the other two for himself.
“You seriously aren’t going to share?” Timo asks with the tilt of his head. He rests his forearm on John’s shoulder.
“I’m seriously not sharing,” John replies, and to further his point, he throws back the first shot and then the second.
Timo isn’t discouraged in the least. He dances with better rhythm than most everyone here. The three of us group off in a cluster, blocking out the surrounding people. I’m less overwhelmed, and the shot will help too. Normally I’d take an economic sip, but I mimic John and toss mine back.
It burns my throat, and I cough into my fist.
“Easy, Thora James!” Timo shouts over the music. When I look at him, his eyes beam like he’s having the time of his life. In the prime of his youth. And it lightens my weighted body, immeasurably.
It’s ordinary when you’re simply happy.
It’s remarkable when you can make others feel what you do.
“Don’t stare into his eyes!” John shouts to me. “Little parts of you will die inside!”
He almost lifts my spirits.
A smile stretches Timo’s beautiful features. “So you’re admitting to feeling something from me, John?!”
John glares. “Death. I feel death!”
Timo whistles, but I can’t hear the sound from the pop song. “That’s a strong feeling.”
John looks like he wants to drown his irritations in an eighty-foot pool, though he’s still here. So there’s that. He snatches more shots off a tray, and this time, the server lets him take them. He knows her, I guess. And he passes me two shots and keeps one for himself.
I down both, the burn not as terrible. I actually like it. Then I sway to the music, and I notice older guys near a high-top table eyeing our three-person group. Only their attention is plastered to Timo—with lustful, I want to fuck you looks.
I realize that Timo has been scoping out the club, and he grazes that area a bit, knowing how many men are watching him. A weird pressure sits on my chest, and it takes me a second to discern the sentiment. Protective—I feel strangely protective over him.
He’s eighteen, I remember. But he carries himself like the world is a playground for his appetite. Vegas is his home. He’s not a fish-out-of-water like I was—still am sometimes. He’s okay.
John follows my gaze to the other guys. He rolls his eyes and quite literally blocks them out with his back.
Hands touch my waist, and I jump and slide to the left to see Nikolai. I freeze cold. He stares down, his gaze deepening into mine, carrying a storm past comprehension. I don’t know what to make of it.
“Hi.” His husky voice solidifies my bones. Just one word. That’s all I get.
“…hey,” I manage with a nod. The liquor starts to churn my insides like molten lava, no longer warm and comforting.
Nikolai keeps his hand on my hip, filling the almost non-existent gap between me and Timo. I hone in on his hand, on each finger that slips further around me. I can’t—I step out of his grasp, and his arm falls. I stare at the red strobe lights on the ceiling as though God will impart me with some much-needed wisdom.
“Don’t you have an ass to tattoo?!” John yells, his surly tone sounding a hint more malicious.
It shouldn’t matter, Thora.
I know. I know.
I’m trying to make it not matter. How do I do that? My mind and my body are not on the same wavelength, clearly, and I’m having a difficult time reuniting them.
He grabbed a girl’s ass and sucked on her face.
Stop. Stop.
“I’m done for the night!” Nikolai shouts over the bass. “Are you two…” His voice dies in the music. I look up and see his grays darting between John and me. The look he wears—it matches the one I had earlier, when I saw him lip-locked with that girl.
His facial muscles tightening, his shoulders strict.
John seems highly unamused. “She’s not my type! While her ambitions are slightly endearing, they’re mostly delusional! But that’s not even the problem.” I did catch that compliment in there. I mean, this could be worse. Right?
“What’s the problem?” Nikolai asks, opening the floodgates.
“She has a vagina!” The music switched songs right when he screamed that. It came out so much louder than it should have.
I shut my eyes with a wince. Yeah, he just mentioned my vagina. To Nikolai. To make a point that he’s gay, and it’s just—a lot to take in. I just really, really hope I’m the only one picturing my vagina right now. Please let this be true.
I tentatively open my eyes by the silence. Timo is smiling like he’s already known this fact about John. And I can feel Nikolai’s hot gaze penetrating me.
Don’t engage—John basically said as much the first time I met Nikolai. Maybe I should’ve listened to him back then. I can still try now.
At least when we’re not at the gym.
Right?
I’m confused. I’m confusing myself.
“I’m going to get something to drink.” Timo speaks first. He begins walking towards the high-top table of men.
John curses under his breath before shouting, “The bar is the other way!” He shakes his head a few times.
Timo glances over
his shoulder and grins, descending further into the throngs of dancers.
John sighs heavily and stares between me and Nikolai. Stay here. Do not leave me. I hope I’m expressing all of these things in my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if I just scowl harder though.
“Well this is unfortunate,” John says, and his gaze falls to me. “I just want you to know that I’m leaving for the alcohol and to avoid being a third wheel to whatever this is.”
It’s starting to set in: I’m going to have to confront my feelings. Head on soon.
John pats my shoulder and weaves between the bodies, picking up his pace to reach Timo.
Now I’m alone with Nikolai. Well…not alone alone. Technically there are bodies around us, some even pressing close to invade Nik’s space. I even spot girls gawking at him from the packed bar, whispering like they’re concocting plans to approach the God of Russia.
Good, I think.
My heart plummets.
Body and brain, still not aligned.
Nikolai leans down, his unshaven jaw rough against my cheek, and I smell the tequila from his breath, reminding me of his bet. Tattoo or piercing.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks lowly, his deep voice melting my defenses.
“Don’t you have to watch your brother?” I instantly regret adding more stress on him. Because whatever this is (as John called it) already weighs down his shoulders.
“It won’t take long.” His words send a shudder of alarm through me. He’s going to stop training me.
I nod and start mentally preparing ways out of this: I won’t see you outside of the gym, for starters. Or hang out at your suite anymore, also goes with number one.
Or pretend that I have feelings for you.
My eyes are burning. Stop burning.
Nikolai glances at the VIP area of the club, but it’s packed with bodies, allowing for no privacy. He spins to the other direction, near the bathroom. And he guides me with his hand on my hip, dropping to the small of my back.
I wish he wouldn’t touch me at all. It’d make this clearer. Easier.
I side-step out of his grasp again, and when I catch a glimpse of him, his face is contorted like my action impaled him through the chest. We don’t say anything. But it’s hardly quiet.
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