by Lucy Score
“Did you get Reva to take the food last night?” he asked.
Emma tried to keep her voice steady even though her body was trembling in the plank. “She was reluctant until I told her it was a to-go order that no one showed up for. I asked Beckett about her since he knows everyone. He said in his diplomatic, mayoral voice that the mother is ‘troubled’—alcohol and generally poor life choices—and there’s a younger brother,” she told him, her abs vibrating as the seconds ticked down on her phone’s screen.
“I’m glad Joey gave her a job at the stables,” Niko admitted. He didn’t even sound out of breath, and that annoyed her.
“If she hadn’t, I was going to offer up a hostess job that we didn’t have,” Emma admitted.
“Softy.”
“Don’t let it get back to my staff. They’re all appropriately terrified of me.”
“As well they should be,” he laughed. “Did Sunny and Rupert make up?”
“Caught them making out in the walk-in cooler when they were supposed to be doing side work. So, yes for now.”
He shifted gears from work to life. “Where did you grow up?”
“How did you get involved in restaurants?”
“College?”
He didn’t press when he asked about her mother, and she told him she’d left. Instead, he smoothly redirected and asked her how she felt about her father’s upcoming wedding.
The physical exertion and the sweaty god-like scenery kept her walls down just enough that his persistent questions didn’t bother her much.
He asked her about life in Blue Moon versus L.A. About her youngest sister and about her own culinary skills. By the time the interval timer on her phone buzzed, announcing the end of their self-inflicted torture, Niko knew her GPA in college and how old she was when she found out that Santa wasn’t real.
Emma guzzled water from her glass bottle and felt her muscles vibrate. She’d pushed herself harder with Niko there, a lot harder. His mere presence seemed to challenge her.
“What’s next?” he asked.
She eyed him. “Yeah, you see that sweat angel I left on the floor over there? That means I’m done.”
“But the night is young,” he protested. “Emma, I beg you. Be a friend. Don’t send me back to the house yet.”
She glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight, the dead of night in Blue Moon.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he said suddenly. “Please, just tell me there’s a bar that’s still open.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, considering.
“Just as friends,” he added. “I’ll let you ask me questions.”
“Just friends,” Emma clarified warily.
He held up his palms. “Platonic pals. I’ll even let you buy the first round.”
She was probably making a mistake. A six-foot two-inch, gorgeous mistake. But the offer was more appealing than burning off her post-workout buzz alone at home poring over sales reports.
Shit. When had that become her Saturday night? she wondered, horrified.
“Let me get cleaned up, and we’ll go. I get to ask the questions. We drive separately. And if we run into anyone named Ellery or Rainbow, you’re my first cousin.”
“Do I want to know what that last stipulation means?”
Emma shook her head. “You really don’t.”
“Deal.”
She was already regretting it when she pulled a hoodie over her sweaty tank in the locker room. Her hair was an unsalvageable nightmare, so she piled it on top of her head in a knot. She frowned in the mirror, remembering the care she used to take with her appearance for drinks on a Saturday night or dinner on her nights off with Mason. Mason, the nice guy who she probably would have ended up marrying had it not been for Jax’s job offer. She’d given him little thought since her move to Blue Moon. It felt like light years ago. A different life, a different person.
She wrinkled her nose in the mirror. She smelled like gym socks, and her abs were a quivering mess from the planks, and she was about to go out on the town with Nikolai Vulkov, famed photographer and model-dater.
He’d impressed her, hanging with her through every plank, every interval. She liked a man who wasn’t afraid to work hard. Those lean, hard muscles were clearly earned and not just from a genetic lottery.
She heard a loud thump beyond the locker room door and shoved her things in her bag before rushing out.
“What was that?” Emma asked, glancing around. “It sounded like a body hitting the floor.”
Niko, who was sitting on a weight bench near the door, shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Weird,” she murmured.
He’d pulled on a long-sleeve tee that accentuated the broad expanse of chest and the rippled stomach beneath. The curling tips of his dark hair were still damp with sweat. There was no way around it. Nikolai Vulkov was perfection.
And she was making a huge mistake.
“You can follow me over to Shorty’s.”
CHAPTER SIX
The parking lot of Blue Moon’s only bar still had a dozen vehicles—including a handful of hybrids, rugged pickups, and one tractor—in it when they arrived.
Neon signs proudly promising ice-cold beer brands glowed in the windows. On the inside, it could have passed for any normal bar in any normal part of the country, except for the Jimi Hendrix and Woodstock art adorning the walls. Touches of tie-dye and wheat grass vodka shots listed on the menu reminded Niko that Blue Moon was closer to Oz than New York.
He followed Emma on shaky legs as she maneuvered her way through the tight tables to the L-shaped bar. Even after her shift of chaos management at the brewery and a workout for super heroes, she still moved with purpose. He, on the other hand, could barely stand.
The sound she’d heard at the gym was indeed a body hitting the floor. His after his knees gave out. Niko had always thought of himself as fit. He was a New Yorker, and as such, walked everywhere. He frequented a gym and often worked up a sweat. A brisk jog on the treadmill followed by crunches and weights was an enjoyable way to maintain his physique and keep up with any woman’s demands in bed.
But what Emma had unintentionally goaded him into had been a holy terror of a workout. He’d just decided on claiming a fake hamstring pull or an emergency phone call when she’d finally declared the torture over.
Niko wondered if Emmaline Merill would be the first woman he’d fail to keep up with in bed. Not that they were lovers, of course. But if their friendship happened to evolve…
With great relief, he slid his aching body onto the barstool next to Emma’s, stifling a whimper.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the competition,” said the point guard-sized bartender, winking at Emma as he doled out drink napkins.
“Gotta update my corporate espionage files.” Emma wriggled her eyebrows, playing along. “Ed, this is Niko. Niko, Ed—or Shorty as he’s affectionately known in his family.”
“Runt of the litter,” Ed explained and offered a dinner plate-sized hand over the bar. “Welcome to Shorty’s.”
“Thanks,” Niko said, shaking his hand.
“What brings you two out so late?” Ed asked, handing over menus.
“We ran into each other at the gym,” Emma said, perusing the menu. “Niko is staying with Summer and Carter who’ve been in bed for hours.”
“Ah,” Ed nodded in understanding. “New Yorker?”
“Born and raised.”
“You must be enjoying the nightlife that Blue Moon has to offer,” Ed joked.
“Ed here is a real comedian,” Emma said dryly.
“So what post-workout beverages can I interest you two in?”
“Dirty martini, please,” Emma decided.
“I feel like it would be culturally inappropriate of me to drink in Blue Moon without trying a wheat grass shot,” Niko mused.
“You could be run out of town,” Ed agreed. “Chaser?”
“Beer.”
Ed headed off to make th
eir drinks, and Emma raised a speculative eyebrow at Niko.
“What?” he shrugged. “I’m embracing the local culture.”
“You know, there’s something to be said for tried and true.” She pointed at Ed pouring organic vodka into a cocktail shaker.
“But if you stick with tried and true, how will you know what you’re missing out on?” Niko countered.
“I thought I was the one asking the questions?” Emma reminded him.
Ed set their drinks on the bar in front of them.
“Can I get another one of these for my open-minded friend here?” Niko asked, pointing at the vibrant green shot.
Emma wrinkled her nose when Ed set the shot in front of her.
“I’d think you’d be used to stuff like this, coming from L.A.,” Niko said.
“Maybe I came here to escape cold-pressed juice and protein pancakes.”
“Either way, I’m glad you’re here to keep me company during my lonely nights.”
“That’s sounding a little too friendly,” Emma warned him, shifting on her stool to face him.
He grinned. He liked seeing this softer, slightly less guarded side of her. In her cozy sweatshirt, with her messy hair, she was infinitely more approachable. Niko liked that she had no qualms about being seen in public without a blow out and a full face of makeup. He didn’t know many women in the city who would be as confident without their armor.
He held his glass to hers. “To friends.”
Her lips quirked. “To night owl acquaintances,” she countered.
They knocked back the grass green liquid, and Emma immediately reached for her martini. “That tastes like a mouthful of mowed lawn,” she gasped.
Niko studied his empty glass. “That wasn’t bad.”
“Wasn’t bad? Now, there’s a ringing endorsement,” Emma grumbled.
“But you tried something new. Isn’t the adventure alone worth something?”
“Uh-uh.” She jabbed a warning finger at him. “I’m asking the questions now, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Friendly.”
Niko picked up his beer and leaned an elbow on the bar. “Ask away.”
“Why are you in Blue Moon indefinitely?”
He blanched. “How about we work our way up to that one? Let’s start with some nice easy questions. Consider it foreplay.”
Emma took a tidy sip of her martini. “Fine. We’ll warm up with some softballs. How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Books or movies?”
He smirked. “I live in Manhattan. We’re all about live performances.”
“I bet you don’t spend much quiet time at home to read,” she guessed.
“Mmm, not so much,” he agreed. He didn’t spend much quiet time anywhere, except when he was editing photos.
“So what are you doing when you aren’t at home and you aren’t working?”
Given the extra innocent look on her face, Niko knew she was setting him up. “Why don’t you just ask me how many women I’ve dated?”
“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked slyly. “Nikolai, we’re friends.” She put a hand on his arm. “There’s no judgment here.”
Oh, there was plenty of judgment in those meadow green eyes. “I like women,” he acknowledged.
“But not one enough to stop seeing all the rest of them?”
“First of all, I don’t ‘date’ more than one woman at a time. Secondly, I’m not against relationships. I just don’t have time for them.”
“Do your ‘dates’ know that?” Emma prompted. She was leaning in, and he liked it. Her cheeks had that rosy glow again, and her eyes sparkled. He liked seeing Emma enjoy herself, even if it was at his expense.
“Let’s stop with the air quotes before one of us sprains a finger,” he suggested, grabbing her hands out of the air. Her fingers stilled in his.
“I’ve never lied to get a woman into bed. Everyone I’ve taken there understands that I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“And why aren’t you looking for something serious?” Emma slid her fingers out of his grip and popped an olive between her plush lips. What was it about her that drew him in? he wondered.
“I told you. I don’t have time for a relationship—”
“Cop out!” Emma fake coughed into her hand.
He glared at her, but she didn’t back down. “Fine. I don’t make time,” he admitted.
“Better. Still-not-the-whole-truth.” Emma’s coughing fit was beginning to draw eyes.
“Tenacious,” he accused.
“Friends don’t lie to friends.”
He looped a finger around the neck of his beer bottle, staring at the condensation rings it left on the bar top. “I don’t know why,” he said with a shrug. “I guess I haven’t found what I think my parents had. I don’t think you can work towards or ‘date’ your way to that kind of love. And until I meet the woman who makes me look at her the way my dad looked at my mom, I might as well enjoy casual and fun.”
He glanced her way. Emma’s eyes narrowed as she weighed his words.
“Your bronchitis clearing up?” he teased.
“I never would have pegged you, ‘the wolf,’ as a romantic,” she confessed.
“I thought I was a player?”
“A romantic player,” she amended with a smile that warmed him from the inside out. “You remind me of my sister Eva, ever hopeful that a sweep-you-off-your-feet love is right around the corner.”
“Does that change your mind about going out with me?”
She shot him a bland look. “That makes dating you even less appealing.”
“How is that even possible, Emma? How could wanting to settle down with the right girl be worse than serial one-night stands?”
“Not only are you sowing your wild oats now, but you’re expecting this perfect woman to come along and make you want to give all that up so you can live happily ever after.” She poked him in the chest. “That’s unrealistic and setting yourself up for failure.”
Fascinated, Niko shifted on the stool. His knee pressed against hers. “And what’s your plan for success?”
“I’m going to choose a man with life goals that parallel mine.” She said it as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.
“That’s so…” He couldn’t quite come up with a word describing how depressing that was.
“Pragmatic? Realistic? Intelligent?” she offered, her expression cocky.
“Boring.”
“I can understand how Nikolai ‘A Different Model Every Night’ Vulkov would think so,” she sniffed.
“Is that judgment I detect?” he teased, taking a long pull from his beer.
“Not between friends,” Emma said, fluttering her thick lashes at him.
“Smart ass. So, while you’re waiting for Mr. Life Goals, why don’t you want to have some fun?”
She shook her head, sipped. “Uh-uh. I don’t need any distractions. I’ve got enough on my plate.”
Niko leaned into her space, testing. She didn’t pull back, and the air between them crackled with awareness. “I don’t know whether to admire your delusions or feel sorry for you,” he whispered as if imparting a secret.
Emma gave a husky laugh, and Niko felt the sound go straight to his gut. She was a dare, and it was the first time in weeks that he felt like rising to one.
“While you decide between those two sterling options, let’s get back to the questions. You mentioned your parents. What are they like?”
“My mother was a wonderful, talented, amazing woman. She was a ballerina, actually. But when I came along she decided she’d rather be a mom. She still performed occasionally, taught more, but she was just this beautiful, warm, funny woman.”
“Was?”
“She died when I was fifteen. Cancer.”
Emma’s hand covered his where it rested on his leg. He hoped that she couldn’t feel the tremor of his muscles. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He gave a one-sh
oulder shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
“But you never stop missing her,” she guessed.
“And I never will,” he predicted. “She and my dad married at eighteen and left Russia to start a new life here. My dad was a civil engineer. An engineer and a ballerina,” he smiled wryly. “But they made it work. Our house was always full of music and friends. There were always extra plates set for dinner. I couldn’t tell you how many times I walked into the kitchen to find my parents dancing.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Emma said.
“It was a great way to grow up. I hope someday I can give kids that kind of childhood.” Niko frowned down at the empty shot glass. And just where the fuck had that sentiment come from?
“Are you and your father still close?”
He thought about it. “Not as close as either of us would like,” he said finally. “Mom was the glue, and without her, our lives carried on in different directions. He remarried a few years ago. A nice woman.” That he’d never really bothered to get to know, he realized. Niko picked up his shot glass. “What do they put in these shots? Truth serum?”
“Well, as long as you’re feeling truthy. Let’s talk about why you’re here.”
“What makes you think this isn’t just a vacation?” he asked, evading the question. He nodded at Ed for another beer, and Emma asked for a water.
She watched him expectantly, her chin on her hand. He let her wait, and she rolled her eyes.
“I Googled you,” she admitted and pointed a finger at him before he could gleefully accuse her of being interested. “Uh-uh, Romeo. You travel to Paris and Rome and Berlin. Every once in a while, you and the lucky lady of the week head to the Caribbean or Mediterranean. You do not vacation on a farm in Blue Fucking Moon.”
He liked a woman with a mouth on her, one who knew when to swear for emphasis rather than lack of vocabulary. “I want more points for not pointing out that cyber-stalking proves some level of interest.”
She looked unimpressed and settled back on her stool to wait. “What better way to prove how seriously you’re taking our fledgling friendship than by being honest with me?”