“It was fucking amazing.”
“How’d that happen anyhow? Her wedding’s what, two months out?”
“A little more. She…” Oksana hesitated before she told the whole truth. “She kissed me last night in the parking lot.”
“Okay that kind of shit can’t happen.”
“I know. I know!” Oksana groaned, rubbing her face. “I told her last night. No more of, I don’t know, whatever it was. It’s over.”
“Good. I hate straight people.” Paul rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Well, at least you got some. It’s been a while.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Paul replied, flashing a handsome grin. “How about a new victim?”
“Stewart asked for Saturday, noon,” she told him before he committed her elsewhere.
Paul grabbed a pen and scribbled that down. “Won’t be a problem. I got a call from Overhouse this morning. They are casting Angels of the Prairie Run.”
Oksana had heard a while ago that the film adaptation of the New York Times bestselling novel had started pre-production. She’d actually read the book. The historical drama was a quick break from the biographies she’d been gobbling up in her free time. The book was pretty good. Hopefully, the movie would be good too.
“When they’re ready, they want us to train their leads. It may be nothing major, but…”
“I know. They have to be a believable nineteenth century skinny, not runway skinny.”
Paul tapped his nose. “Right on the head, sweetie. What do you say?”
All the clients of Elite Fitness were high-end, but the other trainers had issues getting starstruck. Oksana would take a fork to the eye before she got in bed with an actor. Plus, she felt like she owed Paul after the Collins affair.
“I’m in.” A new client was always a fresh start, exactly what she needed.
“It might be early mornings,” Paul said. “Very early, but I’ll give you your afternoons for the contract. I’ll have Martin handle the Pilates class.”
“Deal.”
“It might be a while or it might be soon, but they’re willing to pay for you.”
“Oh? So you didn’t want me?”
“I always want you, but you were requested by name.” Not unheard of, but…
“Who’s the reference?”
Paul pretended to search for the info in his day planner. Oksana humored his silliness.
“A Miss Ronnie Ramirez.”
Oksana’s laugh echoed through the office. “That bitch!”
*
Sixty-five minutes on the treadmill, a hundred or so crunches and push-ups, and eight not-so-innocent peeks at her cell phone later, Oksana wandered into the big house in search of food.
“Come here,” Baba Inna grumbled in her native tongue. The old woman knew how to throw her voice. Oksana had no clue how, some elder Russian proverb about being invisible in the woods and heard across the fields, but her voice still echoed down the main hall, just daring Oksana to take her time. She was still irritated with Oksana’s cell phone antics.
She cursed herself for letting the front door slam and Oksana walked into the kitchen to find Kat cleaning her plate into Vasily’s dish. He came for a sniff then cleaned the rest off with his tongue.
“You walk him tonight,” Baba told Kat as she lit another cigarette.
“Baba, no,” Kat whined, slouching dramatically against the corner.
“I’ll do it,” Oksana offered. The dog was the size of a small truck and protective of Kat. She was perfectly safe walking him at night, but Oksana wanted to get away from Baba’s mood as soon as possible.
“No, it’s her turn. She wanted a puppy. The puppy became a dog and now she walks the dog,” Baba said.
Kat switched to English, which she only did to piss off their grandmother.
“I hate this.” She dropped her plate in the sink and stormed out of the room. “He takes the biggest shits.” She had a point.
Oksana watched the dog enjoy his dinner of scraps, pretending she didn’t feel her grandmother’s glare drilling a hole in the side of her head. Baba Inna ashed her cigarette in the sink and walked to the stove. Oksana finally sat at the table.
Baba Inna brought her a plate piled high with steak, potatoes, and onions. She often joked that Oksana’s grandfather had passed on his appetite, his Viking blood, and his height to both his grandchildren, but the truth was, being a trainer was as active a career as most people thought. In her down time, Oksana had to keep herself in shape. If she didn’t eat like a trucker, she’d be fabulously underweight and undesirable as a trainer. She had to be slim but healthy, which meant eating mountains of Baba’s starches and proteins and fats. Traditional Russian cuisine was not for the weak, and certainly wasn’t a diet she’d recommend to a client, but Oksana loved it. As she stuffed her mouth, Baba grabbed her phone off the table.
Fear was quickly replaced with relief as she remembered the final texts her grandmother would read. She replaced the phone next to Oksana’s elbow then just stood there.
“Who is she?” Baba Inna asked after an uncomfortably long silence.
Oksana swallowed, then filled her fork again. “A client.”
“You love her.”
“No.” Oksana took another bite and considered how to phrase more of the truth. Baba was already irritated. Her tempers were subtle, but the fact that they were having this conversation at all proved that Baba had noticed Oksana’s recent behavior and she wasn’t impressed. The truth didn’t necessarily need details though.
“She’s engaged. I made a mistake.”
“There is no mistake. You love her. Your eyes are terrible liars.”
Oksana’s throat wanted to close. The last time they’d talked like this, it was about Vivian. Baba told Oksana not to move in with her. They hadn’t known each other long enough. Oksana insisted it was the right step in their relationship, but in the end it turned out Oksana didn’t know Vivian at all.
This time Oksana knew her side of the argument was for the best.
“I like her,” she said. “But I don’t love her. It was a mistake and it’s over.”
Baba let her clean her plate in silence, but when Oksana’s cell vibrated on the table, Baba snatched it away again. The third night in a row she’d brought her phone up for dinner. She really wasn’t being slick, and worse yet, of all the people who could have texted her, she prayed it was Annie coming around for another chance. At what, she didn’t know, and she knew she shouldn’t think about.
Once she rinsed her dishes, Baba handed back her phone. “Awful, awful liar. Call Ronnie.” Baba patted her gently on the butt and sent her on her way.
*
“You love me, yes?” Ronnie cackled over the phone.
Oksana tossed the keys to the little house into the bowl by the TV and turned on the light. She dropped her bag on the floor and started to undress. Her nipples needed some air and some gentle, loving attention. She ignored the idea of Annie doling out that attention and the rush of heat and moisture between her legs.
“No. Miss Ronnie Ramirez, you dick. What did you do?”
“I got you another A-list client. That’s what I did. That’s seven this year. You should buy me something,” Ronnie said.
“Three, and you have plenty of money, dick.” Oksana smiled as she kicked off her shoes.
She and Ronnie had a wonderful love/hate relationship. Out-siders thought they genuinely didn’t like each other, but that was just how they connected. Ronnie didn’t give you a hard time if she didn’t love you, and Oksana was grateful for every moment of the friendship she’d shared with Ronnie and her girlfriend Noelle. They both stuck with Oksana through all the bullshit with Vivian, and even though Ronnie was completely to blame for Kat’s green hair and piercings, she had been there to help Oksana pick up all of her pieces.
After she was over this initial round of sulking, she could definitely use some quality time with them both. After she
was done sulking and masturbating. Stupid Annie.
“Plus, we don’t know if the lucky winner will be A-list. Could be a nobody on the rise,” Oksana said before she pulled off her shirt. She missed a little of what Ronnie said under the muffle of sweat-dampened cotton.
“—o. I’m thinking totally crazy, method A-lister. You’re in for some fun, and since you really do owe me, we’re going out tonight.”
“Um, no.”
“Uh, yes. Noelle locked herself in her studio. I’m lonely and useless. You need to keep me company,” she said dryly. Ronnie was a successful hair stylist and bitch to boot who desperately loved Noelle. She knew that Noelle needed her space to focus on her paintings, though it didn’t stop Ronnie from pouting when she wasn’t around.
Oksana groaned. She wanted to sleep. Actually, she wanted to mope and stare at her phone. She wanted Annie to crack. That was the truth. She wanted Annie to call or text or something, and she wanted to be available for the possible moment of weakness.
Exactly why you should go! Finally, a part of her brain was making sense. She rubbed her nipple through her sports bra then grabbed a towel.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
*
Thursdays at The Maypole were perfect. The weekend crowd wasn’t gumming up the line to the restroom and they didn’t have to wade through the sea of women who came in to take advantage of the half-priced drinks offered every ladies’ night. Ronnie hated ladies’ night. They weaved through the line, skipped flashing their IDs because Oksana had trained the owner on and off for a while now, and slipped into the bar. She tried not to think about Annie as Ronnie ordered her drink.
She soaked in the music. The Gaga/Britney mash-up was blasting so loudly it vibrated her eardrums and her bones, but she didn’t feel like dancing. There were a few women in the crowd of gay men, but Oksana knew them all and she wasn’t interested. True quality time with Ronnie it would be.
“So what’s going on with you?” Ronnie raised her voice. Fuck. There was no point in fighting this. Everyone could tell she was off. She’d mentioned Annie to Ronnie and Noelle before, said that she thought Annie was hot, and immediately told them she was taken when Noelle’s eyes lit up at the prospect of matchmaking. At the time, they all agreed: get Annie fit and trim for her wedding dance, then send her packing. But no. Oksana couldn’t keep her mouth shut or her hands to herself, and once again, she was screwed. Hopefully, one day Oksana would know a train wreck when she saw one.
She turned around and put her forehead on the bar. After a few deep breaths, she stood and faced her. Ronnie put her drink down. She knew this was serious.
“I fucked the reality show producer. The straight, engaged reality show producer,” Oksana said over the Gaga.
“Fuck you. You’re lying.”
Oksana shook her head and took a sip of Ronnie’s drink. She winced and set the glass back down. It was more Red Bull than vodka.
“I fucked her and then I started texting her. It got out of hand.”
“And?”
“And it got out of hand. So I put a stop to it.”
“Let’s go sit.” Ronnie liked to get comfortable before she laid into you. Oksana followed her toward the edge of the dance floor. “I Facebook stalked her, but there’s no real picture,” Ronnie said over her shoulder. Which was true. Oksana had looked her up too, but instead of the lick-able blond bombshell, there was a picture of Aileen Quinn from the 1982 film version of Annie. It was cute, really.
“Yeah, she—” A familiar laugh coming from the dance floor stopped Oksana right in her Converse. “Oh shit.” Pure terror snaked up the back of Oksana’s neck.
“What?” Ronnie asked.
Annie was what. Oksana peered through the throng of moving bodies and spotted the person she needed to avoid. Yup, it was Annie all right, smashed between two go-go boys.
Oksana should have left. She should have dragged Ronnie, or ditched her if she resisted, and headed right back home, but something wasn’t right about what she was seeing.
Annie admittedly never hung out in West Hollywood. “Work, then my body craves the beach,” she’d joked a few times. Plus, aside from the two glistening employees grinding up against her, Oksana got a feeling that Annie was alone. There were no friends looking on, no other girls dancing close by. But it was more. Something wasn’t right about the way Annie was moving.
“Is that her?”
“Yeah,” Oksana gasped.
“She is hot, and dios mío, she’s wasted.”
Ronnie was right. It was barely ten thirty, and Annie was blasted off her ass. And she’d been drunk the other night too.
Oksana stormed across the dance floor. One of the go-go boys caught her eye and grabbed the other guy by the shoulder. They both looked in Oksana’s direction before scurrying off to their pedestals, knowing full well a woman moving with purpose when they saw one. Annie kept dancing. She looked so beautiful as she swayed to the music. Her hair swept up in a ponytail, her tank top showing off her smooth shoulders and neck. Wisps of her bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat.
Gorgeous.
Oksana steeled her nerves as she reached for Annie’s hand, ignoring the heat that shot up her arm the moment they touched. Annie spun around, and the second she realized whose fingers were gently gripping hers, her face lit up like the Hollywood sign.
“You came!” she shouted gleefully. “I mixed up the nights, and then one Mojito turned into four and then—I just love Gaga!”
Oksana leaned down so she wouldn’t have to yell. “Annie, are you alone?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.” She threw her arms around Oksana, who thanked her good balance for keeping them upright. She shivered as Annie nuzzled her face between her breasts. “I wanted you to come and you came.”
Despite her dread, Oksana’s arms went around Annie and she pulled her closer.
Beside them, Ronnie was laughing her ass off.
Chapter Four
The Further Complication of Things
Annie woke with a harsh gasp, her heart thumping hard at the base of her throat. She’d had one of the dreams where you trip, and the momentum of the fall and the desperate reaction to save yourself jerk you awake. Annie sniffled sharply as she lifted her head off the pillow. She rubbed her face, and just as quickly, she flinched.
She wasn’t in bed alone.
For a short moment, she closed her eyes before she turned. She’d gotten drunk, but not that drunk. She remembered where she’d gone, how she’d gotten there, and how she’d gotten home, exactly who she’d been elated to see, and that very person was the same person who had driven her tipsy ass and her hybrid all the way back to Venice. It definitely wasn’t a matter of who, but a matter of what next?
Annie’s instincts, light years ahead of her brain, made her whip her shoulders around to face Oksana.
She was sitting up in bed, above the covers, her head tilted back against the wall. Her breathing was steady and her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping. A muscle in her jaw twitched like she was trying to hold still. Annie looked her over for a moment in the light coming from her closet. Oksana was still in her white low-top Chucks, and her short pleated skirt and a white tank top. The bra she had on was navy blue, the same color as the skirt. Annie’s eyes ran the length of Oksana’s long body once again, from her feet crossed at the ankles hanging just off the bed, up to the gunmetal studs in her ears. Finally, her gaze settled on Oksana’s left breast.
Her nipple was hard and the rounded edges of the piecing were prodding against the fabric.
“Are you still drunk?”
Annie looked up at the dry sound of Oksana’s voice. Her eyes were still closed.
“No.” Annie cleared her throat and tried to explain further. She’d made a thorough ass out of herself, and the last thing she wanted to do was piss Oksana off even more. There had been a few too many drinks, but a full dose of crazy and adrenaline had lead to her ridiculous showing at The Maypole.
And now there was no hangover, just a lot of embarrassment and a little bit of dehydration.
Slowly, Annie crawled out of bed and stood. Looking down, she closed her eyes and breathed out even more nonsense. Oksana had helped her get changed for bed. One of Jeff’s Nikon T-shirts covered her down to her knees. More of the night before came flashing back, the awkward ride home where Annie would not shut up, Oksana’s concern about her open yard fence and her broken garage door. Her concern about Annie in general. She looked up at Oksana again whose eyes were still closed. No part of this could be good.
“Please don’t leave. I—”
“Okay,” Oksana replied calmly. Annie hesitated a moment before walking out to the kitchen. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d pounced on Oksana like a cracked up leech at the club, given her the freaking lazy motorboat in front of her friend, and ultimately scared Oksana so badly that putting Annie in a cab clearly wasn’t an option. Annie chugged down a glass of water as she leaned against the counter. The clock on the stove glowed four thirty a.m. in neon green. No plan. She didn’t have one, but somehow she had to convince Oksana to let her apologize. It was too early in the morning to think of anything beyond that.
Annie stepped back into her bedroom to find Oksana in the exact same position. Eyes still closed, head still tilted back. Annie had to know.
“Why did you stay?”
Oksana opened her eyes. “I watched a friend puke in his sleep. He’s fine, but it scared the shit out of me. You seem to be drinking a lot lately. Not that I’m around you enough to make a comparison, but you know…”
“I’m a pain in your ass, but you didn’t want me to die.”
Oksana pursed her lips and nodded. “So what happened?”
“I…uh…I needed some clarity.”
“About?” Oksana scowled.
“I wanted to know how gay I am.” Yes, Annie. You just said that.
The Fling Page 6