by Sophia Henry
“Good thing we’ve established I’m still drunk then.” Aleksandr focused on the window he’d jumped through last night. The wrinkles around his eyes smoothed, and his face paled. “Oh shit, Auden. Did we? Did I?”
“Absolutely not,” I assured him. “All we did was sleep. You climbed in my window, made out with me, and stripped before passing out cold.”
“I climbed in the window?” he asked, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, patting his bicep. “Happens all the time.”
“Really?”
“Yep, just another fun night.”
“I took all my clothes off?”
“Uh, yeah. You dropped your boxers in the living room.”
“Did you like it?”
“I didn’t even look,” I lied. I’d looked, but I hadn’t stared.
“Sorry about that.” His mouth curved, and that tiny little dip in his lip appeared. I loved that I put the real-smile dip there. I loved that he wasn’t faking when he smiled at me, even if he was just being a flirt.
No. No. NO. No more loving things about him.
I shook my head, narrowing my eyes. “No, you aren’t.”
“True,” he admitted, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. “But I am sorry I don’t remember.”
I snapped back to reality and remembered that we were in my bedroom in my grandparents’ house, not at my apartment at school.
“How the hell are you going to get out of here?” I ran a hand through my hair, until it got stuck in a snarl. Ratty hair is super sexy, Auden.
“Same way I came in?” Aleksandr asked, squinting at the window.
“Yes. Do that. Now.” I pushed his shoulders, pressing my palms into the sable ink I hadn’t even gotten a chance to study.
He fell backward onto the ground.
I leaned over the bed, chewing my bottom lip. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure.” He rolled his eyes. When he crunched himself into a sitting position using only his abdominal muscles, I thought I’d have to wipe the drool off my chin. It didn’t help my situation watching him grab his jeans and pull them up his perfectly chiseled legs. At least he used his unfortunate position to take action.
Lighten up, I told myself. Until I heard my grandpa’s heavy footsteps descending the stairs.
“Get in the closet,” I whispered, pushing him toward the door with my foot.
He batted my toes away. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Please, Sasha. It’s just until my grandpa goes into the kitchen to have his coffee,” I pleaded. He swiped his shirt from the floor, before stumbling into the tiny space.
I should have felt bad that my closet was miniscule.
“Sorry,” I said to him through the door.
I was annoyed at the situation. Why did he have to come to my window drunk? Why did I let him inside? Was I this big of a stick-in-the-mud at school, or was I a bundle of nerves because I was back in my grandparents’ house?
“Morning, Dedushka,” I greeted Grandpa as he entered the bathroom.
“You’re up early.”
“It’s a workday.” I held up my thumbs and flashed my pearly chompers, before dashing past him toward the kitchen.
While there, I rummaged around the pantry, digging a packet of Pop-Tarts out of the box. I filled a small glass with orange juice before heading back to my room. When I heard my grandpa leave the bathroom and shuffle toward the kitchen, I opened my closet door.
“I got you breakfast.” I handed Aleksandr the Pop-Tarts and juice.
He stuffed half of one Pop-Tart in his mouth, chewing for a moment before he frowned, looking down at the dry pastry. “What is this?”
“A Pop-Tart,” I responded. He looked at it like it offended him. “You’ve never had a Pop-Tart before?”
He shrugged and took another bite.
“When do you wear this?” He lifted up a pair of black leather pants and a red lace tank top. My vampire costume from the previous Halloween.
“Church,” I answered, grabbing the clothes and throwing them back in the closet.
“Seeing you in that could make me a believer.”
I hip-checked him out of the way, shutting the closet door. “Time for you to go. I need to get showered.”
“Can I join?”
“Still drunk?” I asked again.
“Definitely,” Aleksandr said, setting the glass of OJ on my desk. Much to my traitorous heart’s dismay, he pulled his shirt over his head, covering his beautiful ink. Then he pulled up the window and swung a leg out.
“Sasha.” I grabbed his arm.
He looked up, his deep cobalt eyes searching mine.
“Last night you said you came over to make sure I was okay. Why would you think I wasn’t okay?”
“You don’t remember?”
I shook my head.
“That Jeremy guy put something in your drink. You got really dizzy and sick. I carried you to the car. Landon drove you home.”
“Are you kidding?” It was true that I didn’t remember much of the night in Canada, but I thought it was because the two vodka clubs I’d drank had put me out.
“It was completely fucked.” Aleksandr started back out the window, then paused and turned around. “I’m glad you’re okay, Audushka.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was usually so careful when we were out. I was the responsible one. I must’ve let my guard down because Jeremy was Scott’s friend. I knew better than that.
Idiot.
“Thank you.” I touched his arm, catching his eyes again. I hoped they revealed my sincerity. “Seriously.”
He leaned in and pecked my lips.
When I huffed, he laughed. “I swear I’m still drunk.” He jumped and landed easily on his feet.
I leaned out, watching him retreat until he was out of sight, then ducked back inside and shut the window. A massive shiver ran through my body, so I slid back into bed and curled into the fetal position to warm up.
Aleksandr knew someone drugged me, helped get me home, and climbed in through my window to make sure I was okay. Can’t say that had ever happened to me before.
Maybe we could be friends instead of at each other’s throats all the time.
I could be open to friendship.
Chapter 10
“What’s going on with you and Aleksandr?” Kristen asked when I picked up the phone, instead of the usual hello with which most people began conversations.
“Nothing,” I said through a yawn, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder. I should have ignored the ringing, but I knew my grandparents would wake me up for the call anyway. Why didn’t anyone want me to sleep today?
“Um, yes, there is something. He left here last night completely plastered saying he had to check on you. And he didn’t come back until this morning.”
I sprang up, grabbing the phone before it fell. “Excuse me? What do you mean ‘here’? Where is ‘here”?” I asked, ignoring her interrogation by starting my own.
“Landon’s.”
“You’re at Landon’s? You spent the night with Landon?”
“He drove us home last night. I didn’t want to make him drive all the way to New Baltimore.”
“You could’ve stayed here.”
“Shut up and answer my original question.”
I smiled. Kristen and Landon. It wasn’t an odd combination, since Kristen was a grade-A knockout. I just hadn’t expected it. I’d never seen them have a conversation. Which didn’t mean much, since the end of the night was absent from my brain.
“He said Jeremy drugged my drink.” I fell back on the bed, closing my eyes as I inhaled Aleksandr’s clove scent wafting from my pillow.
“Yeah. I can’t believe Scott would even bring that frickin’ psycho.”
“You can’t?” I asked. I didn’t believe Scott brought someone to hurt us intentionally, but I wasn’t surprised he had those kinds of friends.
“I’m so glad Aleksandr beat hi
s ass.”
“What?”
“He punched Jeremy out. Like, punched him out cold,” Kristen said.
Though I didn’t condone violence, my heart swelled knowing that Aleksandr had punched him for me.
When I heard the rumble of a vehicle pulling into the driveway, I cut the conversation short. “I gotta go, KK. Uncle Rick’s here.”
“Scratch Max’s belly for me,” she replied. “And call me later.”
I paused to put on a bra and sweep my hair into a messy ponytail before trotting out to the living room. I’d assumed the visitor was my uncle Rick, since he came over every weekend with Max, his golden Lab. But when I looked out the window, I saw Aleksandr hopping out of his black Jeep Wrangler. He looked up from fumbling around in the passenger side and winked, before resuming his task. When he emerged again, he closed the door with his hip, as his hands were full; a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a package wrapped in plain brown paper in the other.
“Who is it?” Grandpa asked.
“My client,” I answered. My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like the offspring of unicorns and elephants were banging against my chest cavity.
“Let the boy in the house, Audushka,” he commanded, looming behind me.
I took a few steps back, before Grandpa brought out the mosh-pit elbows on me.
Aleksandr stepped over the threshold and into the house before greeting Grandpa. “Viktor Vladimirovich, is nice to finally meet you. Evgeny Igorovich and Audushka tell me many good things.” After speaking with my grandpa, he took a small step to the side and leaned in to kiss Gram on the cheeks three times. “Mrs. Berezin.”
Points for the Russian: Using Grandpa’s patronymic (first and middle names, which is the respectful way to greet in Russia) and kissing Gram’s cheeks in greeting.
Points against the Russian: His hair. I watched Grandpa’s eyes lock on Aleksandr’s head for a few seconds before he backed away. He didn’t mention it, but I knew he was judging.
Aleksandr must have noticed where Grandpa’s eyes had lingered, because he smoothed a hand over one shaved side and shrugged. “Prank on rookie.”
“Oh my.” Gram covered her mouth, hiding the curve of a smile.
“For you.” Aleksandr didn’t miss a beat, holding out the paper-wrapped package to Gram.
“Thank you,” she said, peeling back the wrapping to reveal a loaf of dark brown bread.
“Is black bread,” he explained, seeing her eyebrows lift in question at the gift.
“Where did you get black bread here?” Grandpa interrupted.
I swear Grandpa was salivating. He’d told me stories of how much he loved his mother’s black bread, but I’d never had it before. My great-grandma passed away before I was born, and Gram wasn’t a baker. A few years ago, I looked up a recipe to make the dark rye bread for Grandpa on his birthday, but immediately filed it under the impossible-for-my-skill-set category. Must’ve inherited Gram’s baking capabilities.
“I make this,” Aleksandr told him.
Six eyes widened as we all stared at him like he was crazy. And a liar.
“I made this bread,” he went on, “but I cannot tell you how this taste. I hope like Babushka’s.”
“You bake?” I asked peeking at him from over my Gram’s shoulder.
“No. I watch Babushka so many times I make this in my sleep.” Aleksandr smiled. “But I can cook.”
“Well, it was very thoughtful,” Gram told him, before turning to give me a pointed look.
I guess it was rude to ask a guy if he could bake.
“Come sit down,” she told Aleksandr, closing the door behind him. “Can I get you something to drink, dear?”
“No, thank you.” He shook his head. “I not gonna stay long. I come to meet you. Tell you Audushka is amazing translator. She, uh, professional and fast.”
Aleksandr handed me the beautiful bouquet of red roses and kissed each of my cheeks, then the left again, just as he had Gram. I brought the flowers to my nose, inhaling the musky scent that reminded me of Gram’s favorite lotion. Holding the bouquet in front of my face masked the color flooding my cheeks, but it wouldn’t stop the thrum as my heartbeat accelerated in my chest.
“I’ll take that,” Grandpa said, holding his hand out for Aleksandr’s peacoat. Grandpa nodded to the couch. “Take a seat.”
A few strands of loose hair fell in front of Aleksandr’s eyes as he settled on the couch.
Grandpa kept glancing at Aleksandr’s head as he hung his peacoat in the front closet. He hated Aleksandr’s hair.
“Let’s put those in some water.” Gram motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen. I nodded, though I was uneasy about leaving Aleksandr alone with Grandpa.
Gram and I set to our tasks in the small kitchen. She unwrapped the bread and set it on a cutting board, as I grabbed an empty vase from the cupboard above the sink and filled it with water. I separated each rose with care from the extra greenery and arranged them in the vase. Eleven roses. I counted again. Still eleven. Jerky florist gypped the guy from a dozen roses.
“Audushka tells us you are from Serpukov.” Grandpa’s voice boomed from the living room. Then I heard the distinct creaks as he lowered himself onto his worn, gray recliner.
“Yes,” Aleksandr answered.
Hurrying to the living room, I set the vase of flowers on the coffee table and scooted around it to sit next to Aleksandr on the couch. Sitting next to him didn’t mean anything. We had a good working relationship. We were friends.
Friends. Keep telling yourself that, Auden.
“How often do you get to go home?” Gram asked, placing the bread on the coffee table in front of Aleksandr and me. She’d set a small ramekin of butter and a knife next to the now-sliced bread. Gram took a piece, buttered it, and handed it to Grandpa before doing the same for herself. “Your parents must miss you.”
“My parents, they killed in car accident. But I have many aunts, uncles, cousins. Never enough time for these visits when I am home.” He smiled.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Gram told him, her eyes soft with empathy. No doubt in my mind, she’d already started saying the rosary for him in her head.
“I have my parents eighteen years. I miss them, but I come here like I planned. I just hope I make them proud, yes.”
“This bread is wonderful, Aleksandr,” Gram said, looking from Aleksandr to Grandpa. “Isn’t it wonderful, Viktor?”
If Gram was doing a quick subject change, it meant she was about to cry. And Irish Catholic Catherine was just as stoic as Russian atheist-turned-Catholic Viktor when it came to crying. They rarely let loose in public.
“Very good,” Grandpa answered while still chewing. He’d already motioned for a second piece, so I believed him.
“Thank you,” Aleksandr told them.
The conversation went on from there, but I tuned out because I couldn’t take my eyes off Aleksandr. His blue eyes were bright, highlighted by the cute wrinkles surrounding them. He wore an easy, genuine smile during a conversation in which I’d expected him to be stiff and uncomfortable. He seemed anything but uncomfortable. Should the power go out, we could’ve used the glow of happiness radiating from him as a generator.
This confident, sometimes arrogant, man just wanted attention and praise. I kept forgetting he left everything familiar back in Russia to start a new life here. He’d made a huge transition, and I needed to cut him some slack.
“Aleksandr, I’m glad you came to spend time with us. Thank you so much for the delicious bread. I have to excuse myself to finish up some work.” Gram rose from her chair.
Aleksandr stood. “Is nice to meet you. Thank you.”
She rubbed his shoulder as she walked past him to the kitchen.
Whoa, now! Back off, Catherine!
A minute later she was pecking away on her typewriter. (Yes, typewriter.) As the secretary of her Thursday-night bowling league, it was her duty to put a score sheet together from the previous week.
>
I waited for Grandpa to make his exit, too. Instead, he pushed back on his recliner, getting more comfortable.
“I think you got gypped at the florist,” I told Aleksandr in Russian, ignoring my nosy grandpa who was most likely listening to every word.
“What do you mean? You liked them, yes?”
“Oh, yeah! They’re gorgeous. But there’s only eleven.”
He smiled, and shook his head.
“Oh my gosh, that was so rude. I’m sorry.” I’d insulted the only person to ever give me flowers over one measly flower. As if I hadn’t put him through enough in the last twenty-four hours. I was a class act.
“In Russia we don’t give even-numbered flowers as gifts.”
“Why not?” Wasn’t something as simple as flowers the same across the world?
“Even numbers are for the dead.”
I paused, unsure how to answer. “Well, then, I’m really glad the florist gypped you.”
“Me, too.” Aleksandr laughed, glancing at his watch. “I need to get going.”
“Oh, okay,” I mumbled, jumping up to retrieve Aleksandr’s coat from the front closet. My cheeks flushed as I watched him pull it up his arms and over his shoulders. His movements were so easy, so self-assured. Leave it to me to get excited over someone putting on clothes.
“Thank you so much, Sasha,” I said, throwing my arms around him. My hug must’ve caught him off guard because he stumbled backward.
“Thanks for letting me stop by,” he responded, recovering from my attack. I pulled back, sneaking a peek at his reaction. He was smiling. A white-teeth-showing, bottom-lip-dipping smile.
“Aleksandr Sergeevich?” Grandpa called just as Aleksandr was about to open the door.
“Yes?” He lifted his head to meet my grandpa’s eyes.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you have a good handle on the English language.” Grandpa minced no words in Russian. He pushed down the footrest on his recliner and stood up.
Oh shit. I put a hand over my mouth.
“I do, yes,” Aleksandr admitted.