I take exception to the especially not with you part.
“She’s not ready. She doesn’t leave apartment.” Adrian’s accent has grown thick.
“She does. She did.” I spread my hands. “She leaves it with me.”
Adrian opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but I plow on.
“Listen, I know you’re holding her up–you’ve been holding her together ever since you rescued her. But at some point, you have to see that you’re also holding something in place.”
Adrian jerks back like I punched him. “What thing?”
“Who you think she is right now. Nadia wants to change. She can’t do it if you’re keeping the broken version of her in place.”
Adrian’s brows slam down, and his upper lip curls, but just then Nadia throws open the door and demands something in Russian. “Hi.” She turns that moonbeam smile on me, and my insides bunch up in my chest. She looks breathless and happy to see me. I want to kiss her senseless.
“Hi. You look great.” She has on knee-high boots with a pair of black jeans and a sweater that criss-crosses at her throat, leaving both shoulders bare. Her new shag bob with the copper highlights perfectly frames her face. She looks hot.
Adrian grumbles something in Russian and stalks back inside. I take it as his acceptance of our date.
“I’m sorry about Adrian, he didn’t threaten you again, did he?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s cool.”
“Um.” She rubs her lips together. She’s wearing lip gloss, and I already want to know how it tastes. “I’ll just grab my jacket.”
“Cool.”
“Cool,” she echoes, a secret smile on her face as she slips back inside. Then she immediately throws the door open, grabs my hand, and pulls me inside. “You don’t have to wait in the hallway. You’re welcome in our home.”
“Hey, Flynn,” Kat calls out from the kitchen. Her accent is an interesting mix of British-English and Slavic. Like she learned English in the UK not here. She’s sitting on the kitchen counter, licking a spoon with peanut butter. She wears her long, dark hair in pigtails and has on white thigh-high socks and a plaid schoolgirl skirt. Adrian hovers near her, indulgent, but protective.
Now that I know their origin story, my interest is piqued.
“Don’t worry about curfew.” She beams a wide, saucy grin. “We trust you completely.”
It’s funny because we all know the opposite is true–at least from Adrian’s point of view–so I chuckle, immediately liking Kat. “Yeah, I really got that,” I say drily.
“I’m ready.” Nadia has put on a bright red woolen jacket, belted at the waist, and she tugs me toward the door.
Nadia calls out something in Russian, and I give Adrian and Kat a wave as we leave. I catch her hand in mine on the way to the elevator. I don’t see any of the nervousness in her that I saw the last time we left the apartment. Her hand isn’t clammy. She’s not relaxed, but her manner is more excited than scared.
As if reading my mind, when we get in the elevator, she says, “I think I’m going to be fine. I feel fine!”
“You’re totally fine.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips and kiss it, inhaling her butterscotch scent. I don’t know what I’m doing. We’re supposed to be friends. Friends who have sex.
Do friends with benefits hold hands and exchange little gestures of intimacy? I sort of doubt it, but I don’t want to stop. It feels too right to hold Nadia’s hand in mine. To receive the pleasure of her company. To have the honor of my lips on her skin.
“If not, you already know I’m cool chilling in the back of the van for as long as you need.”
She laughs, which was my intention. “I won’t need to.” She seems confident, and I take in the new Nadia. I’m not sure what changed her, but she definitely seems different. Much happier.
There’s a lifeforce fizzing and bubbling in her that I didn’t see so much before.
I take her to the parking garage, and we ride to Rue’s in the band’s van. It belongs to both Story and me because it was a hand-me-down from our dad when we formed the band because it’s big enough to haul sound equipment and instruments. I usually drive it, but I also have a motorcycle, and Story has a small Smart Car.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask, changing the dial on the radio.
“I like your music,” she says.
“Aw, you are a peach, aren’t you?” I keep fiddling with the dial until I hit a pop station where I leave it. “What did you listen to in Russia?”
“Rock.” She looks over at me. “Did you always want to have a band?”
I shrug. “It just seemed like something I would naturally do because of my dad. It was less something I wanted and more just inevitable. Ty and Lake and I all went to high school together and started the band. We thought a female lead singer would be a good draw, so we talked Story into fronting for us.”