Sordid (Sordid 1)

As his mouth claimed mine, I wondered if he was implying what I thought he was. Would he really release me? He kissed me now like a man who craved ownership and I was his prized possession.

The kiss ended abruptly, and he pulled back. “I’m distracting you.”

I was so far past using the word distracting to describe Luka, his statement was almost funny. He returned to his post leaning against the counter and pulled his phone out. We didn’t speak again as I dried my hair with a hairdryer and then set about putting on makeup. He was right, after all. I hated not looking put together, and if Luka said I needed to make a good impression, I was going to do it. I’d become obsessive about succeeding.

I snuck glances through the mirror at him while I put on mascara. He was reading something, scrolling through the phone, and a serious look etched his face. He was a dark shadow of the man I thought I’d loved in secret.

Talk about ridiculous. I hadn’t spoken to him once the whole semester. I’d studied him relentlessly, and inferred what I could, but love? I was so hopelessly naïve. I didn’t know the real him. I’d only had surface data, like how he took his coffee and that he preferred a messenger bag over a standard backpack.

The memory stormed in and the words came before I could stop them. “I almost bought you a cup of coffee once.”

His attention lifted from the screen. “What?”

“You usually had a Starbucks cup in class. I thought about buying one and bringing it to class for you.” I despised not only how shaky my voice was, but that I was telling him the story at all.

He blinked, visibly intrigued. “How did you know what kind I drink?”

“It was always marked on the side of your cups.” I finished capping my mascara and dropped it into my makeup bag. “I was determined to be outgoing and talk to you. So one day I ordered your tall, dark roast, got to class early, and . . . I couldn’t go through with it.”

He pushed off the counter and stood. His expression was focused. “I would have liked that. Sounds like you wasted an opportunity and a cup of coffee.”

“No, I drank it.”

His lips pulled up into the half smile. “Fuck,” he said, brushing his hand over my arm. “I would have eaten you for breakfast. And you would have enjoyed every goddamn minute of—”

There was a short knock at the bedroom door, followed by a male voice. “Sir, your father’s waiting in the dining room.”

The half smile faded. A black storm of disgust crawled over his expression and Luka turned cold. “Are you ready?”

Was I? His angry expression left me feeling unprepared.

Luka’s hand was tight on my wrist as he led me down the stairs, and my pulse roared beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t until I smelled the food that I realized I was famished. I’d only eaten the bagel this morning. Yet that was standard fare for me these days. I didn’t put on the freshman fifteen, mostly because I skipped meals. Studying for the MCAT last year on top of everything else had me down to eating once a day.

We turned the corner and I fought not to dig in my heels and skid to a stop. Luka had presence and gravity, but Mr. Markovic was a black hole.

He was seated at the head of the long dining table and looked to be in his early fifties. His patterned dress shirt appeared tailored and expensive. His face was rugged, his eyebrows thick and dark, and his hair had a few streaks of silver near the temples. If this was an indication of what Luka would look like in twenty years, he’d be handsome and distinguished when he was older.

But there was a dark, frenetic energy radiating from the elder Markovic man, and I could sense it clear across the dining room. A quiet rage boiled just below the surface of his skin.

My mouth went totally dry and my throat closed up as Mr. Markovic’s discerning gaze discovered me alongside his son. Luka had warned me not to speak, and it was not going to be a problem. I’d held out the tiniest shred of hope that Mr. Markovic could help me, but no. I suddenly had no desire to say a word. His eyes were as black as Luka’s, but far scarier.

“Who’s this?” His voice was loud and accusing. I wanted to shirk behind Luka’s broad shoulders, but Luka’s insistent hand pulled me forward toward the table.

“This is Addison Drake. We met at Vasilije’s frat party last night.”

Mr. Markovic’s face twisted into a scowl, and he peered at me like I was dirt. “You brought the situation home with you?”