From Lukov with Love

Where were we going?

“Why are you even here?” I asked, trying to lift my upper body again to get a look at the hall we were in.

Ivan didn’t say a word. He just kept walking down the hall, before turning down another hall that I’d never bothered going down because I’d never had any business going to it.

“Ivan.”

Still nothing.

Fuck me. I didn’t want to hurt him… because I didn’t want to delay practices… so I couldn’t kick my legs… and biting his ass was way more personal than necessary… so I reached toward his butt, which I belatedly realized was in a different pair of sweat pants than the ones he’d been wearing during our afternoon session, and reached for the curve I knew was laying beneath… and I pinched it. Hard.

He didn’t even flinch.

So, I did it again. In a different spot.

And still no response.

What the fuck kind of cyborg was he? I’d pinched my brother half as hard, and he’d acted like I’d shot him.

Before I could figure out if he was an alien, he turned us to the left and stopped. I peeked around his leg to see that he was standing in front of a door, and at that point, was punching buttons on a numeric keypad above a doorknob. Where the hell were we?

“What is this?” I asked him.

He hit what I could only assume was “enter” just as he replied with, “My room.”

His room?

And then, with his free hand, he turned the knob, shoved the door open, and took a step forward, his one and only free hand going to what had to be the light switch, because a split second later, everything was lit up. And by “everything” I meant the twenty-by-twenty-foot room with what looked like a kitchenette along one wall, a couch in the middle with a small coffee table in front of it, and who knew what else on the other side that I couldn’t see from where I was dangling, arching my neck one way and then the other to get a look around.

“Since when do you have your own—goddamn it! What the hell was that for?” I cried out at the sudden sharp pain coming from my right ass cheek. “Did you just pinch me?” I cried, reaching back to cup my cheek over the spot that hurt like hell.

“That’s for pinching me.” Then the son of a bitch did it again, and I tried to kick my leg out, making me forget I hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “And that’s what you get for not paying attention,” he answered easily, still standing there with me over his shoulder.

“For not paying attention?” I shouted again, rubbing my soon-to-be-bruised ass. “That fucking hurt, Ivan.” Because it had. Jesus Christ, he was strong.

“You tried to hurt me too. I’m only giving you exactly what you planned on giving me.” He had a point, but still. “If you paid more attention, you’d know I fall on my right cheek. I know you fall on your left one.”

Shit.

He had another point. I had less sensation on my left cheek than I did my right from so many falls. I bet half the nerves on my ass were dead.

And it was annoying he knew that and used it against me.

And it was even more annoying that I’d tried pinching the butt cheek on him with the same trauma and failed, damn it.

“We’re even,” he said before going into a squat position, bending over and dropping me ass and back first onto the carpet floor, like I was a sack of worthless potatoes.

I glared at him.

Those pure black eyebrows of his went up. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he let me know right before he kneeled in front of me. Those intense eyes lingered on me for a moment before he glanced down and his hands went to one of my right skate. I jerked my leg toward me, but he didn’t let that stop him. His fingers went to the laces of my boots, and he began plucking at the tight double knots I always made.

Some part of me wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing… but I didn’t. I just sat there, with my ass hurting, and watched as he undid one set of laces, pulled the boot off my foot, and then did the same to the other. He didn’t say a word and neither did I as he then sat down and undid his own skates, setting them beside mine. Ivan did glance at me as he got to his feet and headed toward the kitchen area, taking up an entire wall along the back of the room.

Rubbing my ass cheek, I sat there, wondering what the fuck was going on, and then getting onto my knees and looking around the room, taking in this place that I hadn’t known existed. How long had it been here? Did anyone else know about it?

But I asked him the most important question bouncing around in my head, as I sat there. “What are you doing here?”

He was bent over, rummaging through what looked like a small fridge built into the cabinets when he answered, “I came to check on you.”

What?

Ivan didn’t look back at me as he stood up straight, holding a carton of almond milk in his hand as he kicked the door to the fridge closed. “Galina called Lee, who called me,” he went on, like he was reading my mind.

Galina? Where the hell had Galina been? And why would she call Lee? I wondered before shoving the questions to the side and focusing.

“You didn’t have to come,” I blurted, wincing afterward at how much of an asshole I sounded like and kind of regretting it. Just a little.

My partner said nothing as he opened up more cabinets and started pulling things out of them.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with one hand while the other one went to my ass again to rub at the spot he’d pinched the shit out of. “I don’t even know why she called. Everything was fine,” I snapped, gritting my teeth at just how much my butt hurt.

His snicker was loud.

“What?”

He had his back to me as he said, “Everything was fine. Sure, Jasmine. Keep telling yourself that.”

I straightened on my spot on the floor and tried to tell myself to keep my attitude in check. Be better. I could be better. “It was fine.”

Maybe not.

I could see him shake his head as he messed around with whatever he had taken out of the cabinets. “So you come back to practice after working out for hours, and instead, work on your jumps, falling and getting back up like you’re possessed, and you’re fine?” he threw back, messing with something on the countertop.

“Yes,” I lied.

He snorted. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, sounding awfully close to bitter but deciding to ignore it. I moved to get my legs under me and stood up.

Ivan sighed at the same time something opened, closed, and beeped.

“I’m fine,” I kept going as I straightened and gave my ass cheek another rub, glancing at things around the room out of the corner of my eye.

He turned around and leaned against the counter behind him, raising his eyebrows, his expression… irritated. Really irritated. Huh. “What happened?” he asked.

I looked away, deciding to see the rest of the room. There were racks of clothes along the wall to the right, filled with costume after vaguely familiar costume. I had always wondered what he did with all of them. I had mine stuffed into every closet that had space at my mom’s.

“Jasmine.”

I ignored the frustration in his voice and kept on taking in the pale gray painted room, taking in how organized and clean it all was. That didn’t surprise me. Ivan was meticulous about everything. His clothes, his hair, his technique, his car. Of course he wouldn’t have a mess.

I couldn’t say anything. I was almost a clean freak. Almost. I was definitely a time freak.

“Jasmine, tell me what’s wrong.”

I kept my eyes glued on his rows of costumes, kicking myself mentally in the ass for not checking to make sure Coach Lee or Galina hadn’t been around when I’d first showed up. I hadn’t even looked to see if their cars were in the lot. Rookie mistake.

“You can tell me anything. You know I know what this life is like,” he murmured the words I hadn’t expected from him. Words that cleaved deep into my gut.

Because he was right. If anyone did know, it was him. Of course he would. He might even know better than I did since he’d been doing it for longer.

Except, he’d done what he wanted to do, and kept on doing what he wanted to do.

While I hadn’t.

There was a reason he had his name on banners all over the LC, and I didn’t.

The microwave beeped, and I finally felt so defeated and… sad. Just so fucking sad, so fucking fast, it almost took my breath away. Standing with just one hip against the counter, he was holding a cup in his hand and a spoon in the other, stirring something. But he was looking at me expectantly. Waiting.

And it just made me sadder that I was this person he expected to fight him over everything.

Be better. It was never too late, was it?

I pinched my lips together for a moment and tried to wrangle it all in, my anger, this fucking sadness, my disappointment. And I thought I’d done a decent job as I said, almost weak, definitely weird, “I didn’t know you had your own room.” I swallowed. “Must be nice.”