“Nadia?” Her tone’s and mixture of surprise and dismay.
“Privet.” I greet her in Russian, which is rude, but I’m not that excited to see her.
They join us, clearly inviting themselves along for whatever plan we have of getting in.
“Is Flynn coming to open the door?” she asks.
“Da. Yes. He should be here in a minute.”
If only I could get rid of them first.
She wags a finger between me and the back door. “So, are you and Flynn still hanging out?”
I nod. If I had any integrity, I would tell her that Flynn and I were friends with benefits. Nothing more. But my integrity went out the window the moment she came running over here. Now I just wanted to stake my claim on Flynn, to claim him as my boyfriend and to be claimed by him as a girlfriend.
“I think that's great,” Cadence says. “Flynn is a such a kind soul.” She’s gushing. I wonder if she was pre-partying. “He’s a real caretaker. The first time we hung out”–I take this as American code for had sex–“I was on a bad trip.”
I glance at Kat because I don’t understand her words. She murmurs the Russian word for drugs, and I nod.
“He saw me freaking out and stayed with me until I could chill. It was so sweet.” She nods her head for emphasis.
I hate her.
Something about her story makes my stomach knot up. It’s too sickeningly familiar. Flynn is just a caretaker?
Blyad’.
He had told me about his mom–her depression. It made sense he might feel a heightened sense of responsibility for women in distress.
Gospodi, I did not want to be that for him. Not in a million years.
Yes, he saved me, but I thought…it was special. That we had a connection. Was I just another girl he thought he had to save? Is he drawn to damsels in distress?
The back door bursts open, and Flynn and his gigantic presence tumble out. “Nadia.” His gaze is on me alone. He reaches out and snags my wrist. “Come in, quick. We're over capacity, and the bouncers won't let anyone else in.”
“The door is open!” a girl yells from the line and suddenly hordes of them run for the door.
“Fuck.” He tugs me through the door and narrows the opening. Kat slips in right behind me. “Just you two.”
“Flynn, it’s me!” Cadence whines urgently as he tries to shut the door in her face.
“Oh. Hey, Candice.” His voice holds no enthusiasm.
“Cadence.”
“Ugh. Okay, I guess you guys can come in too. But that's it. Rue will kill me. If the fire marshall shows up, you have to duck out the back.” He slams the door behind them, just as the droves of girls calling his name reach the door.
I’m reminded of zombie hordes. I picture them on the other side banging on the door, smashing their faces against the metal and moaning.
I’m not just a girl he had to rescue. He genuinely seemed happy to see me.
Right?
Then I’m fully gratified because he ignores everyone else and takes my face in both hands to kiss me hard on the lips. “You did this,” he says. “You little Russian genius.”
“Yeah, she did,” Kat celebrates.
I beam up at Flynn, desperate for another kiss. In fact…screw it. I stand on tiptoe and claim one of my own.
The boyish pirate grin he gives me afterward makes my heart flip-flop.
I don't even feel like gloating over Cadence's sour expression.
He continues to ignore everyone else. “You look hot.”
Warmth rushes through me. I’m in the latest fashion–an olive babydoll dress that ends mid-thigh and has puffed, 80’s sleeves, with a pair of punk black boots underneath. I made the dress myself as soon as I saw the latest runway looks, so it fits me perfectly. I’m making one for Kat in red and white gingham to go with her schoolgirl fetish.
“You want your seat by the stage?”
I nod happily.
He points to where he’s already set it up, and I melt. I suddenly understand the meaning of the word swoon. Flynn definitely makes me swoon. I steal another kiss. “Spasibo.”
Flynn's arms circle behind my back, and he pulls me up against his body, one hand sliding lower to grip my ass. “What does that mean?”
I hardly notice when I hear Cadence sniff and flounce off with her friend.
“Thank you.”
Flynn and I have a moment. Our breath mingles. Our gazes are locked. Lips almost touching. There could be a fire in the building, and we’d never know. My heart thuds against my ribs in a happy staccato.
“Are you coming home with me tonight?” he asks in a low voice.
“Yes.” There’s zero hesitation for me in accepting his offer. If he asked me to go to a party, I would have said yes. If he asked me to go to Rome, I would have said yes. Or to the moon.