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“Because you didn’t eat lunch.”
“No, I mean, why are we here, Alek? Why are you being nice to me? And why did you kiss me that night?”
He takes out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, but his eyes remain focused on me, unblinking. His fingers slip a cigarette into his mouth, and he lights the end with a lighter. There is no sense of urgency as he takes a pull, holding the smoke in his lungs before blowing it out.
Only when he finishes does he speak. “For every question you ask me, you will take a bite.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then I’ll shove it down your throat until you choke on it,” he deadpans.
There isn’t a trace of humor on his face, and given the fact the guy is willing to stick a knife in my vagina, I don’t want to test him.
“Fine.” I bring the football-shaped pastry to my mouth and bite off the end. The flakey dough tastes like butter, and the hot filling is meaty and savory.
When I finish chewing, I swallow and look him in the eye. “Well?”
“You asked me three questions,” he says. “Which one do you want me to answer?”
“Let’s start with why we’re here.”
“We’re here because you wanted to leave school. You didn’t eat lunch, and this place has the best piroshki in all of Olininburg.”
Fair enough.
I take another bite. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Because I feel like it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, it is.”
I doubt I’ll get more out of him than that. With a grumble, I take another bite and chew, but Alek narrows his gaze at me.
“Slow down, malishka. We have all the time in the world.”
Rolling my eyes, I make a show of chewing my food before swallowing it. He doesn’t want me to choke on my food, yet he’s willing to stuff it down my throat himself. Asshole.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask. “I don’t even know what it means.”
His lips curl into a smirk, drawing my attention to his mouth. “It’s like when a man calls his girlfriend ‘baby girl.’ The night I saw you outside, you were wailing like a child, so it suits you.”
“Fuck you. And I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Not yet.”
Goosebumps erupt across my arms from his chilling words. They sound like a threat rather than a sweet promise.
I take another bite, this time sticking the rest of the piroshki in my mouth. It gives me time to chew and mull over our bizarre conversation.
I swallow hard. “Why did you kiss me at the Spring Festival?”
“Because I wanted to,” he says. “And I’ll do it again.”
Leaning away from him, I sit back in my seat, but the wall is at my back. I feel caged in, but not in the same way as earlier at school.
This time, I think I like it.
