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As soon as I turn my eyes to Dima, he holds up a hand as if trying to calm a rabid dog. “I have never been with her,” he says, and the knowledge that he’s never fucked her is more of a relief than I care to admit, but I still don’t understand why he ignored me when she was here.
“She seems to think you’re going to at some point.”
“I know, and she will know that is never going to happen before we leave here. I promise.”
“Why not set her straight right now?”
He laughs. I clench my jaw and wait.
“I am not going to piss off the person responsible for our food before she brings it out here.”
He has a point, but I don’t say anything. He watches me and raises an eyebrow. “Does Tiffany seem like the kind of person who would see you as a threat and then not spit in your food?”
I let out a gasp of horror at the idea of it, but I have to admit that after seeing her, I could definitely see her doing something like that. Not wanting to risk it, I muster up an innocent smile when she brings us our drinks, trying to keep myself completely off her threat-seeking radar. Knowing I’m not the world’s greatest actress, I busy myself with adding cream and sugar to my coffee while she shamelessly flirts with Dima. To his credit, he doesn’t encourage her. He answers her questions, but there’s nothing in his tone to suggest he’s at all interested in her. I’m amazed at her inability to take a hint.
When she finally disappears again, I have to resist the urge to reach my hand out across the table to grab onto his. He gives me a quick wink, letting me know he feels the same way.
“I meant to ask you earlier about your tattoo, the one in Russian. What does it mean?”
“You can’t read it yet?”
I laugh and take a drink of my coffee. “Not even close.”
“Maybe I should wait to tell you. It would be good motivator.”
“There are other ways you could motivate me.” I smile at the dark look he gives me.
“Very true,” he agrees with a sexy grin. “It is line from Vladimir Mayakovsky’s poem ‘At the Top of my Voice.’ It translates to, ‘But I subdued myself, setting my heel on the throat of my own song.’”
I study him for a second, wondering if I’ll ever get used to being surprised by him. There are so many hidden layers to him, and I know I’ll never get tired of discovering new things about him.
“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry you had to hide yourself away and let go of all your dreams and plans.”
He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s no big deal, and I recognize the stubborn way he’s holding his jaw. “I never expected fairytale life. I am too Russian for that.” He laughs, but there’s no real amusement in it.
I want to say more, but Tiffany interrupts us by setting our plates of food down. Mine looks delicious, and, thankfully, doesn't appear to be tampered with.
Tiffany gives Dima a wink that has me rolling my eyes. “I snuck a few extra slices of bacon on your plate, Dmitri. A strong guy like you needs all the protein he can get.”
Dima looks over at me, making sure I have all my food and everything I need before reaching across the table to grab onto my hand. He gives it a squeeze and rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
Tiffany’s eyes dart to where he’s stroking my skin and quickly narrow to two angry slits. She glares at me before pulling one last smile out of the bag and turning to Dmitri.
“Oh, she’s—“
“Mine,” Dima quickly says. His blue eyes lock on mine and immediately soften. “She’s mine.”
Tiffany lets out an angry snort and storms off.
“I hope she’s not expecting a tip,” I say, making Dima laugh.
He gives my hand another squeeze before letting go. “Eat your food, wicked girl.”
The breakfast is just as delicious as Jamie said it was, and I can’t help but laugh at the amount of food Dmitri demolishes. I imagine he burns a ton of calories in a day, and there’s certainly no sign of him going soft on any part of his body anytime soon. We both clear our plates, and when Tiffany slams our check down on the table, Dima grabs it as we stand. He wraps his arm tightly around me, leading me to the cash register up front.
I love the possessive way he reaches up and cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer so he can kiss the top of my head. My heart races and it has nothing to do with the mountain of sugar I just ingested and everything to do with his touch.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I tell him on the way back out to the car. “I like seeing places that you like to go to. It’s so weird to think that we could have just bumped into one another one day. I had only seen you on that one leaked fight video and every once in a while in some local article about your clubs. It never really occurred to me that you actually went out and did normal things like the rest of us.”
