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Several bites in, I hear voices in the other room. I shovel one more bite into my mouth, then bring the bowl with me to greet Luka. I barely saw him yesterday because of meetings or something, and when I woke up this morning, he was already gone. I haven’t even had a chance to tell him Professor Scotts suddenly retired. Thanks to Luka, I’m sure.
Luka stands in the foyer with his hands hooked on his hips, holding back his suit jacket while he’s speaking in Russian to another man I haven’t met. I haven’t met any of Luka’s family or associates yet, but the amount of phone calls and text messages he receives suggests there’s plenty of them around the city.
I stay tucked out of the way, not wanting to interrupt him. The scowl on his face along with how fast he’s talking makes me think maybe I should go back to the kitchen. As I’m turning to do just that, I catch sight of his shirt. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, and it’s covered with red spatters. His knuckles are bleeding too.
“Avery, stay,” Luka’s booming voice calls across the entryway. He fires off a few more sentences to the man accompanying him, then turns toward me. “Come here.” He waves me over.
Shuffling across the foyer in my sneakers, which I had to dig out of the trash can when he wasn’t looking, I move to where he’s waiting for me. Once I’m near enough, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him.
“This is Osip. He’s going to take you to school from now on.” He points to the man standing in front of me in a similar dark suit, sans the spatter.
“Oh. I don’t need a ride. I took the bus today, and it worked fine. I was able to get some studying done that I needed to do.” I wave a hand toward the severe looking man. “I mean, I’m sure you have more important things to do than drive me around.”
“He doesn’t,” Luka assures me, giving my shoulder a slight squeeze, which I’m sure means I’m not to argue the point. However, my stomach is half-full now, so the hunger fog has lifted.
“You probably have a lot of other things to do,” I say again.
“He doesn’t.” Luka’s voice deepens.
Osip keeps his expression neutral. “You have class tomorrow,” he says in a thicker accent than Luka. “We need to leave by nine fifteen to be on time.”
Okay, so he’s all business. Taking the bus would mean having to leave earlier, so it’s not the worst thing to catch a ride from Osip.
“Fine. I’ll take your ride there. But I’m working after my class, and I’m not sure what time I’ll be done, so I’ll take the bus.” There—a sensible compromise.
“You don’t work on Friday afternoons,” Luka points out.
“Usually, no. But I was offered a new position that will mean more hours. I don’t start that for another week, but tomorrow afternoon I’m going to be doing some training.” I haven’t had a chance to mention the new position yet, but it also doesn’t matter. He’s going to leave soon, and it won’t affect our little… what is this, an affair… a tryst?
“You didn’t mention it.” His grip tightens.
“I didn’t get a chance,” I say, keeping my attention focused on Osip. “Do you want me to meet you in the garage or at the entrance to the building?”
Osip crunches his face, as though I’ve just insulted him.
“I’ll be here.” He points to the tiles at his feet. “Waiting for you.”
“She’ll be ready,” Luka assures him, then hits the elevator call button.
Osip gives a curt nod as soon as the doors open and steps inside.
“Luka, I don’t want a personal driver.” I pull out of his embrace as soon as Osip is gone.
“Your shoes.” He looks down at my feet.
“Don’t change the subject.” I remember his hand now. “You’re hurt.” With my bowl in my left hand, I grab his hand with my right.
He pulls away from my touch. “I’m fine. I’m going to get cleaned up, and then I’ll join you for dinner. You’re eating my favorite meal.” Without hesitation, he grabs the fork from my bowl and scoops up a pile of noodles, shoveling it into his mouth and moaning with satisfaction as he chews.
“How did you get hurt?” I ask while he’s chewing.
He drops the fork back into my bowl. “Why did you pull your shoes from the trash?” he counters.
“Because they’re my shoes.”
“I had others delivered yesterday,” he says.
“Those aren’t mine.”
