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“You don’t realize how close to the mark you were when you asked if I’d burned myself with an iron.” He dropped my cross and tilted his head, while his eyes burned into mine. His fingers traced over my knuckles as he trapped my hand to his chest. He dragged my fingers over the raised skin with his, as if he wanted me to revel in what happened to him. Feel his pain. I was lulled into a trance by the deep timbre of his voice, with the warmth of his skin blanketing mine. But his next words pierced my heart. “I was branded with a hot iron when I was six.”
The quiet response of my disbelief echoed louder than words ever could.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Where was your god then?”
Dmitri
—Age 18
As the months passed, Sorina and I settled into a tentative truce. Sundays found Sorina and me in the gym. I worked out while watching her practice her tumbling runs. After landing, she adjusted her sports bra and mini shorts, then pulled on her high ponytail before bouncing on her toes. As usual, she was showing too much skin, causing my jaw to clench.
It didn’t bother me when I saw others on the squad wearing nearly nothing since the cheerleaders usually practiced on a side field or in the gym during our practice. But with Sorina, it was different. I wished I didn’t notice her in that way, but I was merely a guy living in the same house with one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen.
The notion of admitting that shit made me question the few morals I had, which weren’t many, but seeing her did strange things to me. I shook my head.She wasn’t all that, andshe is like a sister. I had to keep playing that mantra in my head. I especially had to highlight and replay the last part.
I grabbed my towel and wiped my face after finishing off a set of leg presses. When I looked up, I caught Sorina glance over her shoulder at me. There was a slight pause before she opened her mouth. “Could you help me with something?”
“What?” I wouldn’t call it being skeptical exactly, but it was weird she was asking for my help. “Why do you need my help?”
She put her hands on her hips and turned her back on me. “Never mind.”
Regardless, I dropped my towel and stepped over to her. When I stood at her back, she raised her brows, watching me through the floor-to-ceiling mirror. It was almost comical, our height difference. She was petite, and the top of her head barely reached my chest. But nothing else about her body was comical, though. She was lean and fit. The swell of her tits pressed against her tight sports bra. And don’t even get me started on her ass…my hands shook seeing how it was within reach. Fuck. I needed to get a grip. “What do you need?” My voice was sharp as my body tensed just being this close to her.
She licked her lips. “I need you to toss me straight up in the air so I can practice my form on this stunt.”
I said nothing, staring down at her like I didn’t understand what she wanted, but she tsked, taking over and clasping my wrists. “Place your hands here.” She put both my hands on her waist, and my fingers splayed across her stomach; my thumbs lingered on her hips. Her skin burned under my palm. Lust surged through me like a tidal wave, and I raised my eyes and caught her staring back at me. A slight flush bloomed and spread over her cheeks.
She swallowed and her lips parted. “We do this on the count of three.”
I stared down at her and nodded. “Okay.” My voice didn’t feel like it was mine.
“Okay,” she repeated. Then her lips parted. “One…two…three.”
I tossed her high in the air, and she kicked her legs up into a split with arms spread. When she started to descend, I caught her in my arms, cradling her securely against me.
“You caught me,” she admonished.
“You didn’t think I would?”
“It’s not that. I forgot to tell you to let me land on my feet.”
That was an understatement. “You always land on your feet, don’t you,zaychik.” My arms tightened around her before she could scramble and touch the ground. Common sense told me I should let her go, drop her like a bad habit, but I didn’t. I was compelled to touch her, hold her close.
Her brows drew together, and she pursed her lips. “Just like you.”
I knew she was talking about what I’d admitted to her. The scar. No one knew the real reason behind it. Not even Artynom. By the time he sought me out when I was eight, I was in the shitty foster care system. I only told him I’d accidentally burned myself because I was too ashamed to admit how I’d tried to defend my mother but failed. When I eventually escaped that sick situation, I left that part of me behind. Now Sorina wanted to know more. I could see the sympathy playing in her eyes. The questions. “What happened to your parents?” she asked, as if she had mental cue cards on hand to interview me.
I should’ve deposited her on her feet and walked away. Should’ve shut this shit down because this sure as hell wasn’t story time. Instead, I heard myself say, “I never knew my father, and my mother died of a drug overdose.”
She looked away, and I was certain she was trying to hide her pity. I was not fucking vulnerable, and I wasn’t sharing a hard-luck tale for sympathy. So why did I mention it in the first place? The past had been buried long ago, and there was no reason in my mind to exonerate it.
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Sorina.”
“I don’t,” she said defensively.
“I told you, I fought.”
She lifted her eyes and reached out, placing her hand on my cheek. “How could you fight when you were only a little boy?”
