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Chapter 15
Thank God for Aimee and her box of tissues. She was such a sensitive soul that she used as many as I did while I told her the story. Luckily her flatmate was out to dinner, so we sat on her sofa—Aimee in her pajamas, me dressed up to see The Russian—and I told her the whole miserable story. She reached over to top up my wine glass and I waved her off, reaching instead for some of that great brie I had bought to eat with The Russian.
“I have to drive,” I said, explaining my lack of hitting the bottle.
“You can crash here,” she offered.
“Thanks Aim, but I’ll go home, wash my make-up off, crawl into bed with my Kindle and just pretend it didn’t happen.
“It doesn’t mean it is over,” she said. “He said some lovely things about you, and defended you to her ... you just have to put it all in perspective.”
“I know, you’re right, but if he puts a hole through the wall every time he gets angry or that ex keeps hanging around trying to persuade him to get back together, I don’t know if I want the drama ... you should have seen her, she was beautiful.”
“So are you,” Aimee said, loyally. “The Russian said it was over with her, so maybe just give him some time and let him move her on for good.”
“I haven’t given up on him,” I said, “I’m just disappointed, pissed off, flat ... tonight was our night. Why can’t I just have a normal relationship? How hard is it to find an available guy who does normal things like dating without the ex dropping in?” I sighed.
“Honey, tell me about it. Do you see a boyfriend here?” she said.
*****
When I pulled into my driveway just after ten-thirty, my breath hitched; The Russian’s silver Merc was there, parked in my car spot. What a cheek!
I parked him in and with a glance upstairs, I could see the living room lights were on so I guessed Josh and Spencer were entertaining him. I quickly checked my face to ensure there were no tear tracks or smudged mascara, did a quick compact powder improvement job and made my way upstairs. As I opened the door all three men turned to look at me; they were on the sofa, watching soccer, a beer in their hands. The Russian looked like a lion sitting next to two meerkats.
Josh and Spencer rose and I gave Spencer a quick kiss hello; I hadn’t seen him for a few weeks.
“Well we’re exhausted, better turn in,” Josh said, with a raised eyebrow and a look in my direction that said ‘good luck’.
“Thanks for the beer and company,” The Russian said.
“Our pleasure,” Spencer assured him. “I know a lot more about soccer now. We’re going to get to a game,” he said as he followed Josh and the room was suddenly empty ... just The Russian and me.
He walked towards me as I put my handbag down on the end of the kitchen bench, and moving into my space, he put his hands in his pockets and we looked at each other. I wanted to say something; I just hadn’t had time to prepare what my next conversation with him was going to be. My thoughts jumbled with a thousand words: Did he hit back? Has he ever hit her? Does he want her back? Where do we fit in? Is there a ‘we’? Should I get a cat and forget about men forever? Why the hell does he have to be so frigging gorgeous? Does he have to fill out those jeans and black t-shirt so damn well?
He was going through the same dilemma; The Russian held my gaze and ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he thought. He put his hands out and reached for me. I must have flinched, I didn’t realize I did, but the expression on his face said he was hurt and a bit worried.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, and I let him pull me into him.
I looked up at him. “I know that.”
“Do you? I think you’re a little scared of me now,” he said. “I’m sorry you were caught up in that.” His presence was overwhelming but I wasn’t scared of him, I was scared of how I felt about him and what was going to happen next.
“Can we talk about it?” I said.
“Of course,” he said, his chest rose and fell heavily as if he knew a discussion was inevitable. But then we didn’t talk; we just looked at each other. My hands sat on his hips and his played with my neck and rubbed my back. Neither of us spoke. He raised a hand to cup my cheek, his other hand threaded into my hair at the back of my neck. He leaned down and his lips touched mine. It was so slow, so sublime that if I hadn’t been pressing against him, I would have slid down to the ground and melted. I felt something else pressing against me; his erection was hard and obvious. Our lips parted and our kisses got deeper; my heart was beating so loudly I’m surprised Josh didn’t yell out to keep the noise down.
Then The Russian slowly pulled away, took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “You want to talk?”
“About what?” I said, and The Russian smiled.
I nodded. “I do.”
“I want to go back to my place,” he said, “with you. We can talk then if you like.”
I glanced at the clock – it was nearing eleven p.m.
“I know it’s late,” he said, following my gaze. “But I haven’t got training tomorrow morning because of our bye, and if you’re free?”
