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He propped one hand on the mattress for balance and leaned over me, right across my fucking hard-on. Even if it was dark and even if I was wearing black boxer briefs, he had to have seen it. How could he not?
But the next thing I knew, he dragged the comforter up over my body without touching me.
“Get some rest,” he said quietly, letting go of the blanket and turning on the ball of his foot.
Wait, what?!
I threw myself into a sitting position, staring at his broad back. He was halfway to the door before I could formulate a question into actual words. Stupid ones at that. “Where are you going?”
“To check on your brother. And then home. It’s late.”
“Misha, I—”
“Goodnight, Marek.” He inclined his head and stepped out, closing the bedroom door behind him. Well, that hadnotgone the way I expected.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhaled a long breath before flopping back into the fluffiest pillows I’d ever felt. Some kind of cool, watery smell surrounded me and I rolled over, sniffing the pillowcase. It smelled like Misha but it wasn’t quite the same as his cologne.Was that a fabric softener?I had no idea; it was comforting nonetheless. After the night I’d had—thelifeI’d had—I could use some comfort, even if it was from something as trivial as clean laundry.
10
MAREK
In the fewmoments of semi-consciousness between sleep and waking, I thought for sure I’d dreamed everything from the night before. Axel, Misha, all of it. But the smell gave it away.
Before I even opened my eyes, I knew I wasn’t at my apartment, nor was I at Crystal’s house. It didn’t stink like a mix of cigarettes and weed, soaked in gallons of spilled beer. This air was clean, like the ocean and expensive cotton.
I sat up slowly, taking in the room around me as the night before replayed in my mind. Misha said this was a spare apartment but it was fully furnished, and not just the basics. There were actual decorations on the wall and books on one of the built-in shelves, little things that made it look more like a home and less like a hotel.
Sliding out of bed, I wandered over to the shelf and skimmed the titles. Most of them were in Russian, go figure. From the covers, it looked like a mix of history and military stuff. A few of the leather-bound books had gold edges and filigree designs on the covers, so I guessed they were some kind of classic literature if Russian publishing was anything like it was in America. The most surprising part was that they all looked used, complete with dog-eared pages and cracked spines. They weren’tjustfor show.
“Interesting,” I murmured, turning away from the books and peeking into the small bedroom closet. Empty. The same with the dresser drawers.
Grabbing my clothes from the chair, I dressed quickly and stepped into the adjoining bathroom.
Unlike the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was totally modern. It wasn’t huge but it had a spa-like feel with all the glass and chrome. The shower alone probably cost him twenty thousand, between the elaborate tile and dozens of jets embedded in the wall and overhead.
A basket on an open shelf near the sink was stocked with spare toothbrushes and little, travel-size tubes of toothpaste. How incredibly convenient for whoever stayed the night with him…
I ignored the rest of that thought while brushing my teeth and peered into one of the other baskets. Bars of soap and washcloths. The third basket had an assortment of hair products.
Misha was either the most thoughtful hosteveror this was exactly the sort of place I first thought it was—a crash pad for one-night stands or his plaything of the month.
Rolling my eyes, I exited the bathroom and wandered the rest of the apartment.
He had photographseverywhere. Some featured landscapes, others had architecture that looked like it was from some part of Europe, but they were mostly people. All sorts of people. People who were so gorgeous they could have been models, and old, wrinkled people stooped over cooking pots outside, wearing old-fashioned clothes. He had sections dedicated entirely to what I could only assume was a certain folk group, based on the clothes, whereas another section was all women—or all men. Some kids playing with a beat-up soccer ball, even the occasional animal. There didn’t seem to be much of a rhyme or reason as to how they were grouped or displayed.
None of them were of Misha, though. From across the room, I thought one might have been him since it was of a blond guy in some sort of Russian uniform. Up close, it turned out to be someone else. He wasn’t exactly Misha’s twin but I’d bet all the money I didn’t have they were related.
Right next to it was another blond guy in a cap and gown. It looked like a high school graduation, maybe college. An older brunette stood next to him, both of them smiling. I recognized the guy’s smile. Misha had the same smile. Was it his kid? And if so, where the hell washe?
For this apartment supposedly being a “spare,” it seemed to have a lot of sentimental things in it. Despite not finding any clothes, a rush of guilt swept over me. Maybe the kids were actually in his room and I was in the guest room. Had our chaos chased Misha out of his own house? He probably lied when he said he was going “home.” He probably went to a hotel, like me and the kids should have done.
Fuck, the kids!
My saving grace was that it was Sunday so I didn’t have to worry about getting them to school. It was still a problem I’d have to address in less than twenty-four hours, but I pushed it to the back burner. I had to deal with Axel first, except I had no idea which hospital Anton had taken him to.
Walking over to the fridge, I tugged it open, blinking at the emptiness inside. Other than some condiments, there wasn’t anything in there.
Opening the cupboard doors revealed a couple of canned goods and a sad box of rice.
