35. KAVI

35

KAVI

Tyler is messaging me again.

He's asking me what friend I'm staying with and how long I'll be in Vancouver for. I answered him a fake name, saying two to three weeks, only so he would stop texting.

He hasn't stopped.

Since then, I've muted his chat, but I can't get it out of my head. It's loud even when it's quiet. It reminds me why I'm here and how I shouldn't relax. That this time in my life isn't permanent. If I don't figure out how to provide for myself, I'll run out of time and have nowhere to go again.

Today, I spent the entire morning looking up jobs in Seattle. Mid-afternoon Lokhov walks in and stands in his signature spot, across from me with the kitchen island firmly between us. I'm surprised by how often he's been home. Way more than Tyler ever was. It's like Dmitri has no life outside of playing and traveling for hockey.

He finishes a protein smoothie.

"I can make you one," he offers.

"I'd rather die."

"I'll add less spinach in yours."

"See my earlier answer."

"Are the lights too bright for you? I can turn them down," he deadpans.

He's poking fun at me, that time I sat in the dark.

"Depends. Are you going to rip off your shirt, traumatizing me again?"

Is traumatize the right word? Not really.

"Apologies, Princess." His voice is a whisper of a mocking chide. "I'll keep my clothes on around you."

"The sacrifice of it all," I quip.

It doesn't escape me that our conversations have gotten way easier. Living with Lokhov, I'm forced to admit, isn't an absolute chore. Actually, it feels… nice? We have meals together and watch bad TV at night when he's not traveling for work. The routine is frighteningly easy to fall into.

Around him, I can also hear myself think. My thoughts feel like my own. I don't get it. It was never like this in Seattle, so why is Vancouver so different?

Lokhov rinses his cup. A watch that measures his fitness activity sits thick on his wrist. Branching up from there are attractive veins and tendons. "Speaking of sacrifice, how badly are you losing this bet of ours?"

This is the first time he's brought it up since we shook hands, but I'm ready. "Unlike you, I've made progress."

He lifts his chin, as if saying, Go on.

"I made an online photography account where I can share my work."

Have I posted anything on there? No.

Making it was stressful enough.

"Two, I'm putting together a resume."

Not a photography one, but he doesn't need to know that.

The resume is for real life. I spent a lot of time going back and forth, wondering if I could put Assistant to the Seattle Blades down as work experience, even though my dad never gave me an official title, and I wasn't on payroll. All I got were those irregular thank-you payments.

"What else?" asks Lokhov, observing me with those eyes…

Which, why do they have to look so golden in this light? His apartment is full of windows, so sunbeam shafts drape over him from different angles, no matter where he stands. It's… breathtaking. No. Bad for the retinas.

"What else?" I parrot. "Excuse me, but what have you done to be a better team player?"

"I told Hughes it was a good morning today."

"And?"

"That's it."

I smother a laugh. "Seriously?"

"For the record, he was eating a bagel and almost choked." Lokhov sighs. "Almost. Too bad."

"You know, if anyone else heard you talk like that, they would think you were horrible."

Lokhov slips both hands into his pockets. "That means you don't think I'm horrible."

"My opinion is not relevant."

"It's absolutely everything."

"Stop making fun of me." Walking over, I put my dishes in the dishwasher. Rinsing my hands, I hunt for a dishwasher tablet, because even if he gets this place cleaned professionally, I'll do my part. "I… think…" I say slowly. "That you are putting up with me. Which makes you not horrible."

"It's a real nightmare," he says, not with any obvious sarcasm but softly.

"Yeah?"

"Sleep is hard. Everything is… hard."

"It won't be too long," I tell him, forcing a laugh.

When I turn around, I see the glint of something intense in his eyes, but it must be the light again. It's gone in the next second.

I shake my head. "Back to this bet. You should do better."

When I try sauntering across from him, he catches my arm. His mouth hovers by my ear. "I'll win."

My nose knocks into his shoulder, and I breathe in deeply, obviously frustrated. "Not at the rate you're going."

"Have any suggestions for me?"

It's so hard to think when he's holding me like this. Am I touch starved? My legs attempt to wobble until I lock my knees. "You should… invite everyone on the team over for a barbecue."

He lets go of me, aghast. Shuddering. I choke back genuine laughter at the horror crowding his eyes.

"Doubt you'll do it," I egg on.

"Show me your new photography account. Let's see what you've posted there."

Dammit. Touché.

"Invite the team over first," I goad. "Then I'll show you."

"Maybe. If we win tomorrow."

"Guess I'll be watching the game from home to keep you accountable. What a chore."

"Suffer in person. Come to the game."

"And why would I give you that kind of satisfaction?" I ask him.

"Over-priced stadium beer and nachos."

My skin buzzes, like I'm secretly vibrating from the inside. I think about going to another hockey game of his.

For so long, games have been a site of disappointment for me because I haven't been allowed to go, or a site of awkwardness because I never fit in with Tyler's teammates. But the thought of seeing Lokhov play again…

Excitement lifts in me like a tide.

Let's call it A Competitive Spirit To Crush Him.

That explains why my heart is racing.

"Fine," I say, slowly smirking. "But only so I can tell your team they get to come over for a barbecue once you win."

"I like that," he says in a husky tone.

"What?"

Lokhov leans in. "You accepting that I always win, Princess."

My nipples pinch. "Not against me. You have no idea how much you'll lose to me."

For once, he doesn't argue. His expression sobers strangely. He makes an excuse, something about working out and leaves. I wave him goodbye, secretly panicking suddenly.

If they win their game, he'll invite his team over for food, and then I'll have to show him my photography account.

The one with nothing posted on it.

My photography versus his team-building.

It's a competition I didn't plan for but can't lose! Because the winner gets a blank check of a dare. Anything, anywhere, at any time.

How many inches can you start with?

AHHHHH. Why did we agree to this again?

I'm supposed to be figuring out what to do next in my life, not challenging Lokhov and going to his game…

And having fun.