40. KAVI

40

KAVI

After many hours and a good number of drinks, I stumble home. Well, Pink Headband gives me a ride in his car. He's uncharacteristically quiet, except for his goodbye, which isn't a goodbye at all but a cryptic message about Lokhov. Something is off.

With that parting riddle, I go inside the apartment and do something I know is wrong. Blame the last Tequila Sunrise for this decision, but I look for Dmitri, room-by-room. When I see he isn't in the common areas, I snoop into the not-so-common areas.

I'm leaving the master bedroom for last, but it turns out I don't need to barge in there because there's light leaking beneath this other door. The… sauna, giant tub, steam room… area.

I should knock. I don't.

My ear presses to the door. Someone is in there alright, but not talking. Shifting around. In water? I hear a crunching noise, the kind you get when you swirl your drink around.

This is such an invasion of privacy. Now that I found him, I should leave. I'm exhausted and my nerves tremble. But there's also this build-up of syllables, words, sentences… and arguments inside me, needing to come out.

I sit so half my side presses against the door. My knees come up.

"Hey."

I listen, which is why I hear it, the jostle of that crunching sound. I wonder if Dmitri is in the bath.

I clear my throat and go again. "Hey."

I have no idea if he can hear me or if he cares to hear me or if it's really him across this door. But words tumble out.

"Tyler. You know him. My ex. Obviously. Duh." I sigh. "Not that this is the point, but I'm getting really used to calling him that. The Ex. Anyway, the point is that… he did this to me. He broke his word. A lot, actually. Or maybe he never gave me his word in the first place when I thought he did. Maybe what he used to say to me, I always heard differently in my head. Like some disconnect where hope makes you wish for the best of what isn't even that good."

My eyes close.

"They won the Cup last year. Obviously—" A laugh trickles out. " You know that because it's your team that lost it. But before winning, Tyler said these things. Things like I can't wait until the series is over and we'll get time together again. That he would love to be on a beach somewhere with me. The sun in our eyes, warm sand on our back, with no one around but us. Perfect, right, Kavi? He would say that to me. Fluff up all these dreams of a wonderful life and then make sure I agreed it was perfect."

I bring my knees in closer. "I can imagine you right now, clearly not being surprised when I tell you I planned the trip and booked the flights, the resort, the excursions—which he then canceled." I laugh that same weak laugh again. "Actually, he said he didn't cancel on me, but that I should have told him more times what I was planning. That he wants to go, but that his team planned a boys' trip to Vegas he can't miss and that we'll have time to be together later."

My ear presses to the door. I don't hear anything. Maybe Dmitri has fallen asleep. Maybe he's not even there and forgot to turn off the light earlier, so I'm talking to no one.

Still, I can't stop.

"When he saw how disappointed I was, he promised we would go big for our honeymoon. And that I should cancel this perfect trip I spent weeks planning for us… unless I wanted to go by myself and he would pay for it. But—that last part, the one where he said I could go by myself… Tyler said it with a snigger. I think that's the right word. As if I would never do something so silly. Going on my own."

I draw in my breath, deep, before releasing it. "I wish I could go back in time and tell him I was going on my own, just to see the look on his face. Wouldn't that be so funny? He'd get so bothered. I really really wish I did that, actually. Go. For that time and a lot of other times, I wish I'd gone and done what I wanted to do, instead of waiting for him to decide when he was interested enough to join me."

My legs stretch out. "You're probably wondering why I'm saying all this. I—don't know. It's one of those memories that flashed back… when you changed your mind today. Tonight you were going to do whatever you wanted and screw any plans or promises you made earlier."

My palm pushes against the door softly, but loud enough to make a noise. "Old me would have gone home with you, you know. And tried to fix your mood. But—I didn't. My night was great. You know what I did instead? I brainstormed with your team, thinking of all the things I could dare you to do." I snort. "It got weird, but you want to know my favorite one? I can't imagine you ever doing this, but it was you, Dmitri Lokhov—proud, grumpy, stubborn, Dmitri Lokhov—serving me dinner… in a maid's costume. Naked. Can you imagine?" I giggle. "Yeah, right. I bet you'll tell me it's not part of the deal or that you've changed your mind. Or that you're just another hockey player disappointing me." I scoff. "Another one of those types, as if I shouldn't expect anything real from?—"

I fall on my back, star-fished on the ground. The door has opened.

Dmitri stands above me, rivulets of water going down his naked chest. Shorts cling to thick, muscled thighs. He's leaning to one side and his lips are kind of blue. But those are all peripheral details, for what overwhelms me is his voice. It's the kind of deep baritone that makes desire curl into a person right down to their toes.

"I don't have a maid's costume. Will an apron work for you?"