44. DMITRI

44

DMITRI

I flip the beef over, and then glance over my shoulder. Kavi is with the team.

There was a moment where she left, but now she's back. She's talking and photographing the team, capturing them laughing. She's not fidgeting.

"Go to her," says Hughes. "I got this."

"You'll burn the meat."

"And risk our team turning on us? I'm too sexy to get trampled."

I put another burger on the grill, and then I check on her again.

"Have you told her how you feel?"

My head snaps back. "What? It's not—" I glare at Hughes.

He smirks.

"Too many concussions is your problem."

He chuckles. "Sure. That must be it. It's not that every time she comes into a room, you mark her with your eyes. Not that you've been reading her body language obsessively this last hour, watching over her."

My face twists. "That's not love."

Hughes raises up both eyebrows. "I didn't say it was."

Fuck. He didn't. I stare at the grill, not seeing. Actually, I want to knock my head into something. Or root around my chest until I grab it—this damn misery—to pull it out. I didn't ask for this. I need to keep it from spreading.

Earlier today she asked about my knee.

The thinnest thread of control kept me from telling her everything. That "sharing" problem almost kicked in, before I stopped myself. Partly because my pain can't be her burden, but also because the conditioning in me runs deep.

Tell no one, son.

My eyes close.

I'm remembering the morning. Her backing away from me… I almost dropped to my knees. Did I fuck up? Did she regret what happened last night? Was it not what she wanted? But then, she said it was perfect. Kavi also said she wants nothing to change between us.

I promised her it wouldn't.

I'll keep my word, and that means continuing like this, pretending we're… temporary roommates… friends…?

Misery spikes harder in my chest.

"Can't be me," drawls Hughes, "but it looks like you have a real problem."

"Fuck off."

I ignore him—and the rest of the party—focusing on feeding everyone so they leave.

This lasts for two minutes.

When I turn around, I see Kavi approaching us.

Hughes tears off a piece of cheese and offers it to her.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

"Thank you ," he replies cheerfully. "Have you seen the numbers on our social media page? That's worth way more than cheese."

"I… I haven't looked."

"Speak to Tim," says Hughes. "He'll tell you."

"That's the guy who hired me." Kavi smiles faintly. "As a social media manager for your one game."

Hughes passes her another piece of cheese. "I bet he would offer you a full-time job. You should email him."

"Full-time," Kavi softly repeats.

My focus is on the food. I am not thinking about having her live here permanently. For her to have a reason to stay in this city… in my apartment… forever.

"You need proper credentials for that kind of job," argues Kavi.

I glance over.

The fidgeting has started.

"You are an incredible photographer." I grab the cheese from Hughes, putting it on the last few burger patties. "We would be so lucky, Basra, for you to photograph for the team." I close the hood of the grill. "Her art has always been incredible," I tell Hughes, "since high school. She's insanely talented."

Whatever flush circled her cheeks expands down her neck. Her mouth is slightly open, eyes round. Still, I don't stop.

It's an unvarnished truth.

If only she saw herself the way I see her.

"She was born to do art."

"I believe that," says Hughes, his blue eyes twinkling. "Gorgeous woman. Gorgeous talent."

She's looking between us, blinking. "I?—"

Quinn pops in to interrupt. "Can we play board games after we eat?"

"No," I snap.

He deflates. "Right. Next time."

Fuck. Now what's this other feeling? My chest tightens. I'm suddenly thinking one game could be bearable.

I'm about to cave in when Kavi tugs on my sleeve, leaning close. "They like you," she whispers, as if it's an accusation.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Be good."

I stiffen. "You be good."

"Do this for me."

My eyes shut briefly. I'm already feeding the team, cooking with Hughes, and now Quinn finally gets to play his games. What more does she want from me?

"One game," I bark out.

Quinn rushes to tell everyone.

Hughes laughs. But that's not the reaction I notice. Kavi is smiling at me as if she's proud and isn't that the most addicting consequence?

Be good? Princess, you don't know how good I can be. I'll keep my control in check even if it destroys me.

Once dinner finishes, the team works to clean everything up. And before I know it, we're in the living room with everyone sitting around in a circle, playing charades.

"It's Lokhov's turn," Emmad yells.

I sip my beer. "No."

That's the end of it, except it's not. Kavi comes to sit beside me. Her thigh pushes against mine. "Come on," she prods. "Everyone will be so happy."

"I don't care about that."

"Fine. It would make me happy."

I don't care about that, is the obvious reply. I can't say it. And then she says that word again. The one that has me agreeing to things I've never done before.

"Please?"

Somehow I'm now standing in the middle of the group, reading a chit of paper that I'm supposed to act out.

Hughes picked the word.

I look at it and swear. "Give me another one."

"You can't switch it." He jogs to the other side of the room, so I can't tackle him. Instead, I read his scrawled writing again.

Love.

My jaw ticks.

Is he joking?! He must be fucking joking.

Love?

"I hate you," I sneer.

"No talking," yells Quinn. He has a notepad and a pencil out. "Act it out."

"I can't."

"We believe in you," yells Raghr.

"You can," insists Kavi, meeting my eyes.

It's suddenly warm under the collar of my shirt. I rip open the first button.

From across the room, Hughes shouts: "Strip show!"

NO.

I need to finish this round, and then fade into the background before they push me into doing more. My teeth grit as I point to my chest.

"Heartburn," yells someone.

"He's pointing to himself," says Hughes. "What is A Lokhov? Is he the Great Wall of Great Parties or the So-So Wall of Burned Hamburgers?"

"I didn't burn them," I snarl.

"No talking," chimes in Quinn again.

Great.

I stand there as answers get thrown around, most of them coming from Hughes.

"He's repressed! Frustrated by his feelings! In desperate need of a bromance!"

I should storm away.

But then the compliments start, and I can't move. The center of my face heats.

"He's reliable to the point where you have no idea how to return the favor, you know?"

"Secretly nice."

"Great burgers, I thought."

"The kind of person who would help you hide a body."

"A fucking sick defenseman."

"His eyes, man. They see into your soul."

"A threat on and off the ice. In a good way—obviously. Not like threatening ."

It's unearned, the praise they are giving me. I look at Kavi and see her eyes dance. She's holding back a smile as if she agrees with everything.

I slip my hands into my pockets and look away.

"How many words?" she asks, throwing me a lifeline.

Getting myself together, I lift one finger.

"Okay. One word," says Kavi, looking around the group. "What could it be? How many letters?"

I lift four fingers.

Real guesses are thrown at me.

… face, nuns, orgy…

It's a whole list of them.

… salty…

I groan. That one isn't even four letters. This is going to take forever.

I gesture to my chest again.

"MAN DESPERATELY IN NEED OF A BEST FRIEND!" yells Hughes. "IF ONLY HE KNEW SOMEONE INTERESTED."

"That's not four letters!" I yell back.

"No talking!" Quinn turns to Hughes and says, "Be serious or I'll kick you out of the game, Captain."

Hughes pouts.

I scrub a hand down my face.

"Come on," Kavi urges, leaning forward. "You got this. Just act it out."

I pace, pent-up frustration making me eat up distance, back and forth. Then I go to the center of the room and swear again.

"You can do it," she urges, clearly believing in me.

I stare at her, finding myself moving closer… until our legs bump. Without thinking, I drop to one knee and take hold of her wrist, pulling until she's leaned forward more. The tips of my ears burn.

Bringing her hand up, I place it in the center of my chest.

She lets out a soft gasp. "Fast."

Hockey players stand and gather around us.

Slowly, I bring her hand back to her chest so she's touching the spot below her sternum. She gasps again.

I repeat the process.

"Love," someone finally guesses.

I don't know who. I can't see anybody except her.

Strands of her hair fall forward, a few touching my face. I don't think I'm breathing. There's a heartbeat in my fingers as they rest against her skin. She's so warm. Fuck, she's also too precious. Good. Brave. So generous and eager. Quiet until she feels safe enough for sarcasm. Secretly wicked and determined. Fucking gorgeous in everything she wears and doesn't?—

It hits me, this blazing anger. Smith was an absolute fucking moron. An empty-headed, nasty piece of work whose worst fucking sin was making Kavi feel less than she is.

Sure, I've been complaining she's forced me to do all these things?—

Truth is, she makes me want to do them.

She makes people like her.

I like her.

And I don't hate this—when she is here—the being around people.

This is an uncomfortable position for my knee, but I can't move. I can't pull away, not when our eyes lock together.

Until someone clears their throat.

That's when I remember we're not alone. I wrench my hand away. Stand. Grumble words and leave.

In my room, I wonder where the alcohol is. There has to be a fucking bottle somewhere in a drawer.

A few more buttons of my shirt get ripped open.

The door opens behind me.

"Go away, Hughes," I snarl.

"It's me," says Kavi.

The door clicks softly shut behind her.