Chapter 25
Ivan
For the firsttime since we met, Chey and I were a little out of sorts.
Our conversation about buying a house had been confusing. It had been hard to tell what she was thinking, the look on her face inscrutable as she'd talked about not wanting that kind of responsibility because of her current lifestyle.
If she wasn't ready to buy a house, did she mean with me or just in general?
I'd frozen when she'd said she wasn't ready, so that had been the end of it. It occurred to me I was moving too fast, and she was letting me down easy by making excuses like not wanting the responsibility of a house. I shouldn't have said anything, and now I was kicking myself.
Nothing had changed between us, other than maybe in my head, but I wasn't sure what to do next. I couldn't decide if I should bring it up again or give it some time. I wasn't in a hurry to buy a house, and we spent almost every night together anyway, so it seemed like a natural progression.
Except she'd said she wasn't ready, and I wasn't sure what that meant for us long-term.
I was overthinking everything, but technically this was only my second adult relationship, and with Marina there had never been conversations like this. It was a given that we would live together because she couldn't stay in the US unless she was my domestic partner. We'd been young, so we'd opted to start with a condo, and by the time I got traded to L.A., I hadn't even considered a house because I'd known she was leaving.
With Chey, it felt like we had a good thing going, so there was no reason to rock the boat this soon. Just because she wasn't ready now didn't mean she wouldn't be going forward. We were still new. Once she'd had a little more time to see the man I was, and how good we were together, things could change. She understood me in ways Marina never had. She understood how much I traveled because she did too. She also dealt with her own exercise and diet regimens, which meant we were on the same page with most of the major issues in our lives.
This relationship was everything I'd ever wanted, so although I hated admitting it, the truth was that I was scared to bring up the tough topics.
Scared she didn't return my feelings.
Scared she would shoot me down.
Scared that she would end things.
I'd never felt this way about anyone before, and that scared me most of all.
I couldn't dwell on it because tonight was Jensen and Bailey's party.
I was picking up Connor and then I'd swing by to get Chey and Effie. They'd decided to get ready together, and it would be less awkward for Connor and Effie if we all rode over together.
"She's gorgeous," he said when I showed him her picture online. "Why would she want to go out with me?"
I managed not to roll my eyes. "First, because you're a pro hockey player. And second, when she meets you, she'll see you're a nice guy."
"Girls never go for nice guys. Hence why I'm single."
"Some do, some don't. Like anything else. Just be yourself. Well, mostly."
"Mostly? What does that mean?"
"It means don't start talking about church right away or anything like that. Get a feel for who she is before you start giving away too much."
"Because she won't like the real me."
"You don't even know who the real you is," I told him patiently. "One minute, you're dying to get away from your parents, the next you're watching a church sermon online so you can talk to them about it."
"My mom calls and asks me what it's about," he said quietly. "I don't want to watch them, but she'll be hurt if she thinks I'm skipping them. Unless we have a Sunday game. Then I'm off the hook."
"You're almost nineteen," I said. "It's time to cut some of the apron strings. Religion is fine if it's important to you, but don't go talking about it all the time. Especially not on date night."
"Okay. What else?"
"What else what?"
"What else should I not talk about? My college class?"
"Actually, no. Education usually isn't controversial. Most women enjoy a well-educated man."
"So, I can talk about school but not religion. What about hockey?"
"Of course. That's who you are, isn't it? A hockey player? I mean, don't bore her with every detail of every game, every play, shit like that. But if she asks, tell her about it. A woman will enjoy hearing you talk about something you're passionate about if she likes you. As long as you don't overdo it. She might not know anything about it so our level of information can be overwhelming."
"But then I can get a feel for whether or not she wants to learn more, right? And if things are going well, invite her to a game?"
"Even if they're not going well, you can say something like, well, if you'd ever like to go to a game, please just let me know and I'll leave tickets for you. No strings attached. They like that."
He nodded. "Got it."
He ran his hands back and forth over his denim-clad thighs as we pulled up to Chey's building.
"And don't be nervous," I said. "Really. Act like you do this every day."
He snorted. "You realize I've never been out on a date, right? I mean, group dates and church activities, but one on one? This is my first."
"Technically, it's not one on one. That's part of the reason we arranged this. So Chey and I could be there with you. And Effie knows you're shy. Apparently, she is too. You guys will be fine. Promise."
"If you say so." He sat up straighter as Chey and a beautiful brunette came toward us.
I got out of the car, murmuring for him to do the same.
"Hi, sweetheart." I lightly kissed Chey, taking in her short black dress and low heels. She looked amazing, as always, and I led her to the car. "You remember Connor?"
"Yes, of course. Hi!" She smiled at him. "Connor, Ivan, this is Effie. Effie, Ivan and Connor."
"It's very nice to meet you." Effie shook Ivan's hand and then turned to Connor. "I watched you play the other night. You looked great out there."
"You're a hockey fan?" he asked in surprise.
"Oh, yeah. I'm originally from Minnesota. I've only been in L.A. two years. I moved here when I turned eighteen."
"Same." He opened the back door for her and let her climb in before him.
"Hi," I whispered to Chey.
"Hi." She wound her arms around my neck. "I told her hockey would be a safe topic to start with, and luckily, she's genuinely a fan."
"Thank fuck. He was nervous."
"I think I'm more nervous than both of them, wanting things to go well."
"I gave him a little pep talk. Hopefully, he'll be okay."
She snickered. "Same. I mean, our talks were probably totally different, but I told her the stakes are low. Friendship is fine, we just need to give him a tiny bit of self-esteem."
"Exactly." I kissed her again. "Ready to go?"
"Do we have to?" she murmured against my mouth. "I'd rather go home and spend the evening in bed."
"We're chaperoning," I said, making a face. "At least in the beginning, so no, we can't go home. But we can leave early. Connor has money; he can get an Uber for himself and for Effie, if it comes to that."
"Fine." She pretended to pout but her eyes glittered with amusement.
"I'll make it up to you," I said, palming her ass. "Now get in the SUV."
* * *
The party wasin full swing when we got there, people filling the house and spilling out onto the deck, with Connor none the wiser that this had been thrown mostly for his benefit. This was Jensen's house, and Bailey had moved in with him after an earthquake caused damage to hers. The plan was to buy something else, together, but for now they seemed happy here in the hills of Laurel Canyon. I liked this area too and had been considering buying something here. Of course, I'd unofficially put the plan to start house hunting on hold.
"Dance with me, Mr. Rochenko," Chey said, tugging at my arm.
"With pleasure, Ms. Russell."
She moved into my arms and gazed up at me invitingly.
It was like I was under a spell when we were together.
I couldn't seem to stop touching, kissing, looking at her.
It had never been that way with Marina.
Maybe early on, the first few times we slept together, but not beyond that.
Chey and I had been sleeping together for a while now and I never tired of being with her.
As we danced, my gaze momentarily zoned in on Connor, who was talking animatedly to Effie.
I really hoped they were getting along. She seemed to be hanging on to his every word, which was nice.
"Whatcha lookin' at?" Chey followed my gaze and smiled. "Well, look at that. They're getting along."
"I'm surprised too."
"Stop it!" She playfully swatted my arm. "Why are you so hard on him? He's young, figuring out who he is."
"I just don't want him to get hurt. He's young and dumb."
"Don't we all do dumb things when we're young?"
"Yes, but he's letting it impact his career and that could have lasting implications. It's not as simple as wrecking your dad's car or sneaking a beer. His future could be on the line, so I'm trying to head it off at the pass since his parents are obviously not going to."
She smiled, her eyes soft and filled with something I couldn't identify. "You're a good guy, Mr. Rochenko."
But I liked hearing her say things like that.
"I try to be, Ms. Russell."
Our eyes locked and I pulled her closer. She nestled against me, the faint scent of her perfume tickling my nostrils as we swayed. I was wonderfully content when we were together, whether we were alone or in a group. I didn't care what we were doing, and the best part was that she didn't seem to either. She worked hard, and I'd seen her play hard, but when we were together it was like everything calmed down. Her travel, my hockey schedule, even our friends.
"I have to use the restroom," she said as the song came to an end. "I'll find you in a minute."
"Okay." I watched her go, appreciating the sway of her gorgeous ass.
"Hello, Ivan."
I turned to find Saylor standing there.
"Hey, Saylor. How are you?" I bent to kiss her cheek.
"I'm wonderful. How about you?"
"Doing well. How's the gallery doing?"
"Better than I expected. I'm really overwhelmed with how many people purchased my art and put in orders for more."
I suddenly remembered something. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you—did you ever sell that abstract self-portrait you have? The one in reds and pinks?"
She smiled. "I could have, but I didn't. I want to gift it to Chey. She's been so supportive of both my art and the gallery. I was going to give it to her for Christmas."
"Would you allow me to buy it for her?"
"Oh." She smiled. "What a wonderful thing. Yes, absolutely. But I don't want to sell it to you. I want to give it to you. For her."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know. But I want to. Believe me, Chey has done so much for me—a painting is the smallest thing I could give her."
"Great. We can—" My voice was drowned out by the sound of shouting.
"—you're a shitty husband and I fucking hate you!" Marty's wife Brenna spat out the words before slapping him across the face, turning on her heel, and heading toward the front door.