He reaches down and takes my hands in his, and I look all the way up his body, unable to look away as he helps me to my feet. For a second, he keeps his hands on mine and my heart beats like a fluttering bird in a cage.
Dropping my hands, he turns abruptly and strides out of the bathroom, leaving me to scurry behind to a lounge with plush blue sofas. Gesturing at one, he sits in another. A safe distance, away, my brain fills in.
“Now.” His expression is suggestive of an interview. Or an interrogation. “What would make you feel better?”
“I don’t know.” It’s all over, isn’t it? At least until I figure out what to do next.
But the emotions are hitting me like an aftershock. I’m worried about my parents—their holiday is too conveniently timed to be anything but their escape, but even so—I can’t help wondering if I’ll see them again. They might hide forever.
And my injuries are beginning to sting as my adrenaline reduces.
“What would you usually do if you were sad?” Brody asks.
Honestly? I’d probably obsess a bit over my hot neighbour. That was, after all, what I was doing when I was tense about my upcoming exam. I try to think of something more plausible.
“Phone my parents,” I say in a small voice.
“Mm.” His mouth sets in a hard flat line. “That’s not a good idea.”
“I know.”
“What about ice cream?” Brody asks.
I nod, even as I’m confused. Yes, I like ice cream.
“Good,” he replies seriously. This is an undertaking he’s not taking lightly. His brow furrows with thought. “And revenge pizza?”
“What’s revenge pizza?” He doesn’t look like a pizza kind of man. More like a steak with a super-healthy salad bowl andprotein-something with extra vitamins. Even hidden in the suit, it’s clear my landlord is in amazing shape.
That he’s my landlord makes him seem more forbidden, and my body likes that, sparkling at how naughty it is that he saved me and I’m now in his penthouse.
“Pizza with a thick layer of cheese, a deep crust, pineapple, and anything else that would greatly offend any Italian. GoodRussianpizza.”
I giggle, I can’t help it.
“Something funny?” He quirks up one dark eyebrow.
“Good Russian pizza,” I parrot back.
“Da. The best you’ve ever had. I guarantee it.” And while he isn’t smiling, I swear there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “And a movie. MaybeThe Godfather.”
Trying to keep as straight a face as him, I fail. “What about a romcom?”
“I suggest you do not push your luck, moya koshechka.”
He’s so funny. Well, I think he’s making a joke. He’s also called me that a few times.
“What does it mean? Moya koshechka.” I garble the pronunciation a bit. “It’s Russian, right?”
There’s a pause and his expression goes serious again. “Cat,” he says eventually.
“Oh. Because of my name. And I guess you picked me up like a stray cat.” I laugh awkwardly.
“You’re not stray anymore.” For a second I’m sure he’s going to say something else. But he only narrows his eyes and asks, “What movie?”
“One with a happy ending.” I want the spark back in his eye. “DoesThe Godfatherend happily?”
“Ah… Maybe torture by romcom will be necessary.” And despite his teasing, he hands me the remote and tells me to rent whatever I like.
