I bob my head as a hostess seats us. Apparently, he called ahead. I don’t know when he had the time, but he managed it. Of course he did.
“Right this way,” the woman says, her accent thick. Georgiy chats with her in Russian, and she smiles as she hands us the menus.
“What did you say?” I ask once she leaves.
“Just asking how long this place has been open.”
“And?”
“Five years. And it’s done well. There is a large Russian population here.”
“Who would have thought?”
“Da,” he says, his accent thickening. I love it when this happens. It makes me want to crawl toward him. Dirty floor or not. But he wouldn’t like that, so I don’t.
I just peruse the menu before he interrupts me. “If you’d like, I can order for us.”
“Oh. Yes. Do that. I want to try it all.”
“Any preferences?”
“No. I eat anything. Even ass.”
I waggle my eyebrows, and he shakes his head, moving his gaze back to the menu.
The server comes up, a handsome man who speaks to Georgiy in Russian and looks at him a little too long. Honestly, it makes me want to scoop out his eyeballs, but I know Georgiy is mine. He proudly wears my ring and he kissed me.
He doesn’t let just anyone do that.
“I ordered a few rounds of drinks and an appetizer,” he tells me.
“Good. I’m starving and could use a little alcohol. Could make me go really wild.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “You’re already wild, a feral thing.”
I grin, my chest puffing up. “I am very feral.”
The server brings two crystal glasses, both filled with clear liquid.
“Vodka,” Georgiy says, picking one up and holding it out. I’m meant to cheers him, to tap my glass against his. So I do, the clink settling somewhere in my balls. Then I watch as he pours it back, and I do the same, the liquid burning as it goes down.
“Whew, that’s strong.”
“It’s Russian. Of course it’s strong.”
“Just like you.” I think about what he’s told me, the way he was tortured. The strips of skin that were taken off him. He came back from it. Slightly bent, but strong.
It’s what drew me to him.
We’re more alike than he realizes. Or maybe he does know, and that’s why he likes me, why he wears my ring.
“Yes, just like me.”
He wets his lips, and I stare over at them, wanting to press my mouth to his once more. But I know I have to wait. So I distract myself, eager to know more about him.
“Were you born there?” I ask him, and he nods.
“Yes. I came here when I was sixteen.”
