Kolya.
My breath hitches as our eyes meet from across the room.
His unwavering gaze cuts through the restaurant’s ambient noise and Greg’s monologue like a knife through butter.
No smile or frown. Nothing but those eyes slicing through the room and straight into me.
Goosebumps erupt over my arms while a contradictory heat blooms in my chest.
He shouldn’t be here.
Hecan’tbe here.
And yet, he is. Every cell inside me wakes up from the Greg-induced coma. Bye-bye, death by boredom. At least with Kolya, my body experiences things like desire, a sense of danger, and electricity.
I tip back my wine glass. Empty.
I steal a glance at my watch. Only twenty minutes in, and I could’ve sworn I arrived hours ago.
My attention flits back to the entrance.
Kolya prowls into the dining room with the casual grace of someone extremely comfortable in his body. His dark jacket stretches across broad shoulders, his every movement precise and controlled.
My heart plummets into my stomach as the hostess guides him toward our table. This can’t be coincidence. Not when I’ve spent the last day jumping at shadows, checking my classroom supply closet twice before leaving, and replaying that farmers market scene in my head.
He slows as he nears us, bending his head just an inch. “Chloe.”
My name in his mouth sounds different—heavier and more significant—than when anyone else says it. “Kolya.”
With a dip of his chin, he passes our table and follows the hostess deeper into the restaurant.
Greg frowns, momentarily derailed. “Who’s that?”
“A…friend.”How do I explain this guy?The person who helped stack my construction paper…and broke a guy’s arm at a farmers market? The man who provided more excitement in five minutes than eighteen months of dating has?
Greg huffs, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
The hostess leads Kolya to a table across the room. She’s flustered by his presence, too, her hand fluttering near her collarbone as she seats him.
After he speaks and inclines his head, she redirects him to a small table with a clear line of sight to ours.
My heart plunges further. He must’ve sought me out and followed me here.
Greg drones on, but I only process fragments. Something about yardage and fourth downs. My perception has tunneled to Kolya, my body hyperaware of his every action. He orders a drink with a minimal gesture and checks his phone, but occasionally, his gaze lifts and settles on our table.
A flat, calculating stare he means for me to see but aims directly at Greg.
Then his eyes slip to mine.
Greg glances over and notices Kolya. He jerks his head back around. “So, uh, like I was saying…” He falters, losing his train of thought. “The, um, running back situation in Cincinnati is…well, it’s complicated.”
It’s like watching an animal sense an unseen predator.
The exchange of looks continues as the server returns.
As we place our order, Greg starts to unravel. He stutters, asking for the salmon before swapping to steak, then back to salmon. He reaches for his water glass and fumbles, skittering ice cubes across the white tablecloth. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead.
“Are you feeling okay?” I watch him disintegrate, torn between concern and a dark, thrilling spark of excitement.
