“What?” he asked into my uneasy silence.
“I’m just…” I swallowed, trying to gather my thoughts. “Scared, I guess.”
He didn’t look surprised in the least. “Because I am so very giant red flag?”
I almost laughed. Almost. “No, because I’m not sure it’smeyou’re obsessed with or this idea you created of me before we even met. I’m not sure how I could live up to this ideal you have in your head.”
He stared at me, then nodded. “It is okay.”
I peered over at him. “Is it?”
“Da, we are, as you say, very short time together. When we are long time together, you will see clearly.”
Why did it always feel like we didn’t have a language barrier until we got into these emotional conversations?
I found myself asking for clarification for the third time in our driveway exchange. “See what clearly?”
“How easy it is to love you,” he answered solemnly. “You. Real, true you is very much better than Library Girl. I could not imagine for myself love like you,zayka. Not in a thousand years.”
No, Yom’s English wasn’t the best. But in that moment, his communication skills were way, way better than mine. He’d stated something I couldn’t have coherently explained myself.
The guy in front of me was so much better than Yum Rustanov. Better than the hockey god on that billboard. The reality of Yom as a boyfriend was beyond anything I could have imagined.
“Ya lyublyu tebya,Tyoma,” I whispered in Russian, using the diminutive form of his name. Then I repeated in English, “I love you so much.”
A brilliant smile spread across Yom’s face. “You are speaking to me in my language!”
I rolled my eyes at myself. “With a ton of pronunciation help from Rina. She said my accent needs some work, though.”
But Yom just kept grinning at me. “It is not my birthday, but you have given me the best gift.”
“There you go again.” I climbed over the center console to where he sat in the driver’s seat. “Using English better than I ever could.”
Luckily, Yom was so tall that there was plenty of room between him and the steering wheel for me to settle into his lap. “That’s why you’re the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“No,youare best giftIam ever receiving,zayka,” he said, lifting me off his lap slightly.
I thought so he could unzip his pants, but then he grabbed the multi-tool he kept in the middle compartment.
And with a somewhat violent seam-ripping sound, the faux leather leggings I’d bought from an online ad were split open at the crotch.
“I have one more gift for you tonight,zayka.”NowYom unzipped his pants and pushed my panties aside. “It is time to introduce you to car sex.”
Yes, I’d only known Yom a short time. But he was turning out to be my firsteverything.
My first sex—of, like, every single kind.
My first love.
And the first decision I’d ever made in my insecure life that I was totally sure I’d gotten right.
George “Squeaky” Mandel
“What the hell is this?”George asked Carol, his longtime producer, when she set a new script in front of him during the second intermission of the final game of the USCA Frozen Four tournament between the Gemidgee Yolks and the Manhattan Reds, the two semifinal champions.
Carol replied, “Just came in from station head via Rustanov.”
“Artyom Rustanov? Hasn’t that guy gotten enough coverage? If I have to tell that story about his girlfriend being a Minnesota hockey princess one more time…”
