So he knew.… My heart jumped into my throat. But I swallowed it down to ask, “How did you find out?”
“How do you think I am finding out?” He sneered at me. “Are you believing Paul Carrington would not come bragging to me after the game—rubbing my face in humiliation for letting you get inside my head?”
Oh, Paul.I closed my eyes, then opened them again to face the hurt guy in front of me. “He shouldn’t have done that. He’s always been quick to brag, but this time, he took it too far.”
Artyom looked me up and down with that hateful sneer. “He is not only one who took things too far in Berlin.”
“I know, you’re right,” I answered, shaking my head. “And I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe how sorry I am for my actions. I was trying to help out Paul, but I realized too late that hurting you wasn’t the way to do it. I can’t believe Paul had the nerve to come to you about it afterward. That kind of behavior is why I decided to go no-contact with him after Berlin.”
Artyom jerked his head back, confusion lacing through his scowl. “You are not talking to Paul Carrington anymore.”
“No, I’m not—I mean, maybe he doesn’t know that because his head stays up his own ass, but I haven’t spoken to him since Berlin.” My voice cracked as I stumbled over the words, but I forced myself to keep going. “And I know that doesn’t excuse what I did to you, but I’m sorry—truly, sincerely, so, so sorry—that I didn’t just tell him hell no when he came to me with that stupid, stupid plan to, like, seduce and drug a Rustanov.”
Artyom’s eyes narrowed, raking over my face as if he was dissecting every syllable, every twitch, every crack in my explanation. He stepped closer, his presence looming like a thundercloud. My stomach churned, but I stayed rooted, refusing to shrink, even as the distance between us dissolved.
“You are truly, sincerely, so, so sorry,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet, soft murmur.
He let the words hang there, suspended between us like a loaded gun.
“But I am Rustanov,” he reminded me, his tone becoming ice frozen over concrete. “And Rustanovs do not forgive.”
Before I could process the cold finality of his words, he leaned forward, so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my ear. A shiver ran down my spine as his voice dropped to a rasp—intimate, yet laced with venom.
“You are earning yourself true enemy, and this Rustanov will spend rest of last year at this American university making your life truly, sincerely, so, so miserable.”
“Holy toxic masculinity!This Rustanov bitch is straight-up cray-cray!” Trish twirled a finger next to her lobe after I finished telling her and Claudia the story over lunch. “Then what happened after he said that?”
“Nothing!” I answered, my heart still trembling with dread and regret. “He just pushed off the wall and walked away like a big ol’ Bond villain—y’know, if Bond villains wore Gucci backpacks.”
“Ooh, how does he like it?” Claudia asked, proving her relationship with my earth-mama best friend was truly a case of opposites attracting. “I was thinking of asking my parents for one for graduation. But then I was like, is it a little too subtle? Maybe I should get a Dior so people actually know I’m rocking a designer backpack….”
She trailed off when she saw how her girlfriend and I were staring at her—then cleared her throat to reset with, “But seriously, I can’t believe he cornered you like that! Not cool!”
“Yeah, not cool!” Trish flared her eyes angrily at Claudia before turning back to me. “You’ve got to report him!”
“Uh, don’t know if that’s a great idea.” Claudia grimaced and sucked in air between her back teeth. “Like, everybody on the sports side of things knows you don’t cross a Rustanov. Trust me, he’s gotten away with a lot worse over the years than telling a girl she pissed him off. And you know there’s talk of the men’s team going all the way to the USCA championship this year.”
“So what are you trying to say?” Trish shook her head at Claudia. “That we should sit by and do nothing? He more than said he was pissed off. He used his body to intimidate her. And he basically threatened her!”
“Yeah, yeah, I totally get where you’re coming from, babe,” Claudia agreed, though her expression remained hesitant. “I’m just saying, it might be easier for Lyds to drop out of the Clara Quinn class.”
“I can’t do that,” I said quickly at the same time Trish insisted, “She can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Claudia dared to ask, already bracing for her girlfriend’s fiery answer.
Which she got.
“Because Clara Quinn is a fucking icon of literature and Black Excellence,” Trish said, gesturing emphatically. “And my best friend isn’t going to let some entitled prick make her miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because he can’t regulate his emotions!”
“Okay, okay! I get it!” Claudia held up her hands. “Keep the class, but other than that, you need to stay as far away from himas possible. If there’s any chance he could be there, you need to be somewhere else. I was planning on dragging Trish to the men’s hockey game tonight. But Lydia, you definitely shouldn’t tag along.”
“Psshh, that’s easy,” Trish answered with a wave of her hand. “You know I’m not looking to sit in that refrigerator of a stadium if you’re not playing, and neither is Lyds.”
She laughed, confident in her assessment of my willingness to skip tonight’s game.
But then she saw my face.
“Right, Lyds?” she pressed, scrunching her forehead.
