Adrik stayed in position for a few extra seconds—then stood up smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off his hands. Such a showoff.
“Well,” he said, looking down at Hans with a grin he didn’t bother hiding, “looks like I win.”
Hans glared up at him. “You’re unbearable.”
“And you’re a sore loser.”
Hans muttered under his breath, “No, I’m not.” Then followed it up with, “Fine. You win. Happy?”
Adrik offered him a hand. “Very.”
Hans took it, letting Adrik pull him up—closer than necessary, close enough that Hans could feel the heat of him, and the spark of something that had nothing to do with exercise.
Hans swallowed. “So… what does the winner get to do now?”
Adrik’s smile softened into something slow, warm. “Whatever he wants.”
Chapter Sixteen
Adrik
Victory hit Adrik likea spark—stupid, childish pride, but enjoyable. It was even better because Hans was looking up at him like he’d done something impressive. Hans swallowed hard.
“Congratulations, winner,” Hans said.
“Thanks. Next time, you can choose the challenge.”
Adrik stepped closer, close enough to hear the ragged gasp of Hans’ breath. God, he loved the way Hans reacted to him without even trying to hide it. Adrik pressed him gently back against the wall, heart thudding with a mix of adrenaline and want. As he leaned in, their mouths met with a hungry heat, sending a jolt through Adrik. He kissed Hans deeper, letting himself get lost in it for a moment, letting himself want something uncomplicated for once.
He barely noticed Hans’ shirt sliding off his shoulders—just heat, closeness, the rare feeling of being wanted.
Then his phone rang.
The sound cut through everything. Adrik froze, forehead resting against Hans’ for half a second, frustration burning through him. Of course it would happen now.
“Give me a minute,” he muttered, the moment already slipping away as he stepped onto the porch.
He answered in Russian. “Why are you calling me?” His voice came out sharper than he meant—too loud, too raw.
“Important info for you,” Yakov said.
“You found Sergei?” Adrik asked, hope flickering for a second as he lit a cigarette.
“No, it’s about your mother.” A grave tone entered his voice.
Adrik inhaled the smoke and then said, “What about her?”
“She moved back to Russia.”
With a flick of his wrist, Adrik sent the ashes spiraling into the ashtray on the ledge. “Why?”
“She left your father. Big blowup.”
“Over what?”
“You.”
Adrik stopped listening. Yakov kept talking about giving him her new number, but Adrik cut him off. “No.” He hung up before the man could say anything else.
