“No.”
She pouts, deliberately leaning in. “Shame.”
“Still recovering.” I shrug, gesturing at my leg.
She lingers a second longer, but I don’t offer anything else, and eventually, she peels off toward the dance floor.
Viktor raises an amused eyebrow. “You always this charming?”
“Only when I’m trying not to get laid.”
We lapse back into silence, the kind that settles between two people who’ve known each other long enough to not have to fill it.
After a moment, he shifts.
“So you are seeing someone?”
I shake my head once. “Not lately.”
“You?” His brow lifts, just a bit. “Mr. Sunshine? Impossible.”
“Shocking, right?”
He hums around a sip of beer. “The world is off its axis.”
I smirk, taking another sip of my own. “I’ve had my fair share, just haven’t been interested in a while.”
He nods like that makes sense, and doesn’t push for more detail. That’s the thing about Viktor—he can be annoying and too honest, but he can also sit in silence without making it uncomfortable.
But the silence still opens a door in my head I wasn’t planning to walk through tonight.
It’s not about the sex. I’ve never struggled with that part. Hell, I love it. I like it rough, I like control, I like knowing exactly what gets someone to fall apart and being the one to give it to them.
I don’t half-ass anything once the clothes are off, never have.
That’s never been the issue. It’s everything that comes after—when the room goes quiet, and there’s nothing left to distract you from yourself.
And lately, I haven’t had the patience for anything that feels temporary.
So I haven’t touched anyone since before the injury. I don’t want that empty connection anymore.
Especially now, when I’m walking through every day knowing I might not get back the one thing I’ve built my life around.
I take another drink, watching Logan laugh as Lulu makes him twirl her on the dance floor, and watching Jake scoop Meadow up for their own dance as she shrieks with laughter. The noise swells again with music, laughter, clinking glasses.
I don’t even realize I’m thinking about her until I’m halfway through my bottle.
Carina.
Sharp-tongued, controlled-until-she’s-hungry, steady-until-she’s-stressed Carina Park.
Havoc.
The only nickname I’ve given someone that feels more like a warning to myself than anything else.
I don’t know what her deal is. One minute, she’s calm and surgical, the next, she’s writing words in a burger with ketchup. And still, she acts like nothing in the world can shake her.
Except that’s not true, because I saw it when I wasn’t supposed to. Just a few moments of emotion, enough to know there’s something soft under all that steel.
