As he hands me the bottles, he pauses. “Listen, if he’s not your boyfriend or you guys are open, can I get his number?—”
“He’s mine.Back off.” I yank the bottles from his hands and walk out before I punch him in the face.
Fucking hell, what’s this violent version of myself I can barely recognize?
I nearly snarled at the poor dude. Maybe I actuallydidsnarl.
Honestly, what the hell?
As soon as I approach Yulian, I resist the urge to devour him soHarrycan see and not have any funny ideas. Then, just in the last split second, I remember we’re in public and just punch Yulian with the bottle against his stomach.
I nearlykissedhim in public.
For the world to see.
Yes, it’s early morning, and no one is around, but still.
What the hell was I thinking?
That’s the problem—I wasn’t. My thoughts short-circuit whenever I’m around him, his recklessness andje ne sais quoibehavior bleeding into me.
And it’s dangerous. For both of us.
“What’s with the tough love today, Mishka?” He grips the bottle, strips off his gloves, and tosses them on the bike.
Flipping the bottle in his hand, he leans casually against the seat beside me. “What is this anyway?”
I say nothing, just drink the kombucha, letting the bubbles fill my throat, still fuming about Harry wanting Yulian so openly like that. Some people have a lot of audacity. EvenIcan’t admit how much I burn for this bastard out loud, so why can everyone else?
It took me such a long time to eventouchhim without my brain getting in the way. Took me ages to just…be with him like this.
So how can someone who just saw him express interest in him so openly?
Not everyone is as uptight as you, the voice in my head whispers.
Yulian takes a sip of his drink, then spits it right out, coughing. “What the fuck is this? Fermented urine?”
“How on earth do you know what fermented urine tastes like? Actually, don’t answer that and drink. It’s good for your gut that you only feed alcohol or greasy food.”
“Have you been stalking me? ’Cause I don’t mind.” He grins, taking another taste, then grimacing, but this time, he doesn’t spit it out, probably because I’m staring at him. “Seriously, this is an abomination. They have no beer? Cheap whiskey will also do.”
“You’re not drinking while driving, Yulian. You’re already reckless as it is.”
“Love it when you say my name so uptight and serious.”
I glare.
His grin widens, then he hits my shoulder with his. “Why aren’tyoudrinking? You’re not driving.”
“I don’t like drinking much,” I say, staring at the label.
“What type of blasphemy is that?” He jumps up in front of me. “We’re Russians. We love drinking.”
“Don’t be stereotypical.”
“But it’s true. Alcohol is in our DNA.”
“Must’ve skipped mine.” I pause, then add, “I just don’t like the way it dulls my senses.”
