“It’s a character flaw.”
She wraps her hands around her cup, and I watch her fingers curl around the ceramic. Before I can stop myself, I imagine those fingers wrapped around my…
“My mother always said putting sugar in tea meant you didn’t trust it.”
“So, your mother believed in suffering. Noted.”
Polina throws her head back and laughs, and I watch her throat move.
Damn.
What I wouldn’t do to wrap my hand around it and feel her pulse jumping under my thumb. Push her against the nearest wall and find out what other sounds I can pull out of her.
I take a long sip of tea instead. We finish the festival on foot, wandering until the cold drives us back to the car.
The drive back is quiet, but not the comfortable kind. It’s the kind that builds.
She’s got her boots on the dashboard, and her coat is open. The car is filled with that warm scent I’ve been catching all night whenever she gets close. At every red light, I can feel her looking at me, but I don’t look back. If I meet her eyes in this small, dark car, I’m going to pull over and do something about the problem she’s been all night.
She knows it, too. I can tell by the way she says nothing, sitting there like she’s happy to let it simmer.
It’s infuriating, but it’s also the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
My hands stay on the wheel, and the want just sits there between us, thick and unaddressed, the whole way home.
By the time I park outside her building, I’m fully hard from anticipation. She’s wearing the smallest smile I’ve ever wanted to kiss off someone’s face.
Then she invites me up, and all bets are off.
Her apartment is what I expected. Small. Organized. Functional. Medical textbooks on one end of the shelf, a framed photo on the other. Her with a young woman who looks just like her. Daria, if I remember her file correctly.
Polina kicks off her boots and heads to the kitchen to fill the kettle. I watch her move around barefoot and think about picking her up, setting her on the counter, and stepping between her knees.
She reaches past me to get into a cabinet, and her body comes close enough that she barely brushes my chest. I go still and hold a groan inside my chest.
“Have a seat,” she offers, not looking at me.
“I’m fine here.”
“You’re in my way.” She opens the cabinet. “Sit.”
She measures loose-leaf tea at the counter. I sit at her kitchen table and watch her, thinking about my hands on her hips and backing her into that counter. Thinking about her neck, the way it showed all night, every time her scarf slipped.
I could cross this kitchen in four steps.
I stay in my chair because she hasn’t given me the go-ahead, and I don’t take what I haven’t been offered.
But I want to. Badly.
My phone rings right then, yanking my attention away. Ruslan’s number. I answer, keeping my voice low while Polina faces the counter.
“Frol went to Timur about your recent absences,” he says. “Timur doesn’t know anything, but Frol doesn’t ask questions unless he already has half the answer.”
“When did it start?”
“Two days ago. I found out tonight.” He pauses. “Lev. You need to think about this.”
I glance at Polina. She is looking anywhere but at me. “I understand.”
