Naomi slides in closer than the others, grinning faintly like usual when she’s feeling a bit smug, while she leans in, and the cut of her neckline seems to speak before she does. “It’s been a while, Ivan.”
We had a thing once. There weren’t any expectations at first, and it had been only about fun, usually when I was drunk. She usually didn’t ask for much, and rarely showed me much emotion beyond the vaguely cold and controlled veneer of a socialite. Until she started to slip, and my interest waned as a result.
I glance at her, buzzed enough to not push her away as she lightly brushes her fingers along my wrist. Really, it feels more like a habit on my end.
“You disappeared…I was worried something might’ve happened to you,” she hums, tracing my features with a gleam inher brown eyes, long lashes framing them almost innocently. “I missed our talks.”
A vaguely amused huff leaves me, but I sidestep around the bait. “I was busy.”
“Busier than usual? You used to make time for me,” she murmurs, fingers gliding higher while she moves in even closer.
I take a measured breath, feeling a slight waver in my previous disinterest thanks to the whiskey. “Priorities change.”
She hums again, pink-tinted lips still teasing while she cuts more of the space. Her hand finds my chest, moving down now while her face presses close to my neck. “You look tense, Ivan. Let me help.”
A dull yet familiar spark travels down the length of my spine from her touch, just stimulating enough to wake up that part of my brain. Normally, that’s all it would take for me to cave and give us both what we want, even if it means nothing. The night would end no differently than usual, both indulgent and predictable.
But the moment her lips brush against my neck, I tense.
There’s a small voice in my head telling me to go with it, and to let desire dull everything else, but it isn’t louder than the image of her in my mind.
Mila.
I don’t know why, but her face intrudes uninvited, breaking the moment before it can even truly begin.
It isn’t angry or defiant, Mila, but the one I’ve been watching for week after week. The one who willingly puts herself on a stage and allows herself to be vulnerable when nobody else in her life will listen. The one who looked at me tonight like I crossed a line she didn’t even know existed.
My jaw tightens, and I pull back slightly.
Naomi notices and pauses, shifting away enough to look me in the eyes. “Bad timing?”
Lying and forcing myself not to care feels easier, but I’m apparently not strong enough to avoid Mila’s pull.
“I’m just not in the mood,” I mutter, bringing my glass to my lips.
She cocks a brow at me, settling back to give me at least a sliver of space. Her eyes roam my face again, then she gives a small, somewhat dejected laugh. “That’s new.”
The longer I feel her eyes on me, the less I want it, and I shrug her hands away. “Another night.”
An empty promise, and one I won’t even attempt to live up to.
Naomi lingers for a moment, then she shrugs and slides out of the booth like she doesn’t have it in her to care, though, knowing her, it must sting at least a little. Fortunately, she doesn’t make a scene.
In a way, that’s why our previous arrangement worked, until it didn’t.
When she leaves, long dark hair gleaming under the lights, the others follow, and before long, I’m left in a spacious booth that feels emptier than it should. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Throwing back the last of my drink, I stand with a slight sway, muttering to one of my men nearby, “Take me home.”
Despite him not being on the clock, he complies, and the drive blurs along with the city lights and various tourists just beginning their night.
The alcohol in my system is enough to dampen my awareness without being so plastered I can’t handle myself. By the time we pull into the parking garage, my thoughts are slower, but not entirely gone.
The condo is quiet when I arrive, and under the soft glow of the living room lamps, I expect to find it perfectly empty, and for Mila to be in bed. But, she’s still awake, sitting on one of the couches with her knees tucked up, long golden strands loose around her shoulders. The TV’s on, but she doesn’t seem all that invested in whatever’s playing. Though she glances at me once she hears my footsteps, and a hint of surprise flickers across her face, only for her to school it again.
“You’re up late,” I say on a heavy exhale, dropping my keys unceremoniously on the counter before I approach.
“So are you,” she mumbles, arms crossed over her chest. Then, she looks at me again, longer this time. “I couldn’t sleep.”
