His lip barely pulls. “I’ve done worse to myself.”
“I don’t think that’s the win you think it is.”
“Not at all,” he admits, a bit more self-deprecating than usual. He reaches for his cup. “But if it weren’t for you, it would’ve been worse. So, thanks.”
“I wasn’t doing it to be nice.”
He hums skeptically, definitely not buying it. “Of course not. It was purely out of self-preservation.”
When I shoot him a look, his grin is far too unrepentant and not at all calculating. Instead, he seems relaxed, like parts of last night still exist in him.
I hate the way my chest clenches at how disarming he had been when he came home, and how I find myself wanting more of it now.
Forcing the thoughts out of my head, I pour myself coffee and lean against the farthest counter to keep a distance. “Do you remember everything?”
“Sure do.”
“Even the embarrassing parts, like drooling on yourself?”
Ivan snorts, but nods. “Especially that.”
Not meaning to, I let go of a muffled laugh, and I know he heard it too. Correcting myself, I stand a little straighter. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I know.”
Something about his easy agreement irks me. “You watched me without my knowledge.”
“I did,” he confirms, eventually standing once his plate is empty, and heading for the sink to rinse it off.
Shifting my position to face him, like keeping something volatile in my range of sight, I set my mug down and cross my arms. “And you lied to me.”
Still, Ivan doesn’t argue. He shuts the water off and looks at me directly with an air of unruffled coolness. “I’m not pretending all of that didn’t happen. You’re allowed to be angry.”
The simple, yet genuine way he says it catches me off guard, and I don’t have anything to counter…since he’s giving me nothing that needs countering.
Looking up at him, I can feel how different the space between us feels. There’s less hostility surrounding us this morning, and it’s unsettling, like I can’t use anger as viable armor anymore. It leaves me exposed and far too aware of the way he looks at me.
I swallow and pull back just enough to break the moment. “Why are you even up this early?”
“It’s a habit, even on the weekends, unfortunately,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter. “And I heard you humming when you woke up.”
My brows pinch at that, but being called out like that stuns me more than I want to admit while I try to push down the slight heat creeping up my neck. “I wasn’t that loud.”
“No, but it was loud enough,” Ivan says, smiling enough to be noticeable. “You have good vocal control, by the way.”
I blink back at him, not expecting any kind of compliment from him. “Humming isn’t really impressive.”
He shrugs. “Maybe not, but I’ve heard you do more than that.”
“What?”
“Your shows,” Ivan explains, like it’s obvious. “I saw you perform at the lounges even when you weren’t supposed to.”
It takes me considerable effort to manage the words and to ignore how personal this conversation suddenly seems.
“You actually went?”
He nods, looking me over, only showing quiet amusement in his eyes. “I went to a few. You were better than most acts around here.”
