“He kept touching my shoulder!”
“That is generally how flirting works.”
I groaned.
Mila’s laughter eased as she looked at me again. “You really are nervous.”
I exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no.” She pointed at me accusingly. “Luka, if you are about to ask me for practical advice, this conversation is over. We are biologically incompatible and I refuse to turn this into an anatomy seminar.”
“No!”
The word came out so horrified she burst out laughing again. “Oh, this is magnificent.”
“I regret ever starting this.” I covered my eyes for a second. “I just…” God. Even saying this aloud felt impossible. “I only wanted to know if you were as nervous as I feel now.”
Silence.
I looked up, to be greeted by warm, compassionate eyes. “Oh.”
I gazed at the floor. That felt safer.
“Then you and Dean…”
“We have done… things.” My throat tightened around the admission. “Not much. But this is…” I searched helplessly for the word.
“Bigger?”
I nodded, and the room went quiet again.
Mila studied me for a long moment before speaking again. “My first time was with Stefan.”
“Him? I thought you had taste.” I groaned. “Must you remind me that he even exists?”
Mila snorted. “You hated him on sight.”
“And with good reason. He wore sunglasses indoors.”
“He thought they made him mysterious.”
It was my turn to snort. “They made him look like a nightclub magician.”
That dragged a laugh out of her.
God, I had forgotten how much we used to mock Stefan together after competitions.
“He was beautiful,” Mila admitted. “But he knew it, and that was the problem.”
I sat in the chair, my legs stretched out, the tea in my hand. “I remember him spending twenty minutes arranging his hair before the Gala in Budapest.”
“Twenty-five,” Mila corrected. “And then he expected applause because he brought me a protein bar.”
I laughed harder at that.
“He wasn’t cruel,” she said after a moment. “Just… deeply convinced that enthusiasm counted as emotional intelligence.”
“That sounds ominous.”
