Page 83 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"You look like a fucking Russian rock star instead of a pakhan," he says, grinning now. "What the hell is going on with your hair?"

"I said put it down."

Nick leans over to look at the photo, and I catch the faint curve of his mouth. He's actually smiling. The bastard.

"This is going in my personal collection," Russ announces, pulling out his phone.

"Like hell it is."

He raises the phone to photograph the picture, and I lunge across the table before he can click the button. My hand closes around his wrist, and he jerks back, laughing like this is the funniest thing that's happened all week.

"Give me the fucking phone, Russ."

"Make me."

I tighten my grip on his wrist and reach for the phone with my other hand. He twists away, still laughing, and suddenly we're half-wrestling across the kitchen table. Coffee mugs rattle dangerously close to the edge. Papers scatter across the floor. My elbow knocks into the stack of files, sending several sliding off the table.

Nick doesn't move, just watches us with that faint smile still on his face like he's enjoying the show.

"You're acting like children," Nick says calmly.

"He started it," Russ gasps, trying to keep the phone out of my reach.

"I'm going to finish it by breaking your fucking arm."

"You can try."

Russ is stronger than he looks, and he's using his weight advantage to keep me from getting the phone. I shift my grip, getting leverage, and manage to pin his arm against the table. He's still laughing, the asshole, even as I increase the pressure.

I get my hand around his throat and squeeze just enough to make my point. He chokes out a laugh and drops the phone, which I catch before it hits the floor. Victory.

"Asshole," Russ mutters, rubbing his throat.

"Idiot," I reply, shoving the phone into my pocket.

The soft sound of footsteps behind me gain my attention. I turn to find Marla standing in the doorway wearing one of my shirts and nothing else, her red hair messy from sleep, her blue eyes wide with confusion and amusement.

My breath catches for a second. The shirt hangs to mid-thigh on her, the sleeves rolled up several times to fit her smaller frame. Even as large as the shirt is, her curvy figure is still visible. Sexy as fuck. She looks rumpled and soft and entirely too tempting for six in the morning.

"What the hell is going on?" she asks.

Russ grins at her. "Alex is sensitive about old photos."

"I'm not sensitive."

"You were strangling him."

"He deserved it."

She laughs, the sound bright and genuine, and something in my chest loosens at the sound. She crosses to the coffee maker and pours herself a cup, completely unbothered by the chaos she just walked into. The movement makes the shirt ride up slightly, and I force myself to look away before I get too distracted.

"You should see the photo," Russ says. "Alex looked like he was about to murder everyone at a city council meeting."

"I was," I admit.

"Why were you at a city council meeting?" Marla asks, settling into the chair beside Nick.

"Business," I say shortly.