Page 23 of Deviant Need

“No.”

“Come on, Danya. Please.”

He doesn’t look at me, eyes fixed on the spreadsheet. “I said no.”

“Why not? You love smoking with me.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy lately.” I lean closer, trying to catch his eye. “Just take a break. Ten minutes.”

His jaw tightens. “I need to finish this.”

“Our father won’t care if it takes an extra hour. Come on, please. I haven’t hung out with you in three days.”

He finally glances at me, something flickering across his face before he looks away again.

“Stop avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“You literally are. Right now. You won’t even look at me.” I poke him again. “Please just smoke with me. I miss you.”

His fingers pause on the keyboard, and the blush spreads higher up his neck and across his cheeks. “Fine. Ten minutes. That’s it.”

Relief floods through me because my next move was throwing him over my shoulder and kidnapping him to force him to hang out with me. I pull out the box from my pocket where I keep the pre-rolled joints and light one up, then grab his chin and bring it to his mouth. He inhales and exhales quickly before moving away from me.

I’ll take the push if it means I get the pull. I’ll take the fights if it means he comes back. I’ll take the crumbs because crumbs from him are more than a feast from anyone else. It’s been this way since we were teenagers, this endless cycle of him running and me waiting.

We’re fucked up. I know we are. Even other people look at us like something’s wrong, like they can see how twisted up we are in each other.

We’re opening soon, and the crowd will be pouring in any minute. I want time with him before I have to deal with everyone else. I nudge him, and he looks at me with his cheeks still flushed. “Want to get a shot at the bar?”

“Sure, but I have to get back to work soon.”

Okay, then maybe I can get him drunk enough that he forgets about leaving.

We walk toward the bar, and I snag a bottle of tequila, pouring us two shots before sliding one over to him. He takes it down quickly and reaches for another, so I pour him a second and knock mine back while he downs his. The silver hoop in his nose glints in the light and my gaze drops to it. He used to have a stud when he first got it but switched to the hoop and never changed it back. It fits him perfectly.

The doors open and people stream in. I sit next to him, and the DJ starts playing “Dirty Little Secret” by Artemas, and I’m about to say something when a girl comes up to me. Black hair, purple dress. I glance at her, but it feels wrong because that’s his color, not hers.

“Hey,” she says, leaning close to whisper in my ear.

Daniil frowns and rubs his temples, biting the inside of his cheek. He tries to hop off the chair, but I grab his purple hoodie to stop him.

“We’re kind of busy,” I say.

“I heard you had an accent, but damn, it’s even sexier up close.” She gestures toward her friends across the club. “They told me you own this place too. That true?”

“Da.”

“You guys should come sit with us.”

“Nyet, we’re not in the mood.” I tug on Daniil’s hoodie, trying to move us away, but she reaches out to block us.

“Come on, just one drink. My friend over there thinks your friend is cute.”

Some guy from her group walks up, clearly already drunk, swaying on his feet. He looks at Daniil and grins. “Hey, man, what’s up?”