Flynn
Sunday, I go to the Kremlin.
Like a dumbass, I never asked Nadia for her number, and I woke up today still feeling like a douche for how things went down last night.
The party was the wrong sceneI’d known that at the timebut the bedroom thing? I don’t know how I fucked that one up so badly. I’m good at reading peopleespecially women. Chalk it up to growing up with two sisters and a mentally unstable mother. I trust the vibes they give off, and I could’ve sworn Nadia wanted to go in the bedroom. I can tell the difference between when a girl does something because she thinks it’s what you want and when she’s actually into it herself.
At least, I thought I could tell. So either I fucked up, or she changed her mind, which is cool. I just need to talk to her. Make sure she’s okay. Apologize if I’m the asshole.
The building the Chicago bratva call home has security as tight as the actual Kremlin, and the gatekeeper is not a friend. The guy who mans the front desk totally cockblocked me with Nadia last time I invited her to a party. I’m hoping I can bluff my way past him.
But I don’t even know which floor Nadia lives on.
Even though the band practices here once a week, I don’t have a keycard to use the elevator. I have to park below and then walk around to the front door to be let in. The glass doorsbulletproof, I’m sureare locked tight. No one is at the front desk.
Fuck.
It’s a Sunday morning. I guess they’re closed to visitors on Sundays?
I try dialing Story, but she doesn’t answer. I text both her and Oleg’s phones.
Nothing.
I try banging on the glass door with my knuckles. Not that anyone’s there to hear me. I stand outside, loitering for a while, hoping someone will go in and out, but no luck.
Who else do I know in the building? I consider whether I have anyone else’s phone number. There’s Chelle, the publicist who connected us with Skate 32, the skateboarders. She texted me once. I may have saved her number.
I find her in my contacts as PR Chelle.
“Yes!” I murmur to myself.
I send her a text. Hey, it’s Flynn. I’m outside the Kremlin, but there’s no one at the front desk. By any chance, could you let me in? I don’t get a reply, but five minutes later, her boyfriend, one of the blond twins stalks out into the cold. I search my memory bank for his name. Is it Dima? Or Nikolai?
“Nikolai.” I hold my hand out to shake his.
He clasps mine but then doesn’t let it go. “Text my girlfriend again, and I’ll kick your ass.”
I try to pull my hand away. He tightens his grip. These bratva guys are serious about their women.
Really serious.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say.
Nikolai instantly relaxes his grip, releases my hand, and thumps my shoulder as if to say no hard feelings.
“Why are you here?”
I think about going forward with my bluff about having practice, but I know it won’t fly. Especially because I didn’t bring my guitar. I go with the truth.
“Yeah, well, I need to see Nadia. We went out last nightafter the gigand she left abruptly. I want to make sure everything’s okay.”
“You went out with Nadia?” Nikolai says it like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah. After the show.”
“Nadia went out with you.”
Why does it sound like he doesn’t believe me?
“She came to the party with me, but she left with her brotherwith Adrian.” I never imagined I’d be explaining the whole damn thing just to get through the front door.
Nikolai’s expression clears. “Don’t worry about it. Nadia often ducks out early. It’s not personal.”
Now I’m getting impatient. “Yeah, I know she gets panic attacks. I saw her through one earlier in the night. I just need to see her myself, okay?”
Nikolai’s eyes narrow. “You have her number?”
Fuck.
“No. I never got it. I wouldn’t be here if I had. I mean unless she invited me.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t ever be here without an invite.”
“Dude, stop busting my balls. I am trying to do the right thing here. I just need to talk to her.”
Nikolai grows more relaxed, which makes me want to punch the guy. “Nadia is okay. She has a lot of people here to look after her. You can go home.”
“How many people here kissed her last night?” I sound like a middle schooler. I don’t know why I’m trying to make anyone else understand the connection I have with Nadia. I don’t need outside approval or recognition.
It gets Nikolai’s attention though. He grows alert. “Is that why she left? Did you upset her? You shouldn’t have”
“What the fuck? No, I didn’t upset her. I meanmaybe, but she definitely liked the kiss. Kisses, more than one.”
I’m an idiot. Why, oh why, do I have to explain this shit to another guy?
“Listen, Flynn.” Nikolai takes on a counseling tone. “I know you get a ton of action with the ladies. Just cross Nadia off your list. She’s not for you, bro.”
Now I’m getting pissed, which isn’t like me. I’m an easy-going guy. People underestimate me because I’m laid back. I seem like a slacker or stoner. They mistake my lack of ambition for a lack of intelligence or talent. But for once in my life, I’m not playing it cool.
My hands clench into fists. “You listen, bro.” I’m probably going to get my ass kicked here. Nikolai is no less lethal-looking than any of the bratva guys, but I don’t care. I’ve lost patience with this conversation. “She’s not on my list. She’s a friend, and I need to check in with her. Can you understand that?”
“Huh.” Nikolai considers me for a moment, then pulls out his phone and swipes across the screen.
Fuck. Is he requesting ass-kicking assistance? I don’t actually know how violent or brutal these guys are. Oleg is a giant teddy bear with Story, but I’m pretty sure he could crush a man’s windpipe with two fingers.
Maybe they have a torture room down in the basement. The kind with plastic spread across the floor and a drain in the center for the blood…
Still, I’m holding my ground until I get in.
It seems like an eternity. Nikolai sends and reads a few texts while I stand there freezing my ass off in the icy February wind that comes straight off the lake.
Finally, he turns and pushes the door open. “Come in.”
“Whoa, really? Cool.” I drop the aggression and follow him in. He doesn’t pause in the reception area, but just heads to the elevators, so I follow him on one. He uses his key card and presses the button for the right floor.
“I don’t actually know which apartment Nadia lives in,” I admit.
“I’m taking you to the music studio. You’ll wait there.” The elevator stops, and the doors open. Nikolai walks with me to the practice room Oleg sound-proofed for the Storytellers and uses the keycard to open the door. I walk in, but he stays out in the hallway. “Go anywhere else in the building, and I’ll cut both your hands off.”
My brows slam down, and I turn both my palms in consternation. That’s…fucked up. How would I play guitar?
“Kidding,” he says as he walks away. “Mostly.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, shrugging out of my leather jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. The room is carpeted and most of the walls are covered in sound-absorbing molded foam. A large whiteboard covers one wall, so Story can write the playlist or the chords or lyrics to a new song. The studio has a couple of old amps and my acoustic guitar but otherwise is empty because our instruments and equipment are still in the back of the van.
I pick up the acoustic guitar and play a blues riff that’s been stuck in my head for days now. It occurs to me that Nikolai didn’t say Nadia was coming. Just that I was supposed to wait here. It could be her brother coming to kick my ass.
This is starting to feel like too much.
I set the guitar down and walk to the door, only to open it and find Nadia standing there.
“Oh!” she exclaims. “Hi.” She’s in an oatmeal sweater that falls off one shoulder and a pair of black leggings with neat rows of rips down the sides.
I resist the urge to gather her in my arms and kiss her senseless. I’d decided not to let things get sexual with Nadia, and they went astray when I abandoned that plan. So back to Plan A. We’re friends. Just. Friends.
I’m here as her friend to check on her.
“Flynn, I’m sorry,” she blurts. “I thought I was going to panic again, and I didn’t want to bother or embarrass you.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Bother? No, Nadia, no. It wouldn’t be a bother. Or an embarrassment.”
She flushes. We’re still standing in the doorway to the studio, and it feels like a metaphor. We’re teetering between two optionsbeing friends or more than friends.
“What is a bother is not having your phone number, so I could make sure I hadn’t fucked up.” I tip her chin up when she doesn’t meet my eye. “Did I fuck up, Nadia? I swear to Christ, I wasn’t trying to get into your pants.”
Her lips part, and her pupils dilate. “Wh-why not?”
I let out a short bark of laughter and then realize I painted myself into a corner. I don’t want to say that she seems like she needs a friend more than a ride on my dick. I don’t want to say anything at all that would sound like I think there’s something wrong or less-than with her.
I pick up her hand and bring her fingers to my lips. “Because I like you, Nadia.”
She pulls her fingers back. “You don’t screw the girls you like?”
I grin. “I always like the girls I screw. It’s just that I don’t usually continue things longer than that. I don’t do relationships. And I wanted to know you for longer.”
“Oh.” The syllable has a surprised wonder to it, and she sort of falls into my space, so I have no option but to wrap my arms around her. I inhale her sweet butterscotch scent, my dick thickening at her closeness.
Her hands come to my chest, and she looks up at me. “I came down here to ask you to have sex with me.”
“What?” This girl confuses the hell out of me.
“Something bad happened to me, Flynn, but being around you makes me feel… better.” Her words tumble out in a rush like she wants to say them before she chickens out. Or maybe she wants to continue before I can react. “And everyone’s telling me to stay away from you because of what you just saidbecause you’re a player. You don’t stick around. But I feel like you might be exactly what I need to get over my…thing.”
Something lodges in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I haven’t decoded everything she said yet because I got caught on the words, something bad happened to me.
It’s not social anxiety. It’s trauma. No wonder everyone is so protective of her.
And how fucking brave of her to come to me and ask for what she needs.
Who am I to deny her anything at all?
Except I can hear the alarm bells going off. There’s a trap in here somewhere. A mistake I’m about to make. I just can’t quite figure it out.
“You want to have sex with me to get over your trauma?”
She looks relieved that I understand. “Yes. Just sex, okay? I know you don’t want a girlfriend. We could be friends, you know? What do they say here? Friends with benefits?”
I should be overjoyed. This is exactly the kind of scenario that works for me. No pressure, no strings.
Why do I hate it so much?
“You could still have sex with other girls. With Cadence?”
I frown and give a quick shake of my head.
“Right,” she says knowingly. “You already had her, didn’t you?”
Fuck. This already feels complicated.
She searches my face. “Will you do it?”
All I can do is nod. Of course, I’ll do it. I’m incapable of denying this sweet, brave, beautiful girl anything she asks me for.
But the warning bells are still ringing. They’re telling me something’s wrong about this. Something won’t work.
I just can’t untangle what it is.