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 mean–maybe, 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 options–being 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.