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“Is that right?” I replied politely.
“Yeah, I could send you some links. Maybe we could work on a collaboration.” He followed up his words with an encouraging nudge of his elbow.
“Maybe,” I said with a weak smile.
“Have I mentioned how versatile the soprano sax is?”
I nodded weakly but gave an inward sigh, remorse prickling me like burrs. I wasn’t into this. I wasn’t into him. I should have never invited him to the party Hannah was throwing for Nikolai. There was really only one reason Jason was here: Ivan Petrov.
Instead of being into nice guys, like Jason, I was attracted to aloof Russians with beautiful faces and cold green eyes. I briefly stared at Ivan’s hard profile, admiring his perfectly chiseled, taciturn features, his masculine beauty only enhanced by a look of perpetual severity. His mouth was a flat, unsmiling line and his jaw like a piece of carved granite, making my fingers itch to soften it.
It was difficult not to admire the lean lines of his body showcased in a pair of jeans and a black, fitted t-shirt. My eyes skated over his broad shoulders and trim waist, briefly lingering on the tattoos decorating the exposed skin of his defined arms. Desire slid like smoke through my veins as I gazed at him.
The Russian mobster had been my savior in a time of hysteria and chaos. He literally saved my life, and in mindless panic, my brain latched onto him, identifying him as the only point of safety in a world that had just tilted off its axis. I glued myself to his side and refused to let go.After twenty-four hours of forced proximity—as I alternated between traumatized weeping and stage five clinging—a crush of titanic proportions developed.
I emailed him while he was working in Russia. What was astonishing is he emailed me back—eventually. Then he stopped responding, leaving me feeling listless and wounded, embarrassed and resentful.
Now, eight months after my last pathetic email, he was back. Back in Chicago and literally in my backyard. He’d returned weeks ago, and though we’ve technically seen each other, he’d made no attempt to actually communicate with me. I hated to admit it, but it hurt. This party was the third time seeing him since his return.
The first time was right after he’d returned from Russia. Hannah and I went to his sister, Katya’s condo to hang out with her for the evening and arrived just as Ivan was leaving. The shock of seeing him standing in her living room nearly brought me to my knees. Ivan, who I hadn’t seen in years. Ivan, who I had been pining and fretting over since he stopped writing back to me.
Ivan, who acted like he had no idea who I was when he saw me.
I thought there would be some flare of warmth from him at seeing me, some acknowledgement, but there was nothing. His green eyes were icy, distant. It was as if we’d never communicated. I was gutted.
Even though I’d been disappointed at his lack of response, I made justifications. He had just gotten back to town, he was surprised to see me and didn’t know how to respond, he was jet-lagged. I cringed as I remembered my desperate mental calculations. The idea of him simply not caring about me was too painful to consider.
I only had a handful of opportunities to see him after that and each was a disappointment. The next time I saw him was at The Trinity Club, a Bratva bar, for Anya’s birthday party. Unfortunately, Yuri crashed the party, as well. After all the craziness was over, I thought he’d finally speak to me, seek me out. My hopes were brutally dashed as I waited. And waited. I even sent him another email, asking if he was okay, but he never responded.
It was maddening, devastating, humiliating.
I’d felt closer to him when he’d been in Russia than I did standing forty feet away from him in my backyard.
I knew he’d be here today, considering his sister and all his closest friends were here. I’d impulsively invited Jason here today, hoping he’d distract me from Ivan, hoping I’d suddenly develop some kind of attraction to him.
So far, Jason’s yammering about the saxophone hadn’t done much to melt my heart. Inviting him had seemed like a good idea at the time. I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t still pining over Ivan, but all it had done was put poor Jason in direct contrast to the gorgeous, intimidating Russian.
Jason was a decent looking guy with short, light-brown hair and friendly blue eyes. He was smart, easy going, and interested in music. I should like him, but he barely existed next to Ivan’s broody masculinity.
“Thanks again for inviting me to the party, Emmy. We haven’t had much chance to see each other outside of band,” Jason said, once again pulling my attention back to him.
“Yeah, well, since we’re going to different colleges, I thought we could hang out one last time,” I said, feeling like an absolute heel as I lied to him, my eyes once again wandering in Ivan’s direction.
As if feeling my intent gaze, Ivan’s head suddenly swung in my direction, and I almost yelped in surprise. Thank god these sunglasses hid my eyes.
Feeling unsettled and agitated by Ivan’s sudden scrutiny, I aimed all my attention back on Jason, determined to focus solely on him. Or at least pay attention to more than one sentence at a time. It was the least I could do for dragging him here and getting his hopes up.
“So, where did you say you were going to school?” I asked, knowing that he’d already told me.
Jason frowned at my obvious inattentiveness. “Boston. I’m going to Berklee, remember?”
I did remember, but my brains were now scrambled. “Oh my god, yes, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said, laying a consoling hand on his arm. That was a mistake. Heat and intent flared in Jason’s eyes as he opened his mouth. His eyes slid down to the V-neck of my colorfully printed, sleeveless maxi dress, resting briefly on the exposed skin.
Oh shit.
I quickly removed my hand and flicked my eyes in Ivan’s direction, my heart jumping into my throat when I saw him stalking toward me. Was he coming to talk to me?
I turned back to Jason, who was staring at me expectantly. Damn, he must have asked a question or something and I’d missed it.