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I bury my head in his chest, hearing words I’ve wanted to hear from someone, anyone , for as long as I can remember. I wrap my arms around him, squeezing him so tight, as he places a hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair. This man.

I sniff back tears and try to form some sort of coherent words. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You keep calling me lisichka . What does it mean?”

He smiles, his green eyes looking deep into mine, gazing past the fear, seeing past the worry, and just looking at me. “It means little fox.”

I can’t help but let out a chuckle. “So, I’m the fox and you’re the wolf?”

This time he snorts. “I didn’t think about it like that, but yes.”

“Why do you call me that? You said it the first night we were together.” I see the hesitation fill his face as his eyes crinkle together.

“Come on, you stubborn-ass goalie.” I wiggle my hand across his chest. “We’ve told each other some deep shit the past couple of days. Why do you call me a little fox?”

His gaze shifts into something more gentle—softer than I’ve ever seen before. “In Russia, lisichka is a term of endearment. It’s what my father used to call my mother.”

Well fuck me sideways with a pineapple. Did he just say what I think he said? I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I feel Melissa Joan Heart doing enough backflips to be considered a Simone Biles floor routine inside my chest right now. Calm the fuck down, bitch. Compose yourself and ask him why.

“You didn’t answer my question, Vladi. Why do you call me that?” I bite my lip, unsure of what I even want him to say.

“Magdalina,” he runs the back of his palm against my cheek, down my jawline, down my neck, and down to my chest, his fingers grazing my skin, as my stomach twists and my thighs squeeze together.

“I care about you. I have since that first night. I knew you were different. You know what you want and you reach out and take it. You reached out to me because you wanted me. And you unlocked something in me that’s needed to be opened for a long time.

You use these terms of endearment when you care about someone, yes? ”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I glance down, suddenly afraid to look him in the eye.

Care can mean a lot of different things.

He places his hand on my chin and tips my face up.

“I call you lisichka because you are my fox. Sometimes, in the woods, a wolf and a fox get along. They can be fierce enemies, but they can also look out for one another. Protect one another. Seems fitting for us, no?”

“It does…,” I say, my breath shaky as I try to choke out the next words. “But…you care about me?”

“I have cared about you for months now. I just didn’t know if I could…” He trails off, his voice tight as his Adam’s apple bobs with a rough swallow. “I don’t know if I’m capable of caring for you like you deserve.”

I take in a sharp breath, the weight of his words lingering between us.

He wants this, but doesn’t think he can have it.

But the fact he admitted it at all has to mean…

something . Maybe I can show him I don’t need to be taken care of every moment of every day.

That we can take care of one another. That we’re partners in all of this.

Fuck; this could get tricky. My stomach churns as my fingers drum a nervous beat against his skin.

This could be a whole mess if we crash and burn.

We have the same friends, same best friends, actually.

This could mess up a lot of shit. Or it could be the best thing ever.

But Melissa is over here jumping on a damn trampoline inside my ribs and I can’t make her stop.

So, I fall back to the one thing I know we can always handle.

“You know, Wolfie, you did a pretty good job of caring for me at my apartment,” I murmur, running my hand down his chest, “and in the bathroom earlier,” I slide my hand under the sheets, trailing down low on his abdomen, “and in the shower.” He lets out a moan from deep in his chest. “I think we do a pretty good job caring for one another. Don’t you? ”

In one quick move, he flips me onto my back, climbing on top of me with the fluidity only a professional athlete could possess.

His hands rest on the bed, caging me in on either side as he softly, quietly studies me like he’s examining a painting.

The way he’s staring makes my pulse race, but not in the carnal lust we’ve been caught up in all evening.

This is something entirely new. This isn’t the furious need I saw earlier.

My body shivers at the dangerous water I’m dipping my toe in.

It’s more than a need or a want in his eyes.

It’s… longing. And my reckless heart wants to dive in and join him.

He shifts his weight onto one side, gliding his fingers across my skin, leaving goosebumps as he dances up my neck, until finally placing his calloused palm against my cheek .

“I will always care for you, lisichka ,” he says, a softness in his voice that threatens to break me entirely.

My head spins as he leans in, his lips brushing mine with a kind of ache, as if asking a question neither of us knows how to answer.

What does he mean by ‘he’ll always care for me’?

Does it mean just like care about me as a friend and a fuck buddy?

Does it mean we have an expiration date?

Does it mean something more? I don’t even know what to think right now, but he’s kissing me like I’m the very air he breathes.

And I can’t stop. I can’t resist. I can’t stay away from this man.

Thanks a lot, Melissa…we’re fucking screwed.