3. Lara
Chapter 3
Lara
“ M om, it’s fine,” I try to tell her, but she insists on peeking out the window for another twenty minutes, scanning the street below us for who the fuck knows what. We’re on the fourth floor and it’s after midnight, so it’s not like she can see much, but she insists on doing it all the same.
“Someone might have followed you,” she mutters, never taking her eyes off the street below us.
“No one followed me.” With a sigh, I give up and sink into the couch, pulling the soft blanket that’s folded beside me onto my lap. “I just went to work and then came home. No one saw me, no one followed me. I didn’t see anything suspicious.”
My voice is monotone when I go through the speech that I give every time I come home and she’s having a bad night. My mom has ups and downs, good days and bad days, and the last couple of years feel like they’ve been one bad day after another. She was forced to quit her job several months ago after an unfortunate episode that involved her freaking out because someone with the last name Melnikov came in to get their teeth cleaned. She’d accused the poor man, who had to have been pushing eighty, of being a part of the Russian mafia and had insisted he’d killed my dad. Having to go down there to pick her up and explain to everyone why they didn’t need to call the police was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.
Just one more reason why I need to do everything I can to keep this new job. Rent and paying all the bills are my responsibilities now, and I can’t fuck this up.
My mom continues to mutter to herself while I wrap my arms around my legs and slip one finger under the sleeve of my shirt to run along the scars that are hidden beneath the fabric. My mom never raised a hand to me again after the incident when I was little, but she didn’t need to. I took over the job myself. I started cutting when I was twelve. I’d felt completely alone. Isolated and confused, knowing that something was off with my mom but having no idea what it could be. All I knew was that something was wrong and that I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone about it. I’d bottled everything up, refusing to let it out, but all that had done was make me a prisoner. I was trapped with all these feelings and emotions and so much anger and sadness, and I was sick to death of feeling it. I wanted free of it, and one day I took a razor to my skin. It was a small cut, nothing that would seriously hurt me, but when I’d felt the sting, I’d cried in relief because it made me feel something, anything , other than the pain I was already feeling. The painful sting of the cuts gave me something to focus on, something that didn’t involve my mom. This was mine. It was the only secret I had that didn’t feel like a burden. It felt liberating to be in full control of something.
It took me several years to realize how unhealthy it was, and it took me several more before I could fully break the habit. By then, my arms were a ruin of scars, and now I’m stuck wearing long-sleeve shirts for the rest of my life. It’s hard to be invisible if your body invites questions and makes people stare.
Sometimes the urge to cut again is strong, but so far I’ve resisted. Biting my lip, I keep running my finger over the small, raised lines on my arm, refusing to run into the bathroom and grab the small razor that I have hidden in my makeup bag. Instead, I wait until my mom finishes her nocturnal watch and comes to sit beside me on the couch. Without a word, I offer her half of the blanket while she starts the movie I’d promised her earlier I’d watch with her tonight.
I’ve seen it hundreds of times by now, but it’s her favorite, and I can’t tell her no when it makes her so happy. When the lush music begins, I settle back, getting comfy while Doctor Zhivago starts its opening credits. My mom whispers over the music, telling me yet again about how amazing my dad was and how she named me after the woman in the movie to celebrate my Russian heritage.
I tune her out, my mind instantly going back to the diner and the way Luka had smiled down at me with a glint of amusement in his green eyes. I fall asleep thinking about him only to slip into a dream about him, and he’s the first thing on my mind when I wake up, stiff-necked and curled up on the couch with the blanket tucked around me and my mom on the other end. We’d both crashed during the movie, and the pain in my neck and shoulders from the awkward angle I’d been sleeping in has me deeply regretting it.
Sitting up, I give a stretch and forcibly push Luka from my mind. With my mom still softly snoring, I pull the blanket up around her and then make my way into the bathroom to get cleaned up. After a shower, I pull on my favorite, comfy sweatshirt and a pair of cotton shorts before heading straight for the coffeemaker. I’ve just made a couple of omelets and poured my second cup of coffee when my mom comes walking in to join me.
“Morning, sweetie.” She kisses my cheek and gives me a grateful smile when I hand her a plate and pour her a mug.
We each take a barstool at the counter and dig in. I discreetly eye my mom while I eat, wondering if today is going to be a good day. I’m cautiously optimistic, but then I see her glance at the window she’d been looking out of last night. Her mouth tightens, and my gut clenches. I know today is going to be a bad one.
“I think I should put the foil back up.”
“Mom, you don’t need to do that,” I quickly say, setting my fork down and trying to reason with her. She’d gone through a phase a few years ago where she’d insisted on covering every damn window with foil. It had felt like we were living in a cave, and I’ve never hated anything as much as that feeling. I refuse to go back to that.
“No one is watching us, Mom,” I try again. “I would know. I’m the one who leaves to go to work and to get groceries. I would know if someone were following me, and no one is.”
She seems unconvinced, so I keep going.
“Remember how dark and awful it was to have the windows covered? Besides, don’t you think that draws even more attention? If someone were to look up at our building, the apartment with all the windows covered in foil would be painfully obvious. It would look like someone was trying to hide. Isn’t it better to blend in?”
She chews her thumbnail and thinks about what I’m saying. I let out a relieved breath when she finally gives a soft nod of her head. “You’re probably right.”
“I am right,” I say, making sure she hears how confident I am.
When I’m fairly certain she’s not going to be foiling our windows, I relax a little and take another bite. We eat for a few more minutes before I work up the courage to ask, “Mom, do you think maybe it’s possible that no one is looking for us?”
I know it’s a mistake the second the words are out of my mouth. She drops her fork with a loud clatter and reaches for my arm, squeezing it through the hoodie I’m wearing. “Lara, it’s not safe. You have to believe me. The Melnikov bastards killed your dad and your uncle, and they will kill you too if they ever find out about you. They can never know about you.”
“Mom, it’s okay, just relax.”
My words just make her tighten her grip on my arm, unknowingly pressing into my scars.
“You don’t understand how dangerous they are. I’m ashamed to admit that when you were little I was obsessed with revenge, and I used to dream about you growing up and killing them for me because I knew I’d never have the strength to do it.”
I flinch at her words, at the idea of me committing murder, the idea of me killing Luka .
“But I’d been wrong,” she quickly says, seeing my horrified look. “I could never put you in danger like that. They’re trained killers. You could never get close enough to them to hurt them, and the thought of losing you, of losing the last piece I have of your dad, makes me feel sick. No,” she says, shaking her head and looking back at the window. “It’s safer if we hide. It’s safer if they never know you exist.”
“Mom, who was my dad?”
I’ve asked the question many times before, and she’s always blown it off, saying it’s safer if I don’t know.
“I told you his name was Osip, and he was a good man.” Her voice softens, and I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s lost in another memory. “He was so sweet and kind, and he loved us so much.” She smiles at me, but her eyes have that glazed-over look she gets when it’s a really bad day and she’s not thinking clearly. “He was so happy when I told him I was pregnant with you.”
“But what was his last name?”
“Your last name is Swan.”
“Mom, I know my last name, but Swan isn’t Russian, and you told me once that you changed it because you wanted to keep me safe.”
“They would’ve been able to find you if I’d given you his last name. It was safer to give you your own.” Her voice turns panicky again, so I rest my hand on hers and give it a soft squeeze. Part of me feels guilty about trying to get information from her when it’s obvious she’s not in a good place mentally, but I want answers. I need them. I’m sick to death of not knowing.
“I know. You did the right thing, but what was his name?”
When I’m sure she’s not going to answer, she surprises me by whispering, “Lebedev. His name was Osip Lebedev. He had a black swan tattooed on his arm, so that’s the name I gave you.”
“Lebedev,” I whisper the name back. My real last name is Lebedev, not Swan.
When my mom hears me repeat the name, her eyes widen in panic. “You can’t ever say that name to anyone, Lara. Promise me you’ll never repeat it. ”
Her fingers are gripping me tight enough to hurt, and I recognize the fear in her eyes. She’s seconds away from a panic attack, so I give her a reassuring smile and squeeze her hand again.
“I promise, Mom. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
It takes her several seconds before she calms down enough to loosen her grip on me, but instead of going back to eating, she chews on her thumbnail and looks back towards the windows.
“We need to stay hidden,” she whispers, but she’s no longer talking to me, and I have no doubt that when I come home from work tonight, our apartment will have been turned into a cave again. The very thought has my body breaking out into a nervous sweat, and I promise myself that I’ll tear the foil from my bedroom window. I won’t live like that again. I refuse to.
No longer hungry, I toss the rest of my omelet in the garbage and refill my mug before giving my mom a hug and going to my room. As soon as the door is shut, I’m grabbing my laptop and sitting on my bed. I spend the rest of the day searching for anything I can find about Osip Lebedev, which turns out to be absolutely nothing. There are several Lebedevs in the city, but when I dig further and search each name, it’s all a dead end. One is in his nineties and living in a nursing home, obituaries pop up for a few others, and the last one is a woman who, according to her Facebook page, moved upstate and changed her name when she got married.
Before I have to get ready for work, I do a little digging on the history of the name and learn that if I were in Russia, the feminized version would be Lebedeva, and that Lebed means swan in Russian. That would explain my dad’s tattoo, I guess. When I dig a bit further on an ancestry site, I see a forum set up for our city with people who are searching for information about Russian ancestors, so I make an account. Leaning into the swan theme, I choose the name Odette from Swan Lake and tack on 19 for my age, because I’m creative like that.
I make a quick post, asking for any information about Osip Lebedev, adding in the year that I was born since I know for a fact he was here at that time, and it’s also the year of his death. I’m not expecting a miracle, but it’s nice to finally be doing something. Even if it doesn’t lead anywhere, it’s at least something, and that’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever been able to do before.
With barely enough time to spare, I grab a clean, black skirt from my closet and another black henley and quickly change. I look in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door and cringe a bit. I’ve never liked my legs, but I can’t wear jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. I’m lucky that my boss doesn’t mind the shirt when all the other waitresses are wearing cute tank tops or tiny T-shirts. I can’t push it by adding jeans to the mix, no matter how badly I might want to. Plus, I’d probably die of a heat stroke on the walk to and from the subway. I try and forget about the legs that I think are too short, the thighs that I think are too big, and the complete lack of a gap between them and slam my closet door shut before pulling on my black sneakers.
My mom is leaning against the wall by the window, peeking out from the blinds with the tip of her thumb in her mouth, the nail gnawed down to the quick no doubt. I’m grateful that at least she hasn’t dug the foil out yet. When she hears me, she turns and gives me a worried look.
“You’re leaving already? You usually don’t work both Friday and Saturday nights.”
I hate lying to my mom, but there’s no way in hell I can tell her about my new job. She’d never let me walk out the door if she knew who I was working for. I keep an easy smile on my face and say, “Lauren needed me to switch shifts with her. I don’t mind. The tips are usually pretty good on Saturday nights.”
My mom thinks for a second and then nods. “It’s probably good to switch your schedule up anyway. The men who might be watching won’t expect that.”
I give a half-hearted nod of agreement, because I really don’t want to encourage her paranoid thoughts, but I also don’t want to be late for work. Giving her a hug, I remind her that there’s a frozen pizza in the fridge for supper.
“I might be back later than usual. I’m not sure if I’ll have to stay to help clean up. ”
“Okay, I’ll watch to make sure you’re not being followed.” She gets back into position by the window while I try very hard to not think about what life would be like with a normal mom. It makes me feel guilty thinking about it. I know my mom can’t help it. It’s not like she wants to be like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier to live with, and it doesn’t lessen my fears of what will happen to her if I ever decide to move out. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living and taking care of her, but the thought of leaving her like this makes me feel so guilty that I have to look away, because watching her while my head is filled with these thoughts makes me feel like the worst daughter ever.
“I love you, Mom,” I tell her when my skin starts to tingle with the need to cut, and then I leave before she can say it back, needing to breathe in the fresh night air and to push away the claustrophobic feeling that’s pressing down on me.
Not bothering to wait for the elevator, I race down the four flights of stairs and throw open the door to our building, filling my lungs as soon as my feet hit the concrete. The Saturday night traffic is heavy, and the sidewalk soon becomes crowded, but I don’t care. Anything beats being in that apartment with my mom right now. I give a quick glance over my shoulder, but the lights to our apartment are off, and everything looks dark. I know she’s turned them off so she can watch me without it being obvious.
I follow the path that I’d take if I were going to my old job, and once I’m far enough away so I know she can’t see me, I cross the street and join the crowd by the stairs, following them down to the subway. It’s about a thirty-minute commute, but it’s worth it for the tips, and since I’m making so much more money, it probably won’t be long before I can get a used car.
Getting off at the closest subway stop to La Dolce Vita , I blend in with the crowd of people heading to the bars and restaurants on this block until I turn down the alley and speed walk to the back door of the club. The same bouncer is on duty as last night, and when I say a quick hello, he nods but doesn’t bother giving me a smile. Most of the men who work here are very focused on their job and not prone to smiling or laughing or showing a personality in any way, which works just fine for me.
Ignoring the packed main area, I walk over to Marco’s massive frame. When I’m standing in front of him, I tilt my head back, and he surprises me by giving me the barest hint of a smile before stepping aside. “Evening, Lara,” he says with his thick Italian accent. “Gabby’s already up there.”
“Okay, thanks, Marco.”
I squeeze by, expecting to see Dario when I enter the room, but instead it’s a man I’ve never met before. Aside from having hazel eyes, the resemblance to Dario is unmistakable, and I know this must be the brother Dominic told me about.
He's quick to smile and holds his hand out to me. “You must be Lara. I’m Alessandro, Dario’s brother.”
Where Dario is more standoffish, Alessandro is easygoing and laidback in a way that quickly puts me at ease. Some people are just comfortable to be around, and Alessandro is one of those people. He gives me another smile, and the soft lines at his eyes have me guessing his age to be early thirties, and as gorgeous as he and his brother both are, I still can’t shake the pair of beautiful green eyes that refuse to give me any damn peace.
“Tonight’s game should be shorter than last night’s,” he tells me. “One of the regular Saturday-night players usually beats everyone pretty quickly.” Giving me a playful wink, he adds, “That’s why I told Dario I’d take the Saturday shift.”
I laugh, liking Alessandro and finding it hard to believe that he’s in a mafia. Maybe he’s more on the sidelines, I reason, finding it hard to equate the carefree guy in front of me with a hardened criminal. I’m still mulling it over when I say hi to Gabby and start helping her with the prep work. The dealer, who Gabby tells me is Franco, gets everything set up at the table. He’s a quiet guy with salt-and-pepper hair, and even though he hasn’t said anything to me, he still gives me a friendly smile when I meet his eyes. We all work quickly and have everything ready to go before the men start to arrive. Tonight’s a new crowd, but Gabby’s served them before, so while she whispers their drinks to me and I commit them to memory, they get things started.
Alessandro takes his place at the door, and when I look over, his face has completely changed. Gone is the easygoing smile and laid-back demeanor, and in its place is a cold stare, hands clasped behind his back, military style, and every hard muscle in his body taut and ready for action. It’s a night and day difference, and I quickly rethink my stance on him. Looks like he might be more of a hardened criminal than I first thought.
The game begins, and everything goes smoothly. I’m not as nervous as I was last night, and Alessandro is right about this game being shorter. The guy I’ve dubbed Whiskey Sour in my mind wins after only four hours. Even though the game was two hours shorter, they all still tip Gabby and me a hundred each, and the smile I give them is genuine when they file past.
“Nice work, ladies,” Alessandro tells us, back to his laid-back self. He gives us both a friendly wave before heading back downstairs.
“Any plans for tonight?” Gabby asks while wiping down the top of the bar.
“No, not really. I’ll probably grab something to eat and head home.”
“Where do you live?”
I finish washing the cups in the small sink and keep it vague. “I live with my mom in an apartment about thirty minutes from here. How about you? Any big plans for tonight?”
She laughs and gives me a big smile. “Yeah, a long soak in the bath if I get lucky and James has already put Ollie to bed.” Shaking her head, she hangs the hand towel at the end of the bar and says, “Most likely he’s let him stay up way too late and he’s hyped up on fruit juice, so I’ll be lucky to get any time to myself before I crash for the night.”
The smile on Gabby’s face makes it clear she’s not really mad about the idea of Ollie being allowed to stay up late. Her whole world is her son, and she seems thrilled about it. He has no idea how lucky he is to have a mom like her, and I can’t help but be a little envious. Gabby’s never going to put foil on their windows and make him live in the dark. She’s never going to stand by the window, watching for hours while she chews her nails and whispers paranoid fantasies. He’s going to have a good life, the kind I always wished for.
“He’s lucky to have you,” I tell her, surprising her with my words. A smile lights up her face before she pulls me in for a quick hug.
“Thank you for saying that. I’ve fucked up so many things in my life, and I’m desperate to get this one thing right, you know?” She pulls back and looks at me. “Like maybe none of that other shit will matter if I can just be good at this. Ollie’s the best thing I’ve ever done, and even if I’m stuck waitressing for the rest of my life, it won’t matter as long as his cute little face keeps lighting up when he sees me. He’s worth everything, and I want to give him a better life than the one I had.”
She laughs at the way her eyes are getting watery. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually get all emotional like this.”
“You’re doing a great job with him,” I tell her. “I’ve just met you, and even I can see it.”
Gabby pulls me in for another hug, and then straightens up and gets herself under control. “If I’m going to be spending the next hour watching cartoons with an overly tired toddler, then I’m going to do it the right way.”
I raise a brow at her, because I have no clue what the right way is.
She laughs and says, “I need to stop at the store and get myself a carton of ice cream and his favorite yogurt popsicles.”
“See?” I tell her. “Best mom ever.”
We’re both still smiling when we head downstairs. The club is even more packed now that it’s after ten, and I wonder how many aspirin Marco takes on a nightly basis to not get a raging headache from the loud, pulsing music.
“Night,” I tell him on my way past him.
“Night,” he tells us both before stepping back in front of the stairs to resume his post while keeping an eye on the growing crowd.
“There’s no game scheduled for tomorrow,” Gabby says, “but they’ll call us if that changes. Otherwise, I’ll see you next weekend.”
“Have fun with Ollie. ”
She smiles and disappears into the crowd so she can exit out the front of the building while I turn and step into the dark hallway that will lead me to the back door. Dominic’s door is shut like usual, and there’s no one else around except for the bouncer blocking the exit. When he sees me, he steps aside so I can leave. I get the feeling he’d prefer it if I didn’t attempt smalltalk, so I step out the door with nothing more than a quiet thanks.
The door slams shut behind me, leaving me alone in a creepy alley with nothing but a single overhead light that’s attached to the club. Without it, the alley would be hidden in shadows. I should really start coming in the front door, but I hate having to push my way to the front of the line. I’d done it once and swore I’d never do it again. All the gorgeous women in tiny dresses and long heels that I’d break my neck in had glared at me while I’d scooted by. They’d been kind enough to comment quite loudly about why the hell I thought I should get special treatment when they were stuck waiting in line for an hour. Then they’d laughed, and I’d wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never come out again.
The alley’s not all that bad. It might be creepy as hell, but at least it’s private and I don’t have mean girls judging me.
I’m about to step into the shadows in the direction of the world’s best bacon double cheeseburger when I hear a sound that stops me in my tracks. Freezing in place, I wait and listen. Above the muted thumping of the club’s music, I hear it again—a soft, pitiful-sounding meow. Turning, I squat down near the bushes next to me, trying to find where the meows are coming from.
“Come here, kitty,” I whisper, trying to lure him out.
He gives one more hopeful meow before slowly stepping out into the light. He’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen. All black with white paws and a tiny white speck on his nose, he cautiously takes a step towards me before stopping and letting out another meow. He’s so little, not more than a little pipsqueak of a thing, and I instantly fall in love with him.
“Hey, Pip,” I tell him, holding my hand out and then petting his soft fur when he comes a bit closer. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He’s purring and rubbing up against my hand when I hear the loud rumble of a motorcycle behind me. Without thinking, I grab Pip, pulling him against my chest and turning to face whoever’s just ridden into the alley. The little kitten’s warm body molds to mine, so small I can easily cup him in my hands.
Stepping closer to the bush Pip had been hiding in, I watch the black motorcycle come closer. The driver is wearing a black helmet, and the visor is dark so I can’t see his face. What I do see is a set of broad shoulders coming my way, and when he stops next to me, I recognize the tattooed forearms immediately. Luka cuts the engine and pulls off his helmet.
His green eyes land on mine, and he doesn’t look away. With a soft smile playing at his gorgeous mouth, he says, “I didn’t expect to find you hanging out in the alley, Lara. What are you doing?”
I stare at him, stunned he actually remembers my name.
He runs his eyes over me, stopping when Pip’s furry head peeks out from between my hands.
“Well, what do we have here?” he whispers, smiling down at the little meowing kitten. Reaching out, he strokes Pip’s head while my breath catches in my throat. His fingers are dangerously close to my breasts, and when I lift my eyes to his, he’s staring at me so intently that I have to look away.
Giving Pip one last pet, he lets his hand drop, putting distance between us and making me wish he hadn’t.
“Did you find him out here?”
I point to the bush next to us. “He was hiding under there. I heard him meowing.”
“You’re keeping him, yeah?”
I look back at him. His dark brow is arched, green eyes filled with amusement because he knows as well as I do that it was a done deal as soon as I saw his cute little face.
“Yeah,” I whisper .
“Well, okay then.” He says it like a plan is already in motion, and when he reaches back and grabs the extra helmet that’s strapped to the bike, it takes my brain a second to catch up to what’s happening.
“No,” I quickly say, taking a small step back.
“Why not?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking, but I laugh anyway because he’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m hiking my leg over his massive motorcycle and riding off into the night while holding a kitten.
“I know you’re in a skirt, but you should be able to tuck it around you, and we won’t be going fast.”
When I don’t move, he adds, “Do you already own a cat?”
“No.” I look down at Pip, who looks up at me with vivid green eyes that remind me very much of the man right in front of me. I’ve always wanted a pet, but my mom always said we couldn’t afford one. With my tips, I can afford one now, though, and I don’t even have to pay an adoption fee for Pip. He’s perfect.
“Then you’re going to need supplies, and he needs to get checked by a vet.”
“It’s after ten,” I remind him.
He leans closer and gives me a wink that probably shouldn’t make me feel like I just had a mini orgasm and says, “I know a place we can go. Hop on, Lara. Your kitten’s probably hungry.”
He’s right, I know he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to hike my leg over. I look down at Pip, wondering what I’m supposed to do with him. Luka sees my confusion and uses his foot to put the kickstand down before swinging one long leg over so he’s standing beside me. Lifting the seat, he pulls out a black backpack and gives me a smile. Slipping his arms through, he wears it backwards so the pack is against his chest and then holds his hands out for Pip.
“I promise he’ll be safe.”
I look up at him, and despite the muscles and tattoos and general dangerous appearance of the guy, I trust him. I know he won’t let anything happen to the trembling kitten in my hands, and when I hand Pip over, Luka smiles and tucks the little guy in the backpack, leaving it unzipped so he can get plenty of air.
Keeping a hand against the backpack in a gentle move that surprises me, Luka gets back on the bike and waits for me. I’m still uncertain about getting on the motorcycle, but it’s not like I have much of a choice now that he’s holding my cat. Thank god my spandex shorts were clean tonight because one of my greatest fears in life is a strong gust of wind that will flip my skirt and show my ass to the world.
“Put this on.” Luka holds out the extra helmet to me again, and this time I take it, pulling it on over my head and then letting out a surprised yelp when he grabs me by the hip and pulls me towards him so I’m pressed against his thigh. Without a word, he reaches up and tightens the strap, making sure it’s on securely. He can’t see my face, but I can see his, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was seeing desire in them. He lightly drags his thumb along my neck before letting me go.
“Climb on.”
He offers me his hand, and I take it just like I did last night when he helped me up from the floor, and the same spark ignites when I feel my skin pressed against his. Keeping a firm hold on him, I swing my leg over in a move that’s not nearly as graceful as he made it look and then just sort of freeze with my legs hanging down but unable to touch ground and my hand still tightly gripping his. I hear his laugh and feel my face heat up in the helmet.
“First time on a motorcycle?”
“That obvious?”
“Just a little.” He gives my hand a soft squeeze and then slides it under the backpack so it’s resting on his stomach. “Hold onto me and don’t let go.”
Jesus Christ, I never knew anyone could have so many abs. I’m not much for exercise. If I flex real hard, I might be able to conjure up an ab, as in a single one, but certainly not rows upon rows of them. I’m still marveling at his defined stomach when he grabs my calf and carefully puts my foot where it should be. He does the same to the other, and before he lets me go, he gives my calf a soft squeeze, and I’ve never been so grateful that I took the extra time to shave this morning.
When I bring my other hand to his stomach, because he did tell me to hang on, he puts his hands on top of mine and gives me a soft pat. Grabbing his helmet, he tugs it on and then starts the bike. I’m worried that the noise might scare Pip, but all he does is pop his cute furry head out and take a look around before ducking back inside. I feel Luka’s laugh rather than hear it and then squeeze him tighter as he drives us out of the alley.
It’s very hard to remain invisible while sitting on the back of a motorcycle in a skirt while hugging a gorgeous man who’s wearing a backpack across his chest with a kitten who keeps getting curious and poking his head out. The city is busy tonight, and I swear all eyes are on us. The only thing keeping me from completely freaking out is the anonymity of the tinted helmet. I could be anyone behind this dark visor.
I hug Luka tighter when he takes a turn, feeling his muscles flex beneath my palms when he reaches back to give my calf a reassuring squeeze. I know I’m in big trouble when my heart gives a little jump at the sweet gesture. The man I’m pressed against is gorgeous, but there are lots of good-looking people in the world, and looks aren’t enough for me. I’ve always known that I’m the type of person who needs the sweet stuff. I need a deep connection with someone before I can fall for them. That’s why I’m single. That’s why I’ve always been single. You have to put yourself out there to form a connection like that, and that goes against my invisibility rule.
But right now, Luka is laying down the sweet stuff, and I feel all my defenses crumbling like I’ve made them out of sand instead of the reinforced steel I could’ve sworn I’d used.
A few minutes later, he’s pulling into a twenty-four-hour vet clinic, and Pip is popping his head out to see what the new destination is. I reluctantly let go of the washboard abs I’m still gripping and get off the bike. He does the same and then helps me with my helmet. I straighten out my skirt while he stashes our helmets and then pulls Pip out of the backpack so I can hold him against my chest. I smile down at him and stroke his soft fur. He really is the cutest cat I’ve ever seen.
I follow Luka inside, grateful that I have my tips in my pocket so I can pay for all this. The clinic is empty, and there’s a very bored-looking guy behind the counter. Since we’re not running in here with a seriously hurt animal, he takes his time standing up and walking over to see what we want. Luka leans against the counter, looking less than pleased at the service.
“Name?” the guy asks. “Have you been here before, and what’s the emergency?”
“I’ve never been here before,” I tell him, “and there’s not really an emergency. I just found this kitten a few minutes ago, and we thought maybe he could get checked out to make sure he’s okay.”
The guy sighs like I’m ruining his night of sitting on his ass. “We only deal with urgent care situations after nine.”
Luka presses a tattooed hand against the counter, and I can tell he’s fighting to stay patient. “I’m sure you could make an exception. After all, this might be urgent. We don’t know if there’s something wrong with him.”
The guy looks like he wants to argue, but then he looks back at Luka and thinks better of it. “I just need you to fill out these forms then since you’re new.”
“Wonderful,” Luka says, giving him a big grin.
I take the clipboard, and we both take a seat. Even though there’s plenty of room, Luka sits close enough so our thighs touch, and I try not to read too much into that. He watches me fill out the form. There’s no way I can hide my information from him without it being weird, so I write in my name and address and phone number. When I write in Pip’s name, he gives a soft laugh.
“Pip, huh?” He reaches over and gives Pip’s head a pet.
“He’s so tiny,” I say, “like a little pipsqueak.”
Luka smiles and scratches under Pip’s chin while the kitten closes his eyes and purrs. “It suits him, or her, I guess. It could be a girl.”
I smile back at him. “It could be. ”
Before I can bring the clipboard back up, Luka takes the pen from my hand and leans over, writing his name next to mine so the owners are listed as Lara and Luka, and I know with absolute certainty that my mom is batshit crazy, because there’s no way in hell the man sitting next to me could come from a family of evil men. It’s just not possible.
He holds my stare, a soft smile playing at his lips when he says, “Lara Swan, I believe we just adopted a cat.”