Chapter 20
?
Her smile is everything, but her anger’s fun, too…
Viktor
“I don’t want to be loved anymore,” Crisis says. “I’ve just decided. It does not suit me. At all.”
“I think it suits you beautifully.” I slip her brush through her long hair while she sits on the bed in front of me. The dark strands are like silk in my hands.
“I feel like a child. Are you trying to parent me?”
“Acts of service,” I note. “You’re the one who said you had to brush your hair when I asked if there was anything I could do to help you tonight.”
“Yes.” She breathes deep. Her shoulders rise and fall in front of me, and I trace the movement of her birthmark while she continues, “I recall looking at you like you were crazy, then saying, I only have to brush my hair, and I’ll be ready for bed . Right before I pointed at the pillow pile and asked if we were going back to purity land.”
Purity land is not a bad idea. I’m just so thrilled that she’s not only come back but she’s also taking this seriously. She’s considering me. Whatever I did that made her hate me hasn’t stopped her from taking a chance on me. We will have to talk about my sins sometime, but, for now, I’m taking this one step at a time .
First, I’ll prove my love, then I’ll make amends when she can trust my apologies and the assurance that I’ll do better.
“ Are we going back to purity land?” she asks, turning to face me. The way her hair moves against her back does things to my brain.
Rough, I say, “Yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
Her gaze grazes my lips before she faces forward again. “I’m not sure I feel safe sharing a bed with you anymore.”
“Okay. I’ll make a bed out of the extra pillows and try sleeping on the floor again.”
Her muscles tighten. “You’re no younger nor spryer, Viktor. If anyone is patchworking a bed out of pillows and sleeping on the floor, it’s me. But also I think I’d rather sleep in my car. My car locks. I like that feature.”
My heart plummets. “Are you saying that you don’t feel safe around me at all anymore?”
“I hear you’re known for kissing people randomly.” She peeks back at me, lip pouted. “I am small. Defenseless. No pufferfish beak to bite you with. No hope of slurping out your guts, like snail carcass.”
“Wow. Vivid.”
She smiles, and my heart jumps. “Potato eats his blood worms like spaghetti. Just slurp .”
I have got to meet Potato sometime.
Her pouting lip returns. “I am not Potato.”
She’s sleepy is what I’m gathering. Exhausted beyond rational thought.
Pulling the curtain of her hair over her shoulder—and baring the pale skin of her back to me—she combs her fingers through the locks. “No one spilled soup on me tonight. I appreciate that.”
I, also, appreciate that, because if someone’s soup were heading for her, I know I’d throw my body in front of it .
“Viktor,” she states.
I remove myself from the bed and put her brush back with her things, glancing at her while I do. “Yes?”
“How long have you been harboring these…” Her eyes narrow on the carpet at my feet. “ …feelings ?”
How long?
I rest my back against the wall and settle my hands in my sweatpant pockets. “Since autumn, the first year. That’s when I realized my feelings were deeper than attraction, anyway. I was attracted to you the first moment I saw you.”
Disgust wrinkles her nose.
I can’t stop myself. “I thought your eyes were beautiful. Rich, like coffee and chocolate. And your smile…” I can still picture it, how she sat up so straight in the chair at my favorite restaurant, where I asked that we have our interview to see if we’d make a good fit. She was sparkling. Eager. Excited. And beneath it all, her deep coffee-brown eyes sparked. “…your smile undid my molecules. I love seeing it.”
Her eyes lift, peering up at me as though the image of her kneeling on the bed—feet splayed outward on either side of her thighs, her hair over one shoulder, and her hands planted between her knees—is not the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen. Her full lips stretch, baring her teeth in an uncomfortable grin. “This is what you like?” she asks, unnaturally keeping her face shaped in the odd expression.
Smiling, I do not reply.
She drops her “smile” and averts her eyes. Scowling at length, she moves to get under the covers and puts her back toward me. “You’re stupid. Goodnight.”
It’s nice to see that her more subtle insults have turned blatant. Direct abuse makes my heart pound.
I pick up the throw blanket and a pillow from the purity pile on my way to the door. “Goodnight, sweet pea. ”
She bristles, lifting herself just enough to look at me when I turn the knob. “Where are you going?”
“You don’t feel safe sharing a bed anymore. I’ll sleep in my car.”
She slips from the sheets, bare feet hitting the floor. “I forgot I was supposed to be sleeping in the car. Go to bed. I’ve put you through enough misery.”
“Where are your keys?” I ask.
She looks down at her pajamas. Which do not appear to have room for pockets. Then she turns her attention toward her desk, and her purse. “Right. Keys.”
I block the exit when she returns to it with her purse. “You are not inspiring confidence.”
“Inspiring confidence in what?”
“The assurance you’ll remember to lock your car before someone sees you sleeping soundly inside and steals you.”
Her eyes roll. “I’ll just drive home then, sleep with my Potato, and be back in the morning.”
I turn my attention down to her bare feet. “Shoes?”
She huffs, marches, and shoves shoes on her feet. “You’re annoying when you’re trying to prove you love someone.”
“It doesn’t bode well for me if my love annoys you.” Once she seems ready, I open the door for her. Then I follow her out.
“I know you’re not walking me to my car right now, Viktor,” she snaps.
I hum, doing everything in my power to keep from watching her hips sway. They are especially energetic when she’s upset. Given our previous working relationship, I’ve gotten precious little time to adore her when she’s angry. I love it. So much. “You’re right. I’m not walking you to your car. I’m walking to mine. So I can follow you home and make sure you get there safely. ”
She looks over her shoulder at me, and her nose wrinkles, fury blazing. “You’d unnecessarily burn up the ozone layer extra with your exhaust’s carbon footprint for my sake? That’s soo romantic. Except for the part where I also happen to live on this planet, so, really, you’re trying to assassinate me.”
“Don’t be silly, sweet pea. Assassinations happen in Kentucky.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It was in a book I read once.”
Once we reach the car lot, she stalls beside me and my vehicle, staring across the lanes toward hers. “Why are you calling me sweet pea ?”
“Potato’s a pea puffer. You love your fish. You’ve expressed a desire to possess a puffer’s beak. That you’ve yet to bite me makes you sweet.”
Her muscles sag as she regards me. “I should use Canva Whiteboard to document the flowchart of your thought process just now.”
“Do. I’d love to frame it.”
Soft, unbidden, reluctant, a smile touches her lips.
Then she heads toward my passenger seat and says, “I have a guest bedroom. I furnished it because you pay well and having a furnished guest bedroom makes me feel like a proper adult. Also, I’m too tired to drive.”
Lifting my key fob, I unlock her door, and we start the quiet ride to her home.