CHAPTER 55
Ana
THE STREELIGHT FLICKERS as we pull into Rudy’s parking lot.
I fold over to cover myself, peeling off my dress, spotting a perplexed look on Troy’s face as I slip into the change of clothes I (thankfully) left in the backseat of his Porsche. To mess with him, I toss the discarded silk toward the side of his neck.
A flush of red dances off his skin.
“You’re blushing, Troy,” I point out.
“I don’t blush,” he says.
His eyes drift back ahead in search of an open stall as I swap my heels for a comfy pair of sneakers.
My satisfied grin crumbles as I rummage through the blue duffel bag for a bra unsuccessfully.
Parting my hair into two halves as a clever distraction, I swoop each over my shoulders so that they rest over my chest. Yes, not noticeable at all.
The pale grey of my t-shirt isn’t helping, pebbling my skin with the treacherous support from the autumn cold.
I cross my arms tightly just in case as Troy and I stroll inside the busy diner. The hostess—one of the Faerieladle freshman Zoe assigned me to train—stops in her tracks at the sight of Troy towering behind me. Frustration fills me at how easy this guy manages to win someone over.
The freshman’s gaze on Troy is so potent she trips over herself, quickly brushing it off, as she seats us at a red booth in the center of the restaurant.
When Troy gives her a simple “thank you,” I see the way her face practically melts, her eyes popped open wide.
She returns in record speed with a basket of fresh fries, not a normality for Rudy’s, though it’s clear this girl isn’t abiding by any rules when she’s in the presence of Troy Larsson. I can’t help but puke a bit inside.
“I have to be back in an hour,” I remind Troy when the hostess finally leaves.
“Do you have an important meeting to get to at,” he says, dropping his gaze to his watch, “12:35 on a Saturday night?”
I roll my eyes. “You told me to take a break. I took a break. And I still have twenty chapters to read.”
“I promise you, if you take the night off, the world will still be turning tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not so sure if I trust you after tonight,” I chide. “You said the party would be ‘fun.’”
He scoffs. “You were enjoying yourself,” he says it like it’s a fact.
“Me?” I sit up defensively, not realizing I’ve leaned forward until I feel our knees brush.
His eyes flicker at the realization, though he doesn’t move his legs. “Yeah, pretty sure you even moaned at some point,” he says casually.
I gawk. “I did not.”
“It sounded like it. Didn’t know you wanted to dance with me that bad.”
“And yet you got hard,” I snap with a cruel smile.
“What did you expect? Your ass was pressed up against me,” he defends. “Why did you even want us to…dance?”
I shrug. “I’m not a fan of cheaters.”
His grin disappears. “Neither am I.”
“Plus, you should’ve seen how devastated you looked when you saw your ex, though you looked pretty content afterward.”
“It was all for show.”
“I’m guessing the hair pulling was also part of your act, then,” I mock, dropping a fry in my mouth. “You like pulling on girls’ hair, Troy?”
“I liked pulling your hair.”
Heat pierces my cheeks at the memory as I watch his lips slide into a smirk.
“You’re blushing, Ana,” Troy points out.
“I’d get your eyes checked, Larsson.”
“I can see just fine.”
He places an elbow onto the table with purpose, resting his jaw along his fist. And just like that, our ongoing phantom chess match resumes as he bites into a fry arrogantly, waiting with narrowed eyes for my next move.
_________
Troy
“You still eat those?” Ana grimaces. “Yuck.”
“What? They’re good.”
“They taste like cough syrup.”
I laugh, reaching for the neon red cherry floating at the top of my chocolate milkshake. “I’d like to know if you still can’t tie a knot with these using your tongue.” I dangle the cherry stem between us, wondering if she remembers.
I had dared Ana to tie a knot with a cherry stem at Conrad’s sixteenth birthday party. She couldn’t do it, then dared me to. I did it in less than thirty seconds and got myself a classic Ana scowl.
“I guess we’ll find out.” She grabs the cherry from the rim of her strawberry milkshake, ripping its stem, waiting for me. “Are you going to join? Or scared you won’t win this time?”
My heart just swells that she remembers.
I slide the cherry stem in my mouth, anticipation sparkling by the challenge.
“Loser has to get the bill,” she adds.
I was already going to get the bill. But okay, Petrov. Deal.
“You’re on,” I say.
Ana finally drops the cherry stem into her mouth.
We’re staring at each other, temples on the verge of snapping, and I wonder if either of us regrets the dare, while we’re stuck focusing on each other’s mouths for the next minute.
Her lips smushing together with each movement of her tongue.
Her tongue poking against the hollows of her cheeks.
God, her tongue rolling all around in her mouth.
Left. Right. Then left again. Up. Down. Stop.
I bet her tongue’s warm, and sweet, and even with the current trace of cherry, it still tastes like strawberries.
Fuck. And it distracts me. All of it does. Because her fist boastfully slams onto the table, slapping me back to reality.
I quickly scramble to tie my stem before tossing it out my mouth.
Ana’s lips are still shut.
“Open your mouth,” I order. “Let me see your tongue.”
Satisfaction burns through my chest, watching her pupils widen at the dirty undertone of my words.
She obeys, darting out her tongue, and there the stem rests, a perfectly tied knot.
Though, I think my mind’s more taken aback by her perfect tongue that’s now stained bright red from the dyed fruit, having a ravenous impulse to bite on it, suck on it, and then lick it soft.
I drop an elbow over the top of my jeans, forcing enough pressure to stop the racing sensations suddenly plowing at my body.
“Bet you didn’t expect that, did you?” Ana chants proudly, spitting the stem onto a napkin beside her shake. Because she had to spit it out. Fuck.
“Okay, color me impressed,” I say. “How’d you learn?”
“A lady never spills her secrets.” I scoff at her belittling tone. “And my tongue’s a bit more experienced than the last time we did that.”
If that doesn’t make my cock stir.
Then she fucking wraps her lips around her fucking straw and sucks on her fucking milkshake. And my eyes memorize each movement. Burning them deep into my dreams.
_________
Ana
“So, I thought of a song choice for our free skate,” I say, wrapping up the last page of my assigned reading.
Troy pries his eyes open.
“Genuine question,” he says. “Do you ever not think about skating?”
“Funny.” I push my books aside, hollowing the gap that lies between us on the navy sofa of his living room.
“No, I’m dead serious. Do you?”
“Honestly?” I think it through for a second. “Not really. But in my defense, I wasn’t always like this.”
He stares at me like I just vomited out a string of lies.
“You used to measure the exact angle you needed to land your axels on when you were ten. Now my attention span at twelve wasn’t the sharpest, but I remember we’d be skating at the Lake, and there you were with your ruler, sitting on the ice like you were some secret agent. ”
“Protractor. It was a protractor.”
He laughs.
“Okay, maybe I’m a little intense when it comes to skating. But my family gave up everything for me to just have a chance at success. So I had to be successful. No excuses. I don’t expect you to understand.”
A flicker of agitation runs over his face. “Wanna try me?”
I sigh. Maybe it’s the time of night, a quarter to 3 am turning minds loose and murky, but a drop of honesty pushes out my mouth.
“My mom’s parents had a life in Iran, they were successful, respected, hard-working, had social status.
Then overnight, a revolution crumbled their entire world along with millions of others.
My grandpa died, my grandma lost a good majority of her wealth, and my mother had to flee to this country.
And when both of them arrived here, they were basically deemed as peasants.
A somebody back home before the ruin, then suddenly, a nobody.
” I pause to gather my thoughts. “When I told my grandma I wanted to skate, she embraced the idea wholeheartedly, so that was it. The least I could do was make sure their family name would never vanish. The way it did when they escaped.”
A web of hypocrisy floods my chest, doubting if I managed to accomplish what I’ve just mapped out. Wondering how that’s possible when the outside world is only familiar with the ethnically pure Bulgarian Ana Petrov.
Troy studies me with candor and shock. “I think this is the most you’ve ever told me about yourself.”
I blink vacantly at the slap of truth before I notice his face fall.
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he retracks quickly.
I shake my head, unbothered. “It’s fine. I don’t share much with anyone. Not anymore,” I add quietly. “Reliving the past isn’t really my thing.”
Troy stares at me in deep thought, the green in his eyes filling with a streak of grey. “It’s impressive, what you’re doing for your family,” he says, leaning forward carefully. The simple, unexpected words from him slap me with shock. “Your grandma would be proud. I know she’s proud.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, feeling my chest flutter with an unfamiliar kind of warmth.
“So, you were saying you wanted to skate to the song from a cartoon?”
The spark dies. “Anastasia is a classic.” I give him a scowl, earning myself a scoff. “What, can you think of something better?”
“Uh, yeah. Coldplay.”
“Coldplay?” I snort. “Let me guess…‘Viva la Vida?’”
He crosses his arms, defensive. “What’s wrong with “Viva la Vida?’”
“You really pick the worst songs for your routines. Here I thought it was Violet choosing the selections, but now I know who’s to blame.”
“Says the girl who skated to ‘Viva la Vida’ during Winterfest in tenth grade…”