CHAPTER FOUR #3
Which reminds me, I texted Brett on the way here and just saw her response as I was settling into the pillows to resume my book.
ME (6:04PM): My flight got cancelled due to the storm. Sergei offered to let me stay at his house since the roads are already bad.
brETT (6:26PM): You’re staying with SERGEI????
I chuckle to myself as I respond, just imagining Brett’s face when she saw my first text.
ME (9:21PM): Random, right? Sorry I didn’t respond sooner. Sergei said the road to your house was already a disaster, otherwise I would’ve come back. But thanks for sending him to the airport, his house is way nicer than the concourse.
brETT (9:23PM): Babes…I didn’t tell Serg anything about your flight.
I stare at the screen blankly while a tiny chill runs up my back.
ME (9:25PM): Did Colson?
brETT (9:26PM): It’s possible. You know Colson…
Colson fucking Lutz…
Colson is what you might call…extreme? Contrary to popular belief, he can be the most caring person in the world, but it’s often to a fault. Add that to his complete lack of tact, so when he gets an idea, you never know what’s going to happen. And this reeks of something he would do.
I’m deciding whether or not to text him when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens and Sergei appears. His daunting figure lumbers past me to the dresser on the opposite side of the room.
“Do you need anything?” He asks over his shoulder as he opens the top drawer.
“No, thanks. Everything’s great.” I hesitate, but then decide to just go for it. “Did Colson send you to the airport?”
Slowly, Sergei turns around and cocks his head with a curious expression.
“Brett didn’t ask you to pick me up because of the storm?” I clarify.
“No.”
“Was it Colson?” I smirk.
“No.”
“Then how did you know to come get me?”
“Planes don’t fly in these storms. When Lutz said you were leaving this evening, I knew you would be stranded. An hour later and you wouldn’t be able to leave the airport.”
Hmm.
“Well, in that case, thank you,” I concede. “I’m still glad to be here rather than stuck in the airport. Your house is very nice.”
Sergei gives a slight nod. “I am glad you’re here, too.” Then he turns and disappears into the bathroom.
I go back to my reading, pleasantly surprised by his impromptu compliment.
I can still hear the wind howling outside and I’m overcome with relief when I think about how I could’ve been trapped in the tiny concourse in Montrose instead of being here, underneath these toasty blankets.
But I don’t have long to dwell on it before Sergei emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later.
My eyes dart up and my mouth opens at the sight of him before I promptly snap it shut again.
Holy. Fuck.
I chide myself silently. Does thinking a curse count? I press my lips together, stifling the nervous laugh threatening to escape.
I listen to horrific stories all day and think nothing of it, but somehow, I’m wholly unprepared for the sight of this blonde Sasquatch dressed in nothing but a pair of cream sweatpants.
Granted, he looks way better than Sasquatch.
His wavy hair hangs loose down his shoulders, free from his tight bun, and he’s covered in vast spans of black ink that snake over his shoulders and down his arms. I track him across the room as he approaches the bed and reaches for the comforter.
“Wait.” My heart skips a beat as he tosses the covers open. “What are you doing?”
Sergei pauses and glances up. “Going to bed.”
“Here?”
“This is my bed.”
“But you said I can sleep here.”
“You can.”
“Not if you’re sleeping here.”
Why is he looking at me like I just asked him the square root of something?
“Should I sleep somewhere else?” he asks.
My mouth opens and my eyes dart around the room as I try to think of something to say. Shouldn’t this be obvious?
“It’s alright—I mean, it’s your bed, I can sleep on the sofa.”
After a few seconds of heavy silence, I start to pull the covers back, but when I look up, Sergei’s mouth curls into an unexpected smile.
“Stay put, Printsessa.” He tosses the comforter back over the corner of the bed. “See you tomorrow.”
Then he ambles across the room and out the door, gently closing it behind him.
“Goodnight,” I call softly just as the latch clicks shut.
I settle back into the bed with a bizarre mixture of panic and disappointment. But it’s ridiculous, it should be a given that I’m not going to share a bed with Sergei after only knowing him for less than a week.
Know. That’s a pretty liberal term anyway. It’s not like we spent any time together outside of a couple of rides between the airport. And then there’s what he said to me at Brett’s…
Even so, strange thoughts begin crossing my mind.
Maybe it’s because he reads books about women exacting gruesome revenge on men for their heinous crimes.
The man told me that his mother killed her abuser and then said women should engage in more throat-slitting over a bowl of homemade ramen—which was really good, I might add.
Even so, I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much when he cleared away my bowl and came close enough for the warm scent of oakmoss and fabric softener to taunt my olfactory senses. I’m always professional. Would it be so bad to indulge in something so outrageous?
Yes, because you’re done with men for the time being.
I set my phone on the bedside table and switch off the light. This isn’t spring break back in college. I’m in a little house on a mountain where the wind sounds like it could rip it from its foundation any minute. This is no time for romance.
But to be fair, no man who likes cats can be all bad…