Chapter Three
Maron
As soon as Eva and I step into New York High, the memories of Mindy come flooding back, hitting me like a fucking freight train.
I glance at the stage where some broad is singing, but all I can see there is her. I can’t believe that her voice and her presence on stage still haunt me. My heart pounds in my chest so loud that I have to take a few deep breaths to calm the fuck down.
For fuck’s sake, Korolev!
That was seven years ago.
You’re here to break up with Eva, not reminisce about an old flame.
We slide into a booth where we can barely be seen. I try to focus on ordering the food, but I struggle to think straight with Eva yapping in my ear. She obviously misunderstood this whole dinner thing. She must believe that I brought her here for a make-up meal, with make-up sex to follow.
"I'll be back in a minute," she says with a tempting smile, her fingers grazing my arm. "Just going to fix my makeup." She sashays toward the restroom, her hips swaying in that way she knows drives all men wild. All men, except me.
And as soon as she’s out of my sight and I’m left alone with my thoughts, my attention is drawn to a table near the back of the venue.
But it’s not the table that catches my attention. It’s the woman sitting there. Her back is slightly turned toward me, giving me a partial glimpse of her side profile. And I recognize her immediately. Every fucking cell in my body, every last nerve ending in my brain, knows.
Bozhe moy!
Is that…?
How the fuck is she here tonight?
Is she still performing here?
I am in shock. I really did not expect this. She probably doesn’t even know that I’m alive. My goddamn heart starts to pound so hard that I can practically feel it in my throat. How is it that I still lose my shit over her like this? After all this time? And why the fuck is she here?
Looks like seven years hasn’t been long enough. No matter how much I tried to forget her and her betrayal, she still fucks with my head. And now that she’s here, sitting just a few tables away from me, I feel like a horny, lovesick teenager.
Jesus Christ, she’s beautiful.
Maybe even more so than she used to be, if that’s even possible. Except she looks more mature. More serious. But she still has the same features, the features that used to turn me on so much that I couldn’t fucking control myself. The way those chestnut locks cascade down her back. The delicate curve of her chin. The way she sits at that table, leaning forward with her feet crossed at the ankles. It’s unmistakable.
Holy fuck, it really is her.
The more I stare at her, the more incredible she looks. Even from afar, I can see that the years have been more than kind to her. They transformed her from a beautiful young girl into a stunning, mature woman. She's got curves in all the right places and her body is even more voluptuous and lush than I remember. Her dress clings to her like it was made for her only, the neckline plunging just low enough to give me a tantalizing side-view of her cleavage.
I can't take my eyes off her as I drink in every inch of her smooth, flawless skin. Her hair is longer than it used to be, falling in soft waves around her face, and brushing against her bare shoulders. And her tits… Jesus Christ, those tits. They’re fuller, more luscious than ever, straining against the fabric of her dress like they're begging to be touched.
I feel a rush of heat to my groin, my cock twitching in my pants like I’m fucking seventeen. I have to shift in my seat to adjust myself, but it’s no use. The sight of her has me rock-hard and ready to go. Before I know it, my mind is flooded with memories of all the filthy things we used to do together.
I know I should look away. I should focus on something else, but I can’t. I’m transfixed, my eyes glued to her like a starving animal staring at a feast.
She’s here with a man.
Husband?
Boyfriend?
Date?
Dammit, Korolev!
Jealousy starts to rage through me. Actually, it’s more than just jealousy. It’s a toxic cocktail of emotions - shock, anger, resentment, and a twisted sense of joy that I can’t even begin to explain. Seeing Mindy so unexpectedly makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s like a jolt of electricity to my dead heart, a shock to the system waking me up from the numb haze I’ve been living in.
Eva slides back into the booth, a coy smile playing on her freshly painted lips. "How do you like my makeup, Maron?" she asks, batting her lashes at me like a schoolgirl feigning innocence. “Rachel helped me choose the lipstick. She says it emphasizes my lips and brings out my eyes more."
Fuck!
I barely spare her a glance, my eyes still fixed on Mindy. And the mention of Rachel only solidifies my resolve to end this relationship. I can’t take another goddamn minute of this.
"Did you change your makeup?" I ask.
It’s a dumb question, but it’s all I can come up with right now. Eva frowns, her perfectly shaped brows knitting together in confusion. "Yes. I put on this new shade of lipstick…"
…And she starts talking, going into an endless rant about her makeup choices and how they bring out her features. I’m not listening. I can’t pay attention to a single word she’s saying, not when every fucking fiber in my body is being drawn to the woman sitting at that table, in the far corner of the venue. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought Eva here. But how was I supposed to know that Mindy would be here tonight?
"Maron? What’s wrong?" Eva tries to catch my eye, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you sure you’re okay? You seem distracted."
I don’t answer. I can’t. My mind is a clusterfuck of desire, rage, resentment, and regret. I know I’m being a dick, ignoring Eva like this, but I can’t help it. Seeing Mindy after all this time, so unexpectedly, has completely thrown me off balance. I’m shaken to my core in a way I never expected.
"Maron, seriously! What’s going on?" Eva’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharper this time. "I know you haven’t heard a word I said."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable fallout.
"Eva," I begin, my voice steady and calm, "this is our goodbye dinner. It’s over between us."
There.
It’s out.
I could have been more subtle about it, but it’s all I can manage right now.
Eva’s eyes widen, shock and disbelief written into every line of her face. "What? No, Maron, you can’t mean that. We… we might have our differences, but… we belong together."
I shake my head. "No, Eva. We don’t. It’s over."
"But…" Tears well up in her eyes, her lower lip trembling. "Who is she, Maron?"
Who is she?
The woman sitting over at that table, that’s who!
My insides churn. "Just you and me, Eva. No one else," I say through gritted teeth.
Her voice rises to a shrill pitch. "Is it your ex-girlfriend? That Mindy person?"
Blyad!
I nervously glance toward Mindy’s table, but it’s empty now.
Where the fuck has she gone?
"Eva, keep it down," I say, trying to keep my voice even. “This is a restaurant."
"Don’t you shush me, Maron," she hisses under her breath. The woman in the next booth peeks her head out, casting a look of disgust our way. I fix her with a stare that is enough to make her pull back behind the wall that separates her booth from ours.
Tears stream down Eva’s face, smudging the carefully applied makeup she put on just minutes ago. "Is this really what you want, Maron?" Her voice cracks with emotion.
I nod, my jaw clenched tight. "Yes," I say firmly, looking into her eyes.
Eva’s voice trembles with anger and hurt. "You’re despicable, Maron. A heartless, soulless…" She pauses, looking for words. "A fucking idiot, that’s what you are. You’re going to die alone!"
She stands up abruptly and rushes back toward the restroom, her sobs echoing through the restaurant. I lean back in my chair, feeling a rush of relief course through me. The curious glances from other diners don’t phase me as I watch Eva leave.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I glance over to Mindy’s still-empty seat before turning my attention to the man sitting across her table. He sits too far for me to register his features, but I already hate the motherfucker. But then again, what the fuck did I expect? It’s been seven years, of course, Mindy would date another guy.
Chert voz’mi!
These thoughts are not helping. I should go home, drink a bottle of vodka and get my fucking head straight. The main achievement for tonight is that Eva is finally out of my hair. My mind briefly registers a twinge of guilt over her, but it quickly dissipates.
It’s finally over.
After several long minutes, Eva appears from the restroom. Her face is blotchy and her eyes are puffy from crying. She returns to our table without making eye contact with me, sliding back into her seat, and immediately digging through her purse.
"I’ve called a taxi for you," I tell her matter-of-factly. "It should be here in a few minutes."
She looks at me. Her face is a mess, with black smears of eyeliner smudging down her cheeks. “You’ll regret this, Maron. Mark my words."
I don’t respond. I silently watch as she grabs her purse and exits the restaurant. As the door closes behind her, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.
Sweet fucking relief.
I recline in my chair again and let out a deep sigh, closing my eyes. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I signal the waiter that I am ready to pay. It’s time for me to get the fuck out of here before I do something stupid. Like going over to Mindy’s table and breaking the neck of the guy she’s with.
"Excuse me, sir, but your order has not been prepared yet," the waiter tells me with a hint of surprise.
"Don’t worry," I reply calmly. "I’ll still cover the bill."
Less than five minutes later, I step outside and close the door behind me. The cool night air hits me like a wake-up call. For a second, my head clears.
I make my way to the parking lot and slide into my ride - the same black Escalade I had when Mindy was still in my life. I crack the window open, hoping the fresh air will help sort out the mess in my head. Fat fucking chance.
My mind’s still spinning. I can’t fucking believe she was here tonight. Seven years of trying to forget about her, and now she’s here on a date with some schmuck. I don’t even know who the guy is, but I could strangle that bastard with my bare hands. For a hot second, I actually imagine wringing the fucker’s neck.
Mindy’s mine.
Jesus Christ. Where did that stupid thought come from? I close my eyes to chase away the ridiculous thought.
Remember what happened, mudak!
She betrayed you!
Stabbed you in the back!
Once I feel somewhat composed, I open my eyes. And what I see almost makes me shoot up from my seat.
Mindy’s leaving the restaurant, heading straight towards where I’m parked. Driven by pure instinct, I quickly press the button to pull up the window. I watch her through tinted glass as she walks up to the car next to mine. My fucking heart is going a mile a minute.
She squeezes herself between the two vehicles, juggling her phone and fumbling with her keys. Fucking typical. She’s parked right next to me. Her ride’s a beat-up old thing; I guess she’s not exactly rolling in dough. My brain automatically logs her plate number.
I’m probably parked too close to her because she can barely open her door. She looks annoyed, and begins to rap on my window. “Excuse me, can you move your car?”
Blyad!
I freeze up.
“I know you’re in there! I saw you pull up your window,” she says, not even trying to mask her frustration.
I don’t say or do a thing. I just sit there like a fucking stone statue, a garden gnome. Finally, she huffs, and circles around to the passenger side, climbing into her car through the other side. I hear her engine turn over. That’s when I finally get my act together and move my car.
Smooth, Korolev.
Real smooth.
This is fucking ridiculous. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I can’t keep my act together. As I drive away, my thoughts continue to race in my head.
How? How the fuck does she have this effect on me? Why can’t I just forget about her? After what happened at the Tramoxine launch, I promised myself that I would never reach out to her again. There are things that can’t be forgiven, and some distances are meant to remain uncrossed.
Unless life says otherwise.