3. Seoul Ties #2
Not that it matters. Beautiful women are everywhere.
Beauty isn't rare. Beauty is practically a logistical problem in my profession. You can trip over beauty in a hotel lobby. You can find beauty crying in a VIP bathroom at two in the morning because some actor didn’t text back.
Beauty, on its own, doesn't do this. So it isn’t that.
It’s that she knows me. She knows where to press, that I’ll pretend not to notice.
She knows I’m pretending right now, how much I hate giving people the satisfaction of watching me want something.
She’s standing there like the whole elevator belongs to her, like she’s waiting to see how long it takes before I crack.
I focus on the numbers. Seventeen. Sixteen.
Fifteen. Elevators go down, numbers change and people survive.
Then Natalia exhales. Just a soft little breath, but it's too close to my ear and goes straight through my body like she did it with intent. Knowing her, she probably practiced breathing in the mirror this morning.
My jaw tightens. A memory comes at me before I can stop it.
Our late-night voice notes. Her voice a whisper through my phone, teasing, groggy and sleepy, asking, You like listening to me talk?
Well, what else do you want me to say, Kiri?
I shove it down. No. No voice notes or midnight bullshit.
No more thinking about her mouth close to the mic or about what I said back.
Rithy’s voice cuts in. “You look like you’re doing calculus.”
Natalia’s eyes flick to my reflection. “Maybe he is.”
“I’m trying to remember if I packed toothpaste,” I say, because lying badly is my new talent, fuck playing bass.
Rithy snorts. “Sure.”
Natalia says nothing, but even her silence is smug.
I straighten and angle myself slightly away from her, because if this elevator doesn't open in the next ten god damn seconds, I’m going to have a situation.
A stupid, humiliating, teenage situation.
The kind no grown man should be having because a woman smells nice and knows how to stand.
I think of unpleasant things. Jet lag. Rehearsal schedules.
Bad bass tone. Taxes. Ma’s fish stew when she gets experimental and everyone pretends it’s fine because we love her.
Nothing works. Natalia leans one elbow against the railing and angles her hip slightly toward me.
The movement is small enough that I can’t call it out without sounding insane, but obvious enough that I know she’s testing me.
Measuring the damage. Waiting to see whether I’m disciplined enough to keep my face blank.
I'm disciplined. I can do this. I stare at the ceiling in a last-ditch effort, which turns out to be a mistake because the ceiling is reflective, so now I just have another angle of everything I'm trying to avoid. Great. Fantastic building design.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Rithy hears it because the universe hates me.
His face lights up with the horrible power of information.
“I haven’t seen you like this since Anne-Marie Cho, the one you were obsessed with.
She wore her cheerleading uniform to your little date.
Ma made me chaperone because she knew you’d get up to no good. ”
Natalia turns her head, delighted. “Cheerleading uniform?”
I look at Rithy with the calm focus of a man deciding where to hide a body. “Don’t.”
He shrugs, enjoying himself. “He tried to act all cool then too. Very stoic. Then he knocked over an entire popcorn bucket trying to hide his massive bon—”
“Enough,” I cut in. I seriously consider throwing myself down the elevator shaft. Or Rithy.
Natalia laughs. Amused and pleased with herself. The kind of laugh that says she’s collecting every piece of this and saving it for later.
“You're a cheerleader kind of guy, huh?” she asks.
“Not exclusively,” I say.
Rithy scoffs, “Right.”
I glare at him. “It was one girl.”
“In a uniform.”
“Shut up.”
Natalia’s smile widens. “Cute.”
Cute. She says it like a shiv right into my gut. I turn my head slowly.
“Don’t join him, he's a bad influence.”
“Me?” Her eyes widen in fake innocence. “I’m just learning about your history.”
“My history is boring.”
“Clearly it isn't.”
Rithy coughs. “He also wrote her name on his—”
I shove him lightly into the elevator wall. “I will end you.”
He laughs, hands up. “Okay, okay.”
I let him go and settle back against the railing, gripping it like it might help me keep my sanity between the two of them.
Natalia’s palm lands beside my hand, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin without touching her.
I don’t move. Moving would make it obvious.
Staying still also makes it obvious, somehow.
There's no winning here. That pisses me off the most. It's not her outfit or Rithy’s running commentary. Or even the fact that I’m half-hard in an elevator like I’ve lost every scrap of dignity I’ve ever owned.
It’s that she’s winning and she knows it. The doors finally ding open.
Thank fuck.
Rithy strolls out first, smirking over his shoulder. “Try not to combust before dinner. I’d hate to tell Rafe you died because Natalia sent you into a cardiac arrest. Ironic, or poetic?”
“Ha. Ha. Keep walking,” I tell him.
Natalia steps out next, taking her time.
She doesn’t exaggerate it, she just walks the way she walks, confident and fully aware that I’m behind her having a private crisis.
At the threshold, she glances back over her shoulder.
A little smile tugs at her mouth. There it is.
The dare. The I know you’re pretending and I know you’re bad at it.
I hold her gaze longer than I should. Then I look past her like I don’t care.
This is nothing. I've handled tougher situations in my sleep.
Absolutely, not a problem. I follow last, keeping my face flat, my walk controlled, my hands in my pockets because they need supervision.
Fine, ok. She’s hot.
Really fucking hot.
So what?