Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(71)

“You know what they say,” John grins into a grimace, “you fuck a Kotova and you go directly to hell. No passing Go.”

My hand is half-covering my face. “I think you just say that.” I inhale, mustering some confidence and drop my arm. “And to clear things up, Nik and I haven’t actually…had sex yet.” But we’ve done other things.

John chokes on his beer. His brows jump. “It’s that difficult?”

Dear God. “No…it’s not because of our height and size difference.” I’m trying not to be insecure about how we don’t exactly “fit” together. But it’s hard when I have people like John reminding me.

“You’re a virgin.” The look on his face—you’d think this was the best piece of gossip John’s heard all year.

“No,” I say slowly, dragging out the word. “It’s possible for two people to go at a slow pace.” It’s not weird. Right? Every relationship has a different timeline.

“You’ve been in Vegas for almost four months, and you see the guy every single day.”

“Those are some facts, yep,” I nod.

He gives me a weird look. “It’s decided. You’re my strangest friend.”

I burst into a smile. “You called me your friend.”

He rolls his eyes. “A figure of speech. I have no friends.”

“Camila is definitely your friend,” I note.

“Camila is my cousin. We’re forced to be somewhat cordial.”

“Right,” I laugh. If I had to label their relationship, it’d be best friends.

He points at me with his beer bottle. “You know, she’s the one who told me to pry into your sex life. I’m supposed to get free shots out of it.”

“Well, you can tell Camila that you’ve successfully earned your shots.”

His face contorts into a sour expression. “I don’t know. It feels cheap to earn shots off something so sad.”

I think I’m scowling harder. But he doesn’t shrink back. I’m sure staring in the mirror has made him accustomed to all types of glowers. “Shouldn’t you be congratulating me for not succumbing to a Kotova’s charm? I’m not going to hell.” I shake my fists in mock maracas, my sore muscles screaming and my swollen knuckles crying. It’s a distressing faux celebration.

“You’re dating him, so there’s still time for stupidity to seep in. I’m not discounting it.” He pauses to add, “I’ve also heard rumors about the size of his dick.”

“What?” My eyes threaten to pop out again. I can tell he’s been itching to switch to this topic, leaning forward a bit more.

“Can you confirm or have you not hit that base yet?”

He loves to pry. If I had any inclination about his own love life, I’d put him in the hot seat. But he’s really private on that front. “What are the rumors?” I ask, my curiosity peaking. I’ve definitely been through enough bases to have seen his cock, but I didn’t have a ruler or anything. All I know is that he’s much bigger than the blurry, drunken guy I slept with that one time in college. Or at least, my foggy memory says so.

John makes a measurement with this hands. I’m not sure how many inches he’s alluding to, but it seems huge.

“That has to be a lie.”

“So you’ve never seen his dick,” John deduces, putting his beer bottle to his lips.

I open my mouth to explain.

“Who’s dick?” Nikolai’s deep voice pricks my arms.

Worst timing.

He sidles next to me, passing me a plastic cup with tequila and orange juice. He sets down his beer and then takes my hand, pressing a cold baggy of ice to my throbbing knuckles.

That feels so good. I find myself relaxing my hip against his body: shirtless, in just gray swim trunks. It’s a god-like view.

I didn’t even have to ask for this gesture—he must’ve seen how puffy my knuckles were this morning. It happens if I’m not careful with the aerial silk, bearing down on the tops of my hands.

I actually forget about Nik’s question for a second. That is, until John speaks.

“Yours,” he says, unabashed. “We were talking about the rumors.”

“Rumors about my cock,” he says flatly. It’s not a question.

“Don’t act surprised, this entire fucking establishment—” John gestures to the Masquerade and enormous pool “—is obsessed with your kind.”

Nikolai’s no-nonsense, intimidating glare starts to harden his face. I shift my weight uneasily. He says, “You seem really concerned with my kind.”

“Because you’re everywhere,” John retorts. “I can’t walk into the bathroom without running into one of you. It’s like you were bred in a factory.”

“Okay, John,” I cut in, afraid he’s offended Nikolai. “You’ve had your fun—”

“I would hardly call it fun.” His eyes narrow back at Nikolai, and they engage in a glaring contest that I can’t fully understand. Seconds tick by, straining the air. There seems to be something deeper here—

“Don’t fuck with my brother,” Nikolai forces. There it is.

John lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh God, you have no idea.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “Timo chases after me—because I am the only man on the strip that says no to him. Think about that for a second. Are you letting it process? Because there are some gross fucking tobacco-spitting, fifty-year-old men here.”