Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(91)

I know what Shay did wasn’t out of malice, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a knife wedged between my shoulder blades.

My cell rumbles again.

Amour ended. Where are you? – Nikolai

At a penny machine near the black and gold bar.

We agreed to meet up after work, to discuss my first night at my “new” job. I try to rehearse what I’ll say, but I’m blank for a good while. Just kind of wishing I won a jackpot right now.

You and everyone else, Thora James.

“Hey.”

I spin on the leather stool. Nikolai stands a few feet away, in a pair of drawstring pants. His makeup is all washed off except for a thin purple streak by his hairline, like he rushed to be here.

“I won fifty cents.” I motion to the machine.

“Thora.” My name sounds raw off his tongue, and he studies my body language for signs that I’ve come out without a scar.

“It was cancelled,” I say quickly, so he can stop worrying. “I have a couple more days until I work. So…it’s pretty good, I think. Extra time.”

He hardly relaxes, but he does nod in agreement. That’s a good sign. Right? Most definitely. I exhale a tight breath.

I wait for him to speak, but he stares off, as though he’s thinking about the inevitable. Me working a private show.

“Do you…maybe want to see my apartment?” I suddenly ask.

I catch him off guard. His head whips to me, surprise coating his face. In the months that we’ve been together, he’s yet to even see my apartment complex.

“I mean, you don’t have to. It’s not much, or anything.” Nerves swarm, especially as his gaze bores through me, heating my core. “It’s, um, small. But I have a bed.” Of course you have a bed. Why wouldn’t I have a bed? I made this weird.

His lips curve upwards. “I’m glad you have a bed, myshka.” His voice is sex. I swear it.

“Thank you…” Lame. So lame.

He laughs into a bigger smile. “You lead the way.”

Something tells me that we’re going to switch to his speed tonight.





Act Thirty-Seven



During the taxi ride to my apartment, Nikolai keeps his focus on the street, trying to determine where we’re headed. He has no clue what part of town I live in, not until the taxi rolls to a stop at the building. And he seems to exhale for the first time.

After climbing out of the car, he places his hand on the small of my back, walking towards the stucco 5-story apartment complex, plenty of bikes locked and chained to a nearby rack.

“You live farther away than I thought.” He finally speaks as we ascend the staircase.

“Safe area though, right?” I holster the urge to fill the pregnant pauses.

He digs in his pocket for his phone. “Relatively speaking.” He hates me living here. I know it. I watch him text someone. “I’m making sure Katya knows she’s alone tonight.”

“She won’t go out or anything…will she?” I remember the 2 a.m. hunt for Katya Kotova. If there’s been another chase, I haven’t been a part of it.

“No she’s still at practice,” he says. “She’ll be too tired.”

I almost smile, not at her being tired, but for her trying harder. She’s been working on landing a full-in, full-out on the Russian bar for a while. Extra practice has been helping her a lot, Nikolai said.

He slips his phone back in his pocket. And I stop by my door, apartment 4E. He scans the outdoor hall: the fluorescent lights, bugs flocking it, and my neighbor’s dingy welcome mat that says Nice Underwear.

There is a faint smell of dog crap in the air and stale pizza. But I’m still happy to have this place, something that’s mine.

When I push open the door, I begin to hold my breath for his ultimate reaction. He follows me inside, and I scoot around him to lock it back. I take a little while longer to achieve this, my heart on turbo-speed.

“I can give you a tour…” I slide the deadbolt and spin on my heels. The blinds are shut, three of them broken, rays of moonlight casting shadows in the darkly lit room.

“Bedroom,” he says, nodding to the mattress on the floor. The blankets are haphazardly thrown on it. Why didn’t you make your bed? I really didn’t think this invite through.

“Yeah…that’s my bed.” I nod. “It’s also the couch. Like a bedroom-living-room situation. Cozy.” Do people still use that word? Cozy. I exhale through my nose and focus on him instead of my furniture (or lack thereof).

He stands between the bathroom door and the edge of the mattress. Literally like five feet of space. His body seems larger here. Taller. The ceilings lower. The room smaller.

I brought a Ken doll into a Polly Pocket house. I’m a Polly Pocket playing with a Ken doll. This is…not right. It’ll be fine, I think. My brain even sounds uncertain.

“There’s the kitchen,” I say, pointing to the cramped area with moveable counters and a hot plate. “And the bathroom is behind you. But you know what a bathroom looks like, so…” I clear my throat. I’m acting like we haven’t been dating for months, but this is just new. Him here. The possibility of sex. It’s nerve-inducing. The pressure is a little higher.

His eyes stop dancing around the room, and they land on me. He gestures me to walk over to him. I am lingering by the deadbolt. There isn’t much room between the mattress and the bathroom door. That’s the point.