Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(100)

“I know,” she says, taking a large breath like the strain from earlier starts to alleviate. “What if it’s awkward?”

“I can handle awkward.” I begin to smile. “I’d handle anything for you.”

Bay inhales strongly, eyes starting to glass, and a heartfelt, overwhelmed smile plays at her lips.

I want to reach out, but the bar, however dimly lit, is blanketed in a red hue from lights overhead. Making this area more visible than the rest of the club.

“Brenden actually can’t come until later,” she tells me. “Like a few hours from now.”

“Why?”

“He’s on a date. Tinder.”

“Fun,” I say easily.

Her brows rise in interest. “Luka Kotova has Tinder experience?”

I wince through my teeth. “Maybe.”

She laughs once. “Me too. Only it went pretty much nowhere.”

“Same.” I nod, and Timo hands me a beer bottle. I say thanks in Russian, and then I’m met with Bay’s disbelief.

“If sex is nowhere for you, what’s somewhere?” she wonders.

“Emotion. Love.” I stare straight into her. “You.”

Baylee bunches up her face to keep from smiling. “Stop.” She grins into a sip of water, and I smile into a swig of beer. She groans and touches her cheek.

“Naughty children of mine.” Dimitri comes up behind us and hooks his muscular arms around our shoulders.

I face the bar at the same time as Baylee, and I take a larger swig of beer.

Dimitri drops his husky voice another octave. “You can pretend not to know each other, but I saw what I saw—and it looked a lot like smiley flirting to me. Which I advised Baylee against, but here we are.”

Baylee shrugs. “It’s hard taking the advice of someone who sings to their protein shakes.”

I grin into another swig.

Dimitri says, “It gives my banana extra pep.” We can’t respond because he physically wedges his body between our stools, separating us now.

“Come on,” I say to my cousin.

He cocks his head and nears my face. So only I can hear his next words. “History isn’t repeating, little Kotova. I’m not screwing you two over.” Determination hardens his already hard features, resolute with this idea.

That he won’t be the cause of our demise again.

I didn’t realize he still blamed himself for that night. If doing something, even separating us, makes him feel better, then I won’t argue.

Baylee also resigns, shrugging like it is what it is.

Setting down my beer, I crack my knuckles and scan my surrounding family members. One person has been missing. It’s why Timo sits carefree and untroubled on the bar, a whiskey-bourbon cocktail in hand, his laughter radiating.

“Where’s Sergei?” I ask Dimitri, who tries to flag down the bartender. Camila raises a finger at him like one second, busy making a tequila sunrise for Thora. Though, I doubt she ordered it since she’s pregnant, but Camila probably knows her friend’s regular order.

“I don’t keep tabs on Serg.” Dimtiri cranes his neck over his shoulder, and asks Nikolai in Russian, “Where’s your brother?”

Nikolai hangs back from the bar with Thora. She’s turned into his chest more than usual, and her arms are curved around her stomach.

“Sergei,” Nik says in English, assuming it’s about our older brother.

“Yeah, the one who thinks you two are best friends and sip from the same straw,” Dimitri retorts. At work, Dimitri has been cordial with Sergei, and outside of work, they get along alright. They’ve argued a few times, and they’ve made up just as fast.

I sense something different here.

I grab my beer. “Jealous?”

“No,” Dimitri denies, the same time Nik says, “Yes.”

Dimitri glowers. “Being jealous of Sergei implies that he’s your best friend. When I know that I am.”

Nikolai rolls his eyes. “Just this morning you complained that he spent more time with me yesterday than you did.”

“That’s not jealousy,” Dimitri growls. “That’s inequality.”

Baylee snorts into a laugh.

I smile wider, and Dimitri gives us both a look. Like we’ve chosen the enemy’s side.

“I’m not Team Sergei,” I assure him.

“Neither am I,” Baylee says seriously.

Nikolai cuts in, “There aren’t teams.” He glares at Dimitri, wearing an expression that says: don’t add a greater divide in our family.

Dimitri groans lowly but nods. “There aren’t teams. Just assholes, bigger assholes, and slow-as-fuck bartenders playing favorites.” He raises his voice. “How much do I need to tip to get a beer?!”

“A hundred bucks!” Camila yells back, but she’s focusing only on John. If I strain my ears, I’d pick up the words, but I don’t try.

Dimitri digs in his pocket for a wallet, and not far away, I spot my sister’s disgruntlement at the pushing bodies. I act on impulse.

And I stand on the bar.

“No,” Camila reprimands.

I swing my head back to her. “For Kat.” The soft sides of my features allow me passageways to too much probably.