Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(42)

His chest rises in a deep inhale.

My lungs expand just as much. “What would your girlfriend think?” Yeah, I just threw that out there, and I have no regrets. My curiosity is winning out.

Luka searches my gaze for more. Answers to why I’d ask this. Wondering if I care about him completely, entirely, wholeheartedly.

I do. I wish I didn’t.

I wish I could let go. Because an underlying pain sits beneath every word. Every glance. The pain of knowing nothing can truly happen.

Knowing there is no us at the end of the desire and the longing.

Luka leans closer to whisper, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Friends-with-benefits,” I add.

“None of those either.”

I nod a few times, my eyes burning as I restrain so many sentiments at once. “I should go.” I step off the stool and head towards…well, nowhere yet.

Luka sprints over and blocks my path. “Wait, Bay.”

I’m rigid. Uncertain.

He reaches a hand out to me but wavers too. His arm drops. “We’re allowed to be friends.”

“At work.” We’re not exactly at work right now.

Luka runs his fingers through his hair, and then we both go completely still. Not because someone entered the suite. But because the song changes to the score of Infini.

My mom’s music.

Luka licks his lips. “It’s on shuffle. That wasn’t intentional, I promise.”

I believe him, and I listen to the one drop drum beat and snares that hark back to rocksteady, a genre that originated in Jamaica, the predecessor of reggae. I even pick out a little bit of soca. Infini’s score isn’t exclusively Caribbean—there’s some American jazz and Latin influences—but I think the soul is Jamaican.

Just like my mom.

I shift my weight, and I try to shake off every sentimental and emotional feeling that wrings the air. Stay professional. “Do you know why AE cast you in Infini?” Why would they ever give us room to move towards one another?

It’s dangerous.

Luka shakes his head. “No clue.”

Our eyes graze each other again. Head-to-toe. We unconsciously inch closer. Our fingers toy with the idea of actually touching. Outside of work. We’re outside of work.

He dips his head, really looking at me. Into me. And as he opens his mouth to speak, the suite door blows open.

And we blow apart.

I act like I’m headed to the fridge.

Luka acknowledges his older brother who enters. “Hey, Nik…I needed to ask you about dinner.”

I avoid Nikolai, grab a protein bar, and I aim for my bedroom. All the while, I sense the heat of Nik’s gaze scouring me up and down.

“You couldn’t text me?” Nikolai questions.

“No,” Luka says firmly. “Don’t spin this into something it’s not, please.”

At this, I disappear into my bedroom, shutting the door closed. Not flooded with relief. If anything, my stomach hurts. My heart hurts.

And I’m more conflicted than before.





Act Fifteen Luka Kotova

50 Days to Infini’s Premiere

“Stop making this personal,” I say calmly on my way out of the gym, showered and bag slung over my shoulder. I just had a brutal twelve-hour practice with Sergei on the Wheel of Death, and the last thing I want to do is start a pointless fight.

Sergei keeps my stride as I push through a set of blue double doors. “You’re the one who made it personal.”

I wish the doors would hit him in the face, but I spin around, just as the doors shut and enclose us in the long hallway.

“How?” I question with a shrug. “I did everything you asked me to do.”

I’m abnormally agreeable when it comes to work. I don’t roll my eyes. I don’t sigh heavily or pull passive aggressive bullshit. I just do my job and I leave.

Since Sergei has been performing on the Wheel of Death for the past ten years—and it’s a fairly new discipline for me—he has more experience. So he has to order me around, and I put up with his know-it-all attitude and constant reminder that “if you’re not concentrating, you’re going to get hurt. And that’s on you.”

(Thanks for the tip.)

Sergei blocks me from walking. “Seven practices in, I give you instructions and you only reply okay.”

“And?” That’s not me being personal.

“And if I were anyone else, you’d be more vocal. I’m tired of the one-word responses.”

I almost feel bad for him. “Yeah, no.” I shake my head and adjust my grip on my gym bag. “I don’t do the whole let’s-chat-about-every-little-thought-we’ve-ever-had bit.”

Sergei crosses his arms, disbelieving.

“You don’t know me, dude.” Something raw enflames at the cold fact. “You could be Nik or Dimitri and I’d respond the same way at practice.” He’s asking me to be someone else, and I’m not playing that game to appease him or anyone.

He gets me.

Whether he likes me or not, I couldn’t care less.

“I’d appreciate more enthusiasm then.”

Off his harsh expression, I can tell that he’s testing me. Silently, he’s saying, if this isn’t personal, then you’ll be happy like you would be with anyone else.