Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(88)

“The Red Death. I’ll be there tonight. Can’t pass up the tips if I’m hanging around there anyway. Plus I can dole out more free drinks.” She bites the end of her makeup brush and bobby-pins Katya’s flyaways.

“How haven’t you met Dimitri?” I ask since the Kotovas flock The Red Death every Saturday night. Dimitri was only initially brought up because Thora asked about my forearm burn. It turned into an explanation about Dimitri tossing me clubs. The burn wasn’t his fault, but he also accidentally singed his neck lighting my prop on fire this morning.

Camila releases the brush from between her teeth. “I generally try to stay away from Kotovas because half of them are shitty tippers—no offense,” she says to Katya.

She laughs. “I bet it’s Abram. He’s so cheap. He won’t ever pay for cab fares.”

This is really true.

“Could be,” Camila says. “I don’t know their names. What does he look like?”

Katya tries to describe him, and I put the romper back on the hook. Thora mouths, where are the gifts? I gesture with my head to a drawer, and Thora casually approaches the dresser.

“The only Kotova guy I really know is Timo,” Camila says, “and that’s mostly because he’s been crashing at my cuz’s apartment.”

“He’s trying to avoid Sergei,” Katya tells us. “It’s kind of complicated.” She says this sort of tensely and morosely, like she can’t explain more. None of us delve into the subject, but Thora and I know bad blood exists.

I abandon the closet, a heaviness inside my body that I can’t kick. It lingers quietly and silently. Even when I don’t mention it.

There’s no source, but lying on the floor or bed and sinking seems too nice right now. I hope music will lift my spirits so I fiddle with Katya’s digital stereo on her desk, right beside her makeup spread.

“Who’s your favorite?” Camila asks me.

“Favorite Kotova guy?” I follow her train of thought and click into a soca playlist Katya created. A Nori Amada song floods the bedroom, the tempo upbeat and lively. I smile more.

“Yep. Which guy?”

And my smile flat-lines, eyes growing as I contemplate no great answer. Katya frowns deeply at me, Camila brushing highlighter on her cheekbones.

“It’s apparent. Right?” Katya asks me.

It is. I just don’t know if I’m allowed to spread this news. Katya is the best secret-keeper, but she has no idea why Luka and I are so private about our mere friendship.

My shoulders bind. “Yeah.” I have to say his name. “It’s Luka.”

It’s always been Luka.

“Luka,” Camila muses. “I think John has mentioned him. What does he look like?”

I rub my lips together, thinking before I speak. “Tall-ish. Not Nikolai’s height, but tall for an acrobat. Dark hair that’s between short and long, and the Kotova gray eyes.” I pause. “Pale, clean-shaven.” I look faraway, picturing Luka standing at Two Kings. Waiting for me to near. “His features are frozen between youth and maturity, and he’s so welcoming. That one frame at the end of Titanic, where Leonardo DiCaprio extends a hand to Kate Winslet—that’s Luka. Charming and kind inside silence.” I begin to smile. “He’s the one sitting on the armrest of a couch, trying to make you smile when you’re sad.”

I’m lost in my head, and when I break from this warm reverie, I realize all three girls are staring knowingly at me.

I straighten up. “We used to be really good friends.”

“Best friends,” Katya clarifies. “Luk always called you his best.” She nods at me like I deserve that title, but it hurts to think that we can’t even be called friends now.

Just co-workers. Always co-workers.

I stare at the carpet, my stomach clenching.

Camila twists the lid on her highlighter. “You really weren’t together? Like boyfriend-girlfriend? Friends-with-benefits? Nothing?”

“No,” I lie and try to subtly deflect. “I can tell you which Kotovas are single, if you’re looking.” I’ll selfishly omit Luka off that list.

“Not looking.” Camila dusts extra glitter over Katya’s eyelids. “I’m actually seeing someone.”

“What…when?” Thora asks, collecting the purple-wrapped wardrobe box from the drawer and an envelope.

“Last night. Craig apologized for being standoffish, and then we had makeup sex.”

By the shock on Thora’s face, I feel like this isn’t a good thing.

Thora frowns. “What happened to not touching his dick with a forty-foot pole?”

“He’s the only dick I’ve ever touched,” Camila says honestly. “He’s my first everything, and I can’t give up on him yet.”

I empathize with that currently, but not the standoffish part. “What’d he do?” I ask.

Thora and Camila exchange a heated look. I sense that Camila would rather tell a half-truth but Thora isn’t an advocate.

“We have a very passionate relationship,” Camila explains vaguely.

Thora is upset, but she keeps quiet.

“You and Craig are on-again-off-again?” I realize.

“More on than off, but for about three years. I was nineteen when I randomly met him. I was eating off the strip at a little café with family, and Craig and I were both waiting for the tiny restroom to free-up. We started talking and instantly clicked.” She uncaps a burgundy lipstick and asks Katya. “Yes? No?”