Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) Page 5

  She pursed her lips and gave him her most withering glare.

  “Sorry.”

  “I was drunk. He was too. Things got heated. And then…he kissed me.”

  “Wait.” He shook his head as if to clear his confusion. “What? You were arguing, and then he kissed you? Like, forced himself on you?” Red splotches crept up his neck into his cheeks. He was determined to believe Aleksandr had attacked her, assaulted her. There could be no other explanation, and she didn’t blame Joe for shutting out any other possibility. She’d be heartbroken if he confessed he’d kissed another woman.

  At least, she thought so.

  “No, Joe. I didn’t initiate it. I didn’t want anything to do with him.” Keep piling on the lies. Maybe she’d even start to believe them. “But I didn’t resist, either. Like I said, I’d been drinking.”

  “So, what, I have to go with you whenever there’s a happy hour? Keep an eye on you?”

  She studied his face for signs of sarcasm, but his expression revealed nothing.

  He took a slow sip of coffee. “Okay. The guy kissed you. You were drunk and didn’t put up a fight. Maybe that was for the best. I mean, if he was drunk too, he could’ve gotten violent.”

  That was her Joe. The rationalizer. The fixer. Aleksandr would be the sole perpetrator of this egregious sin.

  “Listen, I still have to get this interview with him, or Dave is going to fire me. But if it makes you uncomfortable…”

  “He could be intimidating you into letting the interview go. You said he seemed angry with you before, right? He could be trying to sabotage you.”

  It would be so much easier if Aleksandr were doing any of those things. Joe didn’t understand. Didn’t even know the worst of it. But let him believe what he needed to; she had no reason to make the situation worse. Not if he were willing to work through it, move past it, and hold her blameless. Besides, once Aleksandr did know the truth…well, that ought to solve everything. He’d never speak to her again.

  The thought brought tears for which she had no explanation. “I suppose he could be.” She turned off the TV so Aleksandr’s name stopped intruding on the conversation, but his presence lingered, an apparition they both refused to acknowledge. And there he would remain.

  “So be careful around him, okay? Get the story. Nail him.”

  “He’s a hockey player, not a serial killer. He didn’t do anything wrong except kiss your drunken fiancée in a bar.”

  Unspoken anger clouded his expression. “I don’t trust the guy. I’m sorry. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

  He’s the one hurting. She shook her head. The conversation had exhausted her, and she saw no benefit in dragging it out further. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have let it happen. So are we okay?”

  “I’m not throwing away five years because this jerk kissed you. I want to marry you. I did yesterday, and I do now.” Joe gave her a gentle kiss she was appalled to find deficient. “So yeah, we’re fine. It’s done and over with.”

  I kissed him back!

  She was doing a fine job of sabotaging herself, no assistance needed. If she could get the memory lodged in her brain of Aleksandr’s green eyes and their longing, their pain, to loosen its grip. If she could forget the way he tasted, the way his body felt against hers. And stop comparing Joe to him.

  Are you happy?

  “I need to go into the office,” she blurted.

  “It’s Saturday afternoon.”

  “I know. But if I don’t get this interview, I’ve got six days to come up with something worthy of saving my job.”

  “Good point. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not this time. Go ahead and eat dinner without me. I’ll grab something downtown.”

  “Okay. Good luck, babe. I know you’ll figure it out.”

  That made one of them. Aleksandr held her career in his hands. It provided the memory with the bitter flavor she needed to wash it from her mind.

  ***

  “Stephanie?”

  “Um…hi, Aleksandr.” She glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

  “Hi. I acted like an asshole the other day. My place, the bar, take your pick. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, taken aback. She’d been sure sorry was not part of his vocabulary.

  “I was wondering, do you still have hockey equipment?”

  What an odd question. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Do you know where the Highland Ice Arena is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meet me there at seven thirty.”

  “I—”

  The call ended.

  What was this? How many more excuses could she come up with?

  Stephanie answered a few emails, then headed home to dig out her equipment. Joe was putting in another late day, so she avoided any problematic explanations as to why she was loading a sports bag with her hockey gear. She flung the bag and stick into the backseat of her ancient Honda Civic and drove to Shoreline, fifteen minutes north of downtown. Stephanie pulled into a spot near Aleksandr’s conspicuous 215,000-dollar black Mercedes-Benz roadster. She retrieved her equipment and walked inside to find the arena empty except for the attendant and the man sitting on the bleachers with a sports bag and stick of his own, locked in a contemplative gaze at the ice.

  She set her equipment down. “How did you rent the place just for us?”

  “It’s an ice arena. I’m a famous hockey player.” He smirked. His face had retained its sweetness despite his debonair looks.

  “Mind telling me what this is about?”

  “I’ve been…not myself. Thought a little friendly competition would be fun.” He nudged her thigh with his stick handle. “I’m an asshole, by the way. Newsflash. Let’s get changed, da? Don’t want to keep you out too late on a school night.” He winked, and something in her shifted, an ice shelf cleaving off. She walked toward the women’s locker room.

  “I can’t promise there won’t be full contact,” he called after her.

  She shook her head and, biting her lip to keep from smiling, entered the deserted locker room. She was just trying to get a story. Right?

  They met on the ice, and Aleksandr sized her up as she’d expected him to. “Been a while since I’ve seen you in a hockey uniform. That’s a good look.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We should warm up first. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “I still play adult league sometimes.” Stephanie stuck her tongue out, then dropped to the ice and ran through the usual stretches.

  Aleksandr didn’t bother. He watched her, smiling that beguiling smile.

  “Why do I feel like you wanted to see me on the ice with my legs spread?”

  He pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “Me?” When she got to her feet, he passed a puck to her. “Still have a good shot?” He cocked his head toward the net.

  “I guess we’ll find out.” Stephanie stared at the puck. She wound her stick past shoulder height, then slapped the ice behind the puck, using her weight to bend the stick and release its energy. As the blade struck the disc, she rolled her wrists and shifted her weight to release the stick’s momentum through the puck. After the follow-through, her stick was pointed at the back of the net, right where the puck had landed.

  “Otlichno!” Aleksandr skated over and high-fived her. “Question: why don’t they allow checking in women’s hockey?”

  “Some people think it’s sexism. That we can’t handle it, even though we’re being checked by other women and not by men. Some people think it allows a more skilled game to develop, like European hockey.”

  “If I recall, you liked taking the body.” That impudent smile again.

  “I think checking has its place,” she said, veering the conversation back to hockey. “Otherwise, we’re playing soccer on ice.”

  “Good point.” Aleksandr scooped the puck out of the net. “Speaking of which, I could use a workout partner. It’s early enough you could st
ill make it to work on time.”

  “You do sound a little lonely.”

  “It’s funny, isn’t it? I worked my ass off for this. To be the best. And now I am. And…” The inner corners of his eyebrows drew up and in, the corners of his mouth down. Sadness, the purest of expressions. “Forget it.”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone, remember?” He flipped the puck and juggled it on his stick blade. “Especially the media.”

  “Not even me?”

  “I did. But that was a long time ago.” He shook his head, and a lock of black hair tumbled over his brow. He pushed it back into place. “Anyway, let’s see you try to knock me off a play.” With a devious laugh, he skated away with the puck.

  “What? You’ve got to be joking.”

  “We’re having fun, remember? Besides, you played defense!”

  “None of my opponents were ever six feet five!”

  He circled back and skated right at her. She moved backward but stayed with him, tried to poke-check the puck away, until he deked to his right and potted it into the net. “One–nothing. Better step it up.”

  “What about my slapshot?”

  “Okay, one–one.” Aleksandr dropped the puck at the other end and began his rush. This time Stephanie skated to center ice. As he neared her, she took two more strides, drove her shoulder, hip, and elbow into him, and bounced onto the ice, grateful for the padded shorts that prevented her from breaking her ass. He tipped a little, leaving his right skate for a moment before regaining his balance and shooting into the net again.

  “Two–one.” He skated back to her and held out his gloved hand. “Almost had me, though. Nice check.”

  She grabbed his glove with hers and let him pull her up. “Thanks. It’s getting late, though. I should probably head home.”

  Aleksandr pouted a little.

  Dear God, stop that. “But this was fun. You’re not so bad when you aren’t throwing me out of your house.”

  He raised his stick lengthwise to her chest and backed her to the boards. Those green eyes probed hers, searching for what he knew he would find even if she couldn’t say the words.

  “Please don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

  He lowered his stick and held her with his body instead. He tossed his gloves onto the ice. Her heartbeat ticked faster. “I’m a very sore loser. And you’re not exactly putting up a convincing fight.”

  She flung off her gloves as if to start roundhousing him but instead set her hands on his waist. Proving his point.

  “You loved me once. Make me believe you’re happy now.”

  She could not.

  “What are the chances we’d end up in the same city?” His kiss behind her ear, a thunderbolt. “I remember every detail too. You took your shoes off as soon as we got there because you hated wearing heels.”

  An unexpected smile crept over her face. “Still do.”

  “You tasted like strawberry lip gloss and spearmint gum. You smelled like apples. Even now, the smell of apples makes me think of you.” He grazed his lips against her neck, and she shivered. “Call me in the morning if you want to run with me. Good night, Stefania.” Aleksandr gathered his gloves and stick. She already missed the warmth, the feel of his body. He stick-saluted her as he skated to the other side of the ice, then opened the gate and disappeared into the men’s locker room.

  ***

  Joe glanced up from his MacBook and did a double take. “Are you playing hockey again? I’d like you to have teeth for our wedding.”

  “I’ve had a very strange night.” Stephanie tossed the bag and stick into the hall closet. “Emphasis on ‘very.’”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Let’s leave it at that.”

  “You’re being weird again.”

  “Long day. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.” Stephanie flipped on the bedroom light, entered the en suite, and locked the door. She needed Joe to leave her alone for a little while. She dropped her clothes into a pile on the floor and started the water. Not hot enough to scald away her skin’s desire for Aleksandr’s touch and the shame that accompanied it. Her fiancé was two rooms away, and she was fantasizing about another man.

  She was only with Joe because she thought she’d never see Alex again.

  The stark realization hit her like a head-on collision. Eight years. He still wanted her. Her, when he could have anyone.

  She smiled. Oh, the things Alex would do to her if she let him. Stephanie leaned against the wall, facing the spray, and slipped a finger between her legs. Water splashed against her belly.

  She had never fantasized about Joe.

  She rubbed faster, the warm, luscious pressure building to a crescendo. She hunched forward as the orgasm blasted through her, and she tried to stifle the succession of moans the shower surely wasn’t loud enough to muffle.

  Guilt regained its foothold. Four months. The venue and officiant already reserved. A dress already purchased. Flowers and cake ordered. Photographer and videographer booked. She was going to marry Joe because not marrying him would disappoint too many people.

  Except the one who mattered most. The one she had never stopped loving.

  Stephanie shut off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and sat on the toilet lid. Her heart was trying to punch out of her chest, and nausea churned her stomach. Slow, deep breaths. She hung her head between her knees. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.

  She put on a nightshirt and climbed into bed. Joe came in a couple hours later. She pretended to be asleep, but when his persistent prodding made it clear he knew she was faking, she rolled onto her back and let him do his thing. Joe was an oblivious lover who tended to forget, especially once he’d gotten off, she couldn’t orgasm by penetration alone. Satisfied, he fell into a deep, snoring sleep.

  She stared into the darkness of the ceiling, wondered what Aleksandr was doing and decided she was better off not knowing. She had no right to be jealous, engaged to one man and leading on another. No right at all.

  She wished she hadn’t asked for the story. Hadn’t laid eyes on Alex again.

  Hadn’t tasted what could have been hers all along.

  ***

  As Joe showered, Stephanie pressed Call and with a thousand wings flapping in her stomach waited for Aleksandr to answer. She gnawed on a fingernail.

  “Hello?” His soft yet full-bodied voice, his Russian accent, awakened memories of him lying beside her, describing all the things they would do together someday.

  “Aleksandr. Hi. Where do you run?”

  A moment’s hesitation. “You’re coming?”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Seward Park. I’ll meet you at the entrance in half an hour.”

  “See you then.” Now to get out without a barrage of questions. She wiggled into a fresh pair of underwear, a sports bra, run capris, and a long-sleeved crewneck.

  “Working out early today, huh?” Joe asked as she was tying her sneakers. He dropped his damp towel on the bed, and she wrinkled her nose.

  She darted into the bathroom to scrub some deodorant under her arms. “Yeah.”

  “Awfully eager. You’re not a morning person.”

  “I have to go. I’ll see you after work, okay?” She gave him a perfunctory peck on the cheek before grabbing her keys and phone. She couldn’t stand the thought of kissing those wet, malleable lips. Like jamming her mouth into a spoiled melon.

  Stephanie drove to Lake Washington Boulevard as the sun was waking, the world painted into life with strokes of gray light. In the near-empty lot, she parked beside Aleksandr’s Mercedes. He was standing at the entrance, wearing black running shorts over black leggings, Adidas sneakers, and a long-sleeved, blue Under Armour shirt. She stared at the outline of his chest beneath the fabric.

  He kissed her on each cheek, his face prickly with stubble. “Good morning,” he said with a smile that brightened the dreary morning. They walked into the park and warm
ed up: five minutes of walking, five one-hundred-meter strides, and several dynamic stretches. When they were ready to run, Aleksandr chose the paved path looping two and a half miles around the peninsula, with the lake beside them and majestic Mount Rainier ruling the distant Cascades. Woodpeckers drummed messages in the poplars. Diving ducks and swan-necked Western Grebes floated on the water, while gulls wheeled and gathered on shore in search of dead fish, crying to each other with low wows and kak-kak-kaks.

  Rubber pounded the asphalt. Stephanie stole several glances, straying again to the contours of his pecs, of his biceps. She listened to the pattern of his breathing, watched white puffs condense with each exhale. His strides were long and easy. She hadn’t gone on a real run in years, and her lungs were feeling the burn. She let him pull ahead enough that she could watch the joggle of his high-carriage ass. There was a word for that kind of ass. Callipygous. Having shapely buttocks.

  God help her.

  “This is nice,” she said. “Peaceful.”

  “I tried Green Lake, but it gets crowded. Myrtle Edwards is closer to me but again, people.”

  They reached the end of the park loop and headed back. Less than half an hour had passed. “I thought you ran for an hour.”

  “I do. I usually go all the way to Colman Park and back, but I don’t think you’re going to make it.” He laughed. “Did you see the forest trails we passed? We can go for a walk. It’ll be a nice cooldown, and it’s easier to talk when you’re not wheezing.”

  She punched his shoulder. They relaxed into a stroll as they entered the old-growth forest, the trail denoted with granite markers. Aleksandr paused to lift his shirt and wipe the sweat from his face, offering a glimpse of his six-pack, of the black hair sprinkled on his flat belly. Something was pinging deep inside her like notes from a piano. She imagined roaming her hands over his stomach’s concave edges, to the place where his V-cut dipped beneath his shorts. Her thighs tingled.

  Douglas firs towering over two hundred feet above them dominated the forest, their perfume sweet and resinous. More woodpecker tapping. Aleksandr placed a finger to his lips and slid his gaze toward a stand of trees a few yards away.