Emins’ Mate(2)

The oldest and the youngest brothers in his family, Maxim and Danil, respectively, didn’t feel exactly the same way. They had melted into American civilization much more easily when their bear shifter family had immigrated to America from Belarus a decade ago. Maxim and Danil only needed to shift once a week or so. They held jobs with the humans and interacted every day.

Emin and Anton, the two middle brothers, needed the wilderness every day. They needed their bear out and wild and quiet as they wanted to be. The bustle of the city got to them both.

He figured there was no need to fight the inevitable. He needed his bear. So Emin finished his final sip of beer and tossed some bills on the bar for Charlie, the bartender. He turned to catch Maxim’s eye to say goodbye when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“You aren’t leaving now, are you, handsome?” Charlie asked, leaning over the bar, her milk chocolate hair tumbling over one shoulder as she batted her dark blue eyes at Emin.

She was a nice girl, truly. And easy on the eyes. But they hadn’t been together in over a year, not after she’d started turning down other dates just to be with Emin. He’d explained, as gently as he could, that that wasn’t in the cards for them and stopped seeing her. He wasn’t cruel. And maybe he’d loved her a little. He just wasn’t looking for a wife.

Emin bit back a sigh. She still wanted to change that.

“I am tired. I go home,” Emin replied in his thick Belarusian accent, Slavic and blunt. His youngest brother, Danil, who was a lawyer, could speak English without the hint of an accent whenever he wanted, almost the same with Maxim. But Emin and Anton had never quite picked up the skill. Emin supposed that he got by just fine.

“You could sleep at my place, you know,” Charlie said, leaning further over the bar. “It’s closer than your cabin. And the company is infinitely better.”

Emin put his face into a friendly look and kissed her cheek. “I am no good for company tonight. No matter how pretty.”

He turned away from the disappointment in her eyes, knowing without a doubt that cutting the cord was kinder than dragging her along.

He grabbed his coat from off a hook in the corner of the bar and turned at a familiar voice.

“A guy sure can’t get any play with all you fucking Malashoviks around here,” muttered Russ, a stocky redheaded man that had been fighting fires alongside Maxim for almost a decade. Even if Russ hadn’t been a good friend, which he was, the fact that he covered Maxim’s back every day was enough for Emin to consider the man a certain kind of family.

Emin looked out on the dance floor to where Maxim was grinning, crouching in front of the wiggling blonde and nipping playfully at her collarbone while she giggled and rode the beat.

“You are interested in Tinker Bell over there?” he asked Russ.

“No,” Russ said pointedly, and halfheartedly sipped at his beer, eyes firmly planted over the bar.

“Ah,” Emin said, following Russ’s eyes to Charlie, who was popping the tops off a few beers and sliding them down the bar. “You want the bartender.”

“You don’t mind?” Russ asked. “I know she was yours for a while.”

Emin slapped Russ on the back affectionately. “She was never mine. You know I don’t keep them.”

Russ quirked a funny little smile, like he thought Emin’s comment was funny, just not when it applied to Charlie.

“I know you guys haven’t been… hanging out for about a year and I just thought,” Russ shrugged like he didn’t care one way or another.

Ah. So this was not passing for Russ. He truly wanted Charlie. Emin felt a small stab of remorse that he hadn’t seen his friend’s suffering earlier. He realized that it had been a year since he’d told Charlie he wouldn’t be coming through her door again. A year almost exactly. Emin’s dark brown eyes rested on Russ’s light brown ones for a second and he wondered if his friend had been counting the days.

Not liking that he hadn’t seen any of this earlier, Emin decided to make amends. “She likes a man to-” Emin searched for the English words for a second and Russ snapped his attention away from Charlie and onto Emin, realizing he was about to get some free advice. “Shoot straight. No muss.”

Russ nodded, taking the advice solemnly. Emin saw a moment of nerves pass in his friend’s eyes. He kept going. “She does not like a man to drink too much.” Emin tried not to smile as Russ immediately unhanded his half-drunk beer and shoved it a few inches away from him like it was poison. “She… responds to confidence.”

Russ passed a hand over his eyes for a second. “Christ. How the fuck am I supposed to follow up a Malashovik?” he muttered to himself. “And Emin fucking Malashovik no less.” Russ shot him a frank and irritated look. “A world renowned artist trapped in the body of a fucking action star.”