Lead and Follow(54)
To be this man’s choice…
She cleared her throat. “Paul got a new job.” If she looked at the stage, she could pretend all of this was normal. It sure as hell wasn’t. Her heart was beating so hard that she couldn’t even hear the blaring music, let alone the words she mouthed. “He won’t be around regularly. Thought you’d want to say schastlivo. Be happy and all.”
Still, she needed to see that reaction. His reaction. Lust flared in Dima’s eyes, going slightly wider with shock. The hand gripping hers tightened nearly to crushing force. If she reached between his legs, would she find him already hard?
He let her go. “Sveta and I have a great deal to discuss.”
She’d always hated when he used Svetlana’s diminutive. It was too intimate.
That intimacy was back.
Lizzie was going to be sick. Or pass out. Or stay this disturbingly numb for the rest of her life.
Whatever would’ve happened was cut short by Paul’s arrival. Lizzie shot out of the booth. She made hasty introductions before tugging his arm. Flee. Run away. Be done with pretending there was anything more to be had with her and Dima. It had been a dumb idea when she started this whole mess, and it was even dumber now, when he seemed poised to make use of his skinny Russian escape route.
“Not gonna happen,” she whispered to Paul. “I can’t make this right.”
“You can. Tomorrow. Remember?”
She hadn’t replied before Paul brushed past her and slid into the booth. Right beside Dima. Svetlana had clung all the more tightly with Lizzie’s intrusion, but Paul’s intimate posture actually made her sit back. Darkly penciled eyebrows lifted high. She looked to Lizzie for explanation. Too bad, lady. Whereas Paul seemed to look to her for assurance.
“Promise, Lizzie?” he asked above the din.
She nodded, a little dazed—although what she really promised remained out of grasp. How was she going to make this right? At least she could talk to Dima. Try to. Her best friend. Her partner of fifteen years. Yes, she would talk to him seriously and be as open as he needed. No secrets anymore.
Yeah, right. Plenty of secrets remained, because right in plain sight, Paul leaned over and whispered in Dima’s ear.
Chapter Eighteen
“Fuck me or be fucked. Your choice, but it has to be tonight.” Paul’s voice cracked through Dima’s skin in small, short zings.
Welcome to the land of the surreal. Svetlana still sat to his side, her hand on his upper arm, though much more loosely. The bulk of Paul’s body warmed his other side. In front of him…Lizzie. Everything hinged on her, whether she realized it or not. She shone like a beacon, a bare sliver of risk between home and being dashed on rocks.
Did she mean this as a farewell? More than a decade of partnership and she’d shatter them both. She couldn’t even do that alone. She offered him Paul, no matter what Dima had said in the diner.
He hadn’t been fair, either. To drop it and run, lay low for a week, then sit with Svetlana. He hadn’t invited her, but he sure as hell hadn’t sent her away either. However, when faced with the choice between her and the combined shimmer and sexuality of Paul and Lizzie… There was no choice.
Saying good night to Svetlana took on a hazy feel, like he swam through smoke. The whole time, Paul and Lizzie waited behind him. Paul’s vibe was slightly smug, while his little one was as unreadable as ever. She was two seconds from bolting. Maybe she would’ve gone already if not for Paul’s strong arm hooked around her waist.
Even the cab ride continued like that. Dima sat up front, watching Paul and Lizzie in the rearview mirror. He’d expected them to begin without him, but they sat primly, only their thighs pressed together and their hands linked. Lizzie rested her head on Paul’s shoulder, but her eyes didn’t falter from Dima’s.
She would always be his. Even if they were apart.
In the apartment, no one turned on lights. Dima led the silent procession to his bedroom. An orange glow from a streetlight poured through his slanted blinds.
Lizzie looked so lost. She stood by the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. They’d done this before in laughter and fun, never mind the intensity. This was more like a punishment or an obligation. Although the wrongness sat heavily between Dima’s shoulder blades, he could no more stop than he could make sense of what would be best for all three. Need clouded his judgment. He should be stronger, but even that admonishment didn’t stop him.
Tiny shadows ringed under Lizzie’s eyes, and he wondered how the hell he’d not noticed. Because he’d been all but ignoring her, afraid of this, that all he’d find was the excitement of the sex, not the connection he missed so much.