“I know how to make cereal and Greek yogurt. I can have Vlad order something if that is not enough.”
“That’s totally enough,” I answer, already dozing off. “Thank you.”
Somewhere in the distance, I hear him say, “No, thank you, krasotka. These days with you have been more than worth it.”
I fall back to sleep on a cloud but wake up to angry yelling.
After climbing out of bed, I think about finding a t-shirt or something else of Cheslav’s to wear. But there’s still almost a day left on the challenge.
So completely naked, I follow the angry noise to the sleek black wood and stainless-steel kitchen where Cheslav’s pacing back and forth on his phone. Apparently, he does have reception up here.
“What do you mean, paused? For how long? No! No! I do not accept this.”
Seeing me, he points to two bowls of cereal and two packages of Greek yogurt waiting for me on the kitchen’s island counter. I awkwardly go over and begin to eat while he finishes his conversation.
“Who decided this?” Cheslav demands of the person on the other side of the line. “The owners? You know what, it doesn’t matter. I do not accept it.”
Cheslav listens to the person’s answer, but only for a little bit. “It does not matter if I was not answering phone. Next time you make decision like this, you come to me. I will help you unmake it—no, do not give me excuses. Do not call me again until it is time to play.”
This time Cheslav doesn’t even give whoever he’s talking to a few seconds to answer. He jams his thumb into what I can only presume is the Call End button. Then he walks over to the counter, muttering in Russian.
“Bad news?” I ask.
“You won’t have to come to my game tomorrow night after all,” he answers with an irritated look. “Or meet my brother. The season has been put on pause due to virus.”
My heart stops, then surges with empathy. “That’s not good news,” I answer. “It’s your last season. No wonder you’re so upset.”
Cheslav’s jaw tightens. “I am fine.”
I look to the side. Think about not saying anything, like a good little pet who’s on her last day of service. But he looks so angry.
“It’s okay not to be fine with this. I know you’ve got the whole macho Russian thing going on, but if I were you, I’d be crying into a tub of ice cream right now.”
It’s a joke, but his expression becomes even harder. “That is because you are weak. From weak family. Do not mistake me for this.”
His words hit me like a punch in a face. And the warm, happy feeling I woke up with completely disappears.
“Okay, that’s really rude. Why would you even say something like that to me?”
Cheslav sneers. “Luckily, I am paying for you to put up with my rude. Now come back with me to bedroom. I would like to forget about hockey for a while.”
His dismissive words feel like barbed wire squeezing around my heart.
He reaches for me, but I push his hands away. “No.”
His eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
“I said, no!” I repeat. “I’m not weak. And I’m not going to just lie back and let you fuck me like some kind of object after talking to me that way.”
He goes very, very still. “Perhaps you forget our deal.”
“Perhaps you forget that I’m a human being with feelings,” I shoot back.
“Three hundred thousand.” He crooks his head to the side. “That is enough to pay for any and all feelings, da?”
“Nyet!” I answer, not realizing how true that word is until it comes flying out of my mouth. “That money doesn’t buy my feelings. If you had any, you’d understand why.”
He sighs like I’m getting on his nerves. “I do not want fight. Forget what I said. We will eat quickly, and then we will stay in bed until it is time for you to leave.”
Time for me to leave….
The languorous desire that had hung over our days together like a heavy fog dissipates. And suddenly, I can see this situation clearly. See Cheslav clearly.
He doesn’t respect or even like me. He was just using me. Just like my brother used me to sort out his debt. Just like all athletes use women as far as I can tell.
A horrible shame crashes over me as I say, “Actually I…”
I do a quick calculation of how much money is left on my brother’s debt, then decide out loud, “I think the time for me to leave is now.”
He looks at me, the sneer morphing into confusion. “What do you mean?”
It’s like the Instagram filter has dropped from this entire situation. How could I have let sex get in the way of my good judgment? I can’t believe this hockey asshole had me so far gone that I actually agreed to a date with him even though our so-called relationship only began after he blackmailed me into having sex with him.
