Page 17 of Bound By Sin
"I was waiting for you because I'm a good friend and also because I want to hear about Kazimir before I can even think about food." She folds her arms over the table and leans in. "Tell me everything." She looks giddy, and I want to find energy inside myself to feel giddy with her, but the annoyance I feel toward my brothers has morphed into that swarm of guilt now.
"He's good, Alisa." I try to say it convincingly, and she doesn't seem to notice that I'm feeling off.
"Good how?"
"Good in every way." I close the menu because I'm not going to be able to focus on it. "My God," I say, finding a real smile. "He was so focused on me and listened to every word I said, and then the sex…" I let an ungodly groan rumble up as my eyes roll back in my head, demonstrating just how badly I want that man again. Remembering his hands on my body makes me forget why I feel guilty or frustrated.
"Stop it," she hisses.
"I'm serious."
"You're falling for him," Alisa says, folding open her menu and grinning at me over it. "God, you're glowing."
"I'm not." I cover my cheeks and feel them burning under my fingers.
"You are. Your whole face changes when you talk about him. You get this look?—”
"What look?"
"You know… You look all starry-eyed and dreamy." She reaches across the table and takes my hand. "He sounds incredible. And you deserve incredible, Zora. I mean that."
I wish I could tell her everything, but I know her response would be disappointment in me. I manage to pull my eyes from her and drop them to my menu so hopefully, she won’t see my shame as I say, "Thank you," and squeeze her hand.
"Don't let this one go." She squeezes back. "Men like him don't show up twice."
Every time she smiles at me, I feel the distance between who she sees and who I actually am stretch a little wider. The chasm is all my fault, slowly constructing a divide I know may be something she could never forgive me for. And I'm doing it for selfish reasons, which now don't feel so convincingly necessary as they did a few months ago when this all started.
9
KAZIMIR
Stepan throws a right cross that clips me above the ear and sends a hot buzz down the side of my neck. I roll with it and come back with a left hook to his ribs that folds him forward half an inch before he resets.
"Slow down," he says, circling left with his gloves up. "You're dropping your shoulder before you throw."
"I'm not dropping anything." Sparring is what I do to shake off extra energy and with everything going on, I have a lot of it to dispel. Roman keeps dragging me back in to remind me how direly important it is that I get this thing right, and I can't seem to focus on anything but my phone lately, waiting for Zora to reply to my messages.
"You are. You've been doing it for the last ten minutes." He feints a jab and when I bite, he tags me with a straight right to the sternum that forces the air from my lungs. "See? Right there. Your shoulder dips and I know what's coming before you throw it."
I spit my mouthguard into my glove and wipe my face with my forearm, frustrated that I'm off my game and my cousin is calling me on it. I usually box circles around him. Letting him get the better of me is just proof that I'm slipping.
"Let's go again," I say, putting the guard back in.
We reset in the center of the mat. Stepan bounces on his toes, his dark hair damp at the temples. His brown eyes lock on my chest because he reads my movement from the torso, not the hands, the way a good boxer is trained. I've been two steps behind this entire session because I've been reacting instead of anticipating, and I know it.
He comes in fast with a double jab and I slip both, rolling my head left then right, and fire back with a body shot that connects clean under his floating rib. He grunts and grabs my shoulder to tie me up, and we clinch in the center of the mat, foreheads pressed together, both of us breathing hard. This little coaching tip has me more aware and now he remembers how easily I can get to him, even when I'm tired and winded.
"So, when do I get to meet this woman?" he says through his mouthguard, grinning at me while he tries to work an underhook.
"When I decide I'm ready." I push back, making him stumble a few steps away as I raise my hands to ready and loosen up my stance again.
"I've been hearing about her for two weeks, man. You have to give me some fat to chew." He takes a swing, which I duck and jab quickly at his ribs twice, then he falls on me in another clinch, which I try to block.
"She's out of your league. That's all you need to know." I break the clinch and push him back, and he stumbles before finding his feet again. He's getting tired now too, sweat rolling off his chest and shoulders. We used to do this daily and we're both out of practice.
"Out of my league or out of yours?" He resets his guard and circles right. "I'm starting to think she's got you on a leash."
"You'd better watch your mouth." I'm playful right now, but if he doesn’t watch it he's gonna make my temper flare. I tend to take it personally when people insult my friends.
