Page 15 of Bare
Sage always managed to slide in next to her as the lights were going down. That would never work for Rosemary. It made her uncomfortable to cut it that close. She just wished she’d mentioned that to Aleksei.
“Hey!” Aleksei appeared next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She’d been so lost in thought, she nearly jumped out of her flats.
His lips parted in a grin. “Sorry for startling you.”
She felt her own lips widen in return. “If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t be laughing.”
“I’m not laughing. I’m smiling because your surprised expression is so cute.”
Her chest and cheeks warmed at the compliment.
He stepped toward her, sliding his palms down the sleeves of her jacket. Her tense muscles instantly relaxed under the weight of his hands. He was so close, her nose almost touched his jacket. His spiced pine scent and proximity sent a wave of heat to her thighs.
“You should have waited inside. You’re getting wet.”
Yep. She was. Just not in the way he meant.
“It’s okay. It’s a rain jacket. All the wet is on the outside,” she said, grateful for the cool drizzle on her flaming cheeks.
Aleksei pulled his phone out, glanced down at the screen, then slid it back into his jacket pocket. “We’d better get inside,” he said, closing his warm, calloused hand over her wet, chilly one. “I want to hit the restroom and get to our seats. I hate rushing in at the last minute.”
The heat that had ignited in her thighs curled up higher, inching toward her heart as she added “punctual” to her mental list of Aleksei’s positive attributes.
He kept hold of her hand, using his body to carve a path through the crowded lobby. He was tall but lean, more tennis player than football player, yet he navigated the theatergoers with ease. She’d taken up hiking and rock-climbing when she’d started taking Remiza. She loved nature, and if the drug didn’t work, she wanted to spend every minute of the life she had left doing what she enjoyed. As a result, she’d grown strong and was perfectly capable of making her own way to the ladies’ room, but there was something bone-meltingly sexy in the way his bearing made folks step out of his way.
As she emerged from the restroom, her eyes feasted on the delectable sight that was Aleksei. His face had strong Eastern European features, with high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw that looked like they were carved from granite. His feet were covered with the same gray dress sneakers he’d worn yesterday. Today, instead of jeans and a Henley, he wore khakis and an untucked, fitted, white dress shirt.
A cozy, hot-chocolate feeling filled her chest. He’d gotten dressed up for her.
That warmth snaked through her abdomen as he guided her into the theater with a firm hand resting on her lower back. Once they were settled in their seats, she shifted her attention to the playbill the friendly usher had handed her.
“Oh.” The sound escaped her lips before she could censor herself.
“What’s the matter?” Aleksei asked, his accent changing the “a” inmatterto more of an “ah” sound.
She hesitated, letting her teeth sink into her bottom lip. If she answered honestly, he would think she was uncultured and overly sensitive. The theater subscription had been Sage’s idea. They’d already seenMatildaandBeauty and the Beast, so she’d assumed all the plays in the package were upbeat musicals. Now, she regretted coming at all.
She shook her head, irritated by her own insecurity. She wasn’t going to pretend to be something she wasn’t, no matter what Aleksei might think of her.
“I’ve been so busy that I didn’t have a chance to look at what tonight’s play is. It was probably on the sign outside, but somehow, I didn’t see it.”
She hadn’t seen it because she’d been savoring Aleksei’s lean height and square shoulders.
“I didn’t even look at my phone when the usher scanned the QR code. So here we are”—she raised her playbill toward him—“getting ready to seeOf Mice and Men.”
“You’re not a fan of Steinbeck?”
She huffed out a breath. “I’m not a fan of miserable, tragic stories.”
The edge of his lips twitched, and a twinkle of amusement lightened his gray-blue eyes, like sun rays through clouds.
His smile encouraged her to continue. “It was required reading in ninth grade at my high school. I hated Mr. Hoffstetler for it. I woke up with nightmares for weeks. How can teachers do that to kids?”
His hand covered her forearm, and the sunbeams disappeared from his eyes. “Do what?”
“Traumatize kids with horrible stories. I get that somebody decided to call it literature, but I was fifteen and just getting back to school after years of home tutors because of my wrecked immune system. I was desperate for joy and normalcy, and Mr. Hoffstetler rolls out goddamnOf Mice and Men.”
The white-haired woman in front of them whirled around and shot Rosemary a disapproving glare.
