Page 27 of Secret Husband
“Are you okay, Silver Eyes? You do not seem yourself.”
Silver Eyes. I hadn’t heard him say that since the first morning we skated together, and now the endearment unraveled me. Tears pressed against my throat and a sudden urge to unload all my drama on him almost overwhelmed me. I wanted him to take me somewhere, anywhere, so we could be alone.
“I—”
“Lexy!” A high-pitched voice interrupted whatever I was about to vomit. A pretty little thing peeked from behind Nazarov’s shoulder. “I left my panties at your place and—oh, sorry!” She giggled as if she’d just realized I was there.
“I did not see them,” he said. “But I will be on the lookout for—what color are they?”
As if he needed that distinguishing information. So many dropped panties stuffed down sofa cushions, I supposed.
“Pink, of course.” She rubbed against him. “Or I could come over and we could look for them together?”
“Not tonight, rybka.” He booped her nose. “I will let you know.”
“Okay,” she said breathily before she reluctantly slipped away into the crowd.
The interruption dowsed an ice-cold vat of common sense all over me. A boy like Nazarov was not the guy in whom I should confide my troubles.
I coughed to clear the stupid emotion from my throat. “What does that mean? Some sweet nothing?”
“Yes. Sweet and nothing.”
“Because you don’t remember her name?”
He shrugged. “I cannot remember the name of everyone I meet. But for that one, I used ‘rybka’ which means ‘little fish’. She is always trying to hook me.”
I chuckled, feeling strangely cheered by this. It was good to see him for what he was: a glittering, sexy playboy, here for the college experience. Better to view him as some random sex object with two brain cells, one dedicated to hockey, the other to sex. My harmless crush would inevitably fade, and the sting would be soothed by time.
“What is so funny?” My sadness of before was forgotten—by him, if not by me.
I picked up my beer and gave him a friendly wink. “Never change, Nazarov.” And then I headed back to my people to monitor their alcohol intake and play at adult in the room.
Chapter Ten
Lauren
* * *
I stood in the center of my disaster of a kitchen and asked myself for the zillionth time: why had I decided to renovate my house while I was trying to get my business off the ground?
I had started four months ago, right after I closed on this charming fixer-upper in Riverbrook. Owning a home had been a goal of mine for as long as I could remember. While I played professionally, I resisted the urge to put down roots because I might have been traded out at any minute. Even when I started working as an agent at The Mallinson Group, I bided my time. I was looking for something special, a house that spoke to me, and when I found it, I knew why.
It looked like the house I lived in until the age of twelve when my mother died and my father was imprisoned. Of course I couldn’t afford the actual house I grew up in, a gorgeous Lincoln Park mansion that was worth close to two million these days. But this one gave me the same feeling once I spotted it—a two-level brownstone with high ceilings, exposed brickwork, and in need of a shit-ton of TLC. The owner lived in Italy and had just inherited it from his grandmother, so he was looking for a quick sale.
Then the work began. Floors ripped up, walls caved in, cabinets torn down. The plumber had hooked up the kitchen sink last week, so at least I had that. This month, I was working on painting. Gunnar had come over every weekend to help since I bought it, so I wasn’t completely alone. I’d hinted to Thad that it would be a fun thing to do together, but he didn’t see it that way: that’s why we have contractors, babe. Of course, he didn’t have the connection to it that I did. Thad preferred a hassle-free living space, and I couldn’t fault him for that.
This morning, I wouldn’t have minded something similar. Not just a hassle-free space, but a hassle-free life.
I stepped over a hole in the floor and turned on the Keurig. No life-affirming light greeted me, which meant the kitchen fuse needed to be fixed. Again. Something screwy had occurred with the electrics when we tore out the walls.
It tasted better when someone else made it anyway.
Standing in line at the coffee shop, I felt someone touch my shoulder. I turned to find Franky.
“Lo—hi.”
“Oh, hi, Franks.” I gave her a hug. “How are you?”
