Page 76 of Twisted Little Game

11

Roman

“It’s been too long,” Natalia purrs near my ear as she wraps her arms around my waist, drawing me close. She stands up on her tiptoes, leaning in close to my lips.

I angle my face on pure instinct at the last moment.

Her mouth lands awkwardly on my jaw instead of my lips, and I gently push her off of me.

“Fuck, Romik,” she says, looking at me with wide eyes, holding her hands up. She gives me a wary smile. “I’m only saying hello.”

Tate is standing just past Natalia and I look up and catch his eyes on me.

We just walked into Capp’s Diner to find that Maks wasn’t alone. Natalia was not someone I thought I’d be seeing today.

I turn to greet Maks, giving him a tight hug.

“Nata was just on her way out,” Maks says. “We had a late coffee.”

“And Maks didn’t even tell me you were on your way,” Natalia says, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Romik’s been avoiding me.”

The sound of her using that cutesy little nickname for me burrows under my skin, bothering me in a way it never has. Natalia’s always been affectionate with me, even in a platonic way while she was dating other men.

We’ve never fucked.

She’s desperately wanted it a few times in the past, and certainly wants it now.

I can smell it on her, and she isn’t exactly trying to hide it anyway.

“Not avoiding,” I tell her, and it’s mostly not a lie. “I’ve been occupied.”

She reaches out to squeeze my arm. “Too busy to come to your father’s Sunday dinners. Well, we all miss you, and…” she turns toward Tate, then back to me. “Kto etot blondin?”

“Ask him yourself. In English, Nata.”

She spins to Tate again. “Well, so. Who are you, cute blondie? Do you speak?”

Tate immediately gives her his wide, warm smile. The way Nata asked about him was fucking rude, but Tate… Tate is good with everyone. His face opens up brightly like it always does, even though I want to put a muzzle on Natalia right now.

“I’m Tate,” he says, holding out his hand to shake hers.

“Pleasure.”

I watch Nata’s eyes roam over him. Tate has on one of his usual tank tops, this time a light olive-toned one that brings out the radiant green in his eyes. He’s always actively trying to show off his body, and she notices it.

Suddenly I wish I’d marked him earlier.

Bitten him down his sides, or sucked a fat, dark mark onto his neck for her to see. While she’s looking at him, it feels like she’s looking at something of mine.

And now Tate’s not watching me at all. His eyes sparkle as he looks at her, because he gives everyone his full attention.

“Your dress is fucking awesome,” Tate tells her. “Margiela is my favorite designer.”

“You know of him?” Nata asks, sliding her hands over her tight black dress that has a gothic-style look, with a few thin chains embedded directly along the waist.

“I have a custom mulberry Margiela suit. It’s my favorite thing I own.”

“Ooh, fancy fancy,” Natalia says, glancing back over to me to waggle her eyebrows. “I like him.”