Dima
I throw a couple hundred dollar bills down to pay for our table’s tab at the microbrewery. We’re in our new locale, a small town two hours away from Chicago, where Natasha’s started her naturopathy studies.
We moved in a month ago–Nikolai and Adrian caravaning along to help us buy and move furniture into the house I rented.
“Oh, hey, you don’t have to pick up the tab,” Josh, one of Natasha’s new classmates says, putting his credit card on the table. We met a group of them at the pub close to campus for Friday happy hour.
We’re trying to make an effort to be social in our new environment, which is challenging since we drive back to Chicago most every weekend. We decided to delay our departure until tomorrow so we could go out and make friends.
I slide it back. “I’ve got it.”
“What did you say you do?” Josh asks.
“Oh, he’s Russian mafiya,” Natasha says. She’s slightly tipsy, which makes her twice as adorable.
The group laughs uproariously at her joke and she turns a brilliant smile on me, scooting closer to stroke a finger down my tattoos.
“No, really,” Josh persists.
“Imports,” I say, like I’m James Bond. “From Russia.”
It’s not a lie. Ravil’s cell smuggles all kinds of goods in from Russia. I’ve kept busy working for him remotely.
We have an Echo device set up in the kitchen, so the assholes back at the penthouse can just “drop in” with their device for easy voice-activated video conferencing. I talk to them every day, so missing that hasn’t been a big deal.
It is strange to be social, though. I hadn’t made friends outside the occupants of the Kremlin since I moved to the States. Natasha’s a natural, though. She bonds with most anyone she meets, so she’s been making friends and trying to get me out from behind my screen.
We slide out of our seats and I lace my fingers through hers to walk out.
“You’re driving, right?” She stumbles a bit as she gets her legs working.
I smile down at her. “Of course.”
“And then you’re going to do naughty things with me?” She looks up at me with total adoration in those sea-green eyes and I experience one of those moments of pain, where I realize I almost missed out on all of this. Every perfect second being Natasha’s man.
“Obviously.” I wink.
“Oh good. Just making sure.”
I hold the door open to the Land Rover and help her.
“You’re not sorry, are you?” she asks when I climb behind the wheel.
“Sorry? For what?”
“For moving here with me. I know it must be so boring for you. Do you get restless while I’m in class?”
“No, amerikanets. Being with with you is all the thrill I need.”
“Are you sure? Because if you wanted to live back at the Kremlin, I could–”
“No way,” I interrupt. “This is where I want to be. Wherever you are.” I shrug. “I love everything about our life.”
“I love you so much,” she gushes. “And I know I sound a little tipsy, but it’s all true. I’m crazy, madly in love with you.”
“I’m crazy, madly in love with you, Natasha.” I step on the gas so I can get my woman home and ravish her.
The phone rings over the audio system and I pick up because it’s Nikolai and I do miss the hell out of him.
“What’s up, mudak?” I ask.
“I need you to dig up everything you can on Chelle Goldberg.”
“Zane’s sister?” I smirk because she showed up at our game last weekend to pay off some of her brother’s gambling debt and it was clear she and Nikolai had some kind of chemistry going.
“Da.”
“Now, look who’s cyberstalking a woman.”
“Shut up or I will tell your fiance the full extent of your creepiness. I know I’m on speaker. Hi, Natasha.”
“Hi, Nikolai,” Natasha says with a laugh. “What’s the full extent of Dima’s creepiness?”
“Nevermind,” I interrupt. “We don’t need to go there. You want the full dossier on Chelle?”
“I want everything.”
“Give me a couple days.”
“I need it tomorrow.”
I grin at Natasha and lift my brows before I tell him, “I’ll see what I can do.” He ends the call as I pull up in front of our place.
“Come on, beautiful,” I say as I get out of the Land Rover. “I need to get you naked.”
“Yep, that works for me.” She hops out throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and lifting her lips for a kiss.
I lock lips with her, scoop my forearm under her ass, and pick her up so she straddles my waist.
“How did I get so lucky?” I murmur as I walk up the steps to our door.
A flash of movement in the night sky above us catches my eye and I suck in my breath.
“What?” Natasha asks, craning her neck.
“I just saw a shooting star.”
She gasps. “I missed it! You’re so lucky.”
Yes.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
