From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata
“You’re being touchy.”
“You’re being touchy.”
“All I’m doing is making sure you aren’t setting yourself up for disappointment later on,” he said, his tone off and strange and rough, and that made me stop skating so I could really get a good look at him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I frowned, watching as he stopped a moment after I did and turned to face me. I wished he wasn’t so much taller than me. It was annoying how he literally had to tip his chin down to look at me.
“You heard me,” he said in a tone that made my palm itch.
“What the hell would I have to be disappointed over?” Chances were my eyes were either already bugging out or well on their way to.
And this idiot blinked. “Not getting to partner up with me for longer.”
I stared at him, thinking he was joking but knowing with an ego the size of his, he was genuinely telling me the fucked-up thoughts in his head. “I’ll be just fine, Lucifer. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to get that attached to you. Your personality isn’t that awesome.”
I wasn’t surprised when he genuinely looked offended. “You know, there’s a lot of people who would love this opportunity.”
“Yeah, and there’s a lot of people who would appreciate this opportunity but know you don’t shit out golden eggs, buddy.”
His eyelids hung low over his almost transparent blue eyes. “Golden eggs?”
“Yeah, you haven’t heard of Mother Goose?”
He fully blinked. “A picture book?”
That wiped my expression clean, at least until I narrowed my eyes at him. “So what if I fucking like picture books and your sister reads out menus to me?” I blurted out, before I could remind myself not to engage in this shit.
Ivan seemed to rear back for a moment before blinking. Then he shook his head. “I knew you were mad. I knew it.”
Damn it. “I’m not mad, dumbass.”
He shook that dark head. “You literally yelled at me fifteen seconds ago.”
I blinked, fisting my hand without even realizing it. “Because you get on my nerves.”
“Over me talking about you liking picture books. I’ve said worse things to you and you haven’t batted an eyelash, but—”
Was he right? Of course he was. Was I going to admit it? Hell no.
“I’m not mad,” I repeated, trying to tell myself to calm down and keep it cool. To not let him get the best of me because it wouldn’t be worth it. It wouldn’t. Nope.
“You’re mad,” he insisted.
I slid him a look. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” he kept going, not realizing he was pissing me off more and more… or maybe he did know and he just didn’t care. It was Ivan. It could be either. “You aren’t the first woman to lie and tell me you’re not mad when you really are.”
I was going to sock him one of these days, and he was going to deserve it.
But I could only do it when we weren’t in public. I couldn’t forget that stipulation.
“Don’t compare me to your exes,” I gritted out.
Something strange came over his face so fast, and was gone just as quickly, that I might have thought I was imagining it. But I wasn’t.
Before he could feed me some more bullshit or try to bring up his ex-girlfriends or ex-partners or whoever the fuck else he was referring to, I kept going. “I don’t care what you think about me, Ivan. If I did, then this would be a different story, but I don’t. There isn’t anything you can say to me that would hurt my feelings.”
His blink that time was different. Slower. Longer. But it still only lasted about three seconds before his facial expression was back to normal, and he said, “I know you well enough.”
“You don’t know shit,” I clipped.
But this man had never been one to back down, and I doubted he ever would. He stared at me for a moment, taking a deep breath, then letting it back out. “I know you better than you think I do.”
It was my turn to take a breath in and out. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, I told myself. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t care. I knew what this was for. A year. A possibility to win. A possibility to get a permanent partner afterward.
“No. You don’t,” I claimed, making sure my exhale was nice and smooth instead of choppy. The last thing I wanted was for him to know he was having any kind of effect on me.
“I leave you both alone for four minutes and you’re already arguing,” Coach Lee’s familiar voice carried out across the ice from her spot by the boards, as she unclipped her skate guards to join us on the ice. “Are you two ever going to get along?”
Ivan said, “Yes” at the same time I said, “No,” giving him a dirty-ass look as I said it.
Coach Lee sighed, not even looking up as she did it. “Forget I asked. Let’s get started, shall we?”
I should have known that today would be the day this would happen, I thought to myself, as I turned the key in the ignition and heard nothing. Not the choke of the engine trying to turn on. Nothing. Just a click.
“Goddammit,” I hissed as I banged my forearms on the steering wheel and hissed out, “Mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch-ass-whore. FUCK ME!”
Why? Why did this have to happen? If I cried, right then I would feel totally justified for doing it.
I was tired. My ankle, wrist, and knees hurt from Ivan dropping me on the fucking ice as we worked on twists—which meant he hurled me straight up into the air, while I tried to do at least three turns at the peak of height, and then he caught me again on the way down. He had only dropped me three times, but it might as well have been a dozen. He’d dropped me twice that amount on the mats, if not more.
All I wanted to do was go home. It was Saturday afternoon, early enough so that no one had arrived at the LC for evening and night lessons, and it was my night off from Pilates and the runs I’d been going on multiple times a week, usually with my brother, who had only just barely begun to forgive me for not telling him about Ivan. It was my night to have dinner without rushing because I needed to get to bed or take an ice bath, or whatever else there was to do.
And all I wanted was to go eat the lasagna and chocolate cake my mom had said she was going to make. I’d been dreaming about her husband’s garlic breadsticks for the last two days since she had let me know Saturday was going to be the day so I could plan my cheat meal around red meat and cheese.
And I was stuck.
Of course I was going to be stranded.
Drawing my phone out of my bag, I tried to think of who I could call. I had declined roadside assistance on my insurance because it made it more expensive. I could call my oldest brother, but according to our group chat message from earlier, he had left for a trip out of town that morning with some girl he was seeing. Jonathan would tell me to look up what to do on YouTube, and my mom’s husband was worthless with cars. My mom, though, would tell me to call my uncle, who had his own mechanic shop and a tow truck.
So…
I looked through my contacts for the right number and hit send. Three rings later, his low voice came up on the other end with, “Baby girl, how’s it going?”
I couldn’t help but smile. He and my grandpa were the only ones who ever called me things like that. “Hi, Uncle Jeff. I’m alive, you?”
“Still kicking, sweetie.”
“I’m sorry to bother you—”
He let out a muffled chuckle. “How many times have I told you you’re not a bother? What’s going on?”
“My car won’t start,” I told him immediately. “The engine isn’t turning; there’s just a click sound. I didn’t leave my lights on.”
He made a humming noise. “How old is your battery?”
Shit. “I have no idea.”
He laughed. “Chances are it’s your battery, but I’d like to take a look at it. Your terminals might be corroded, and I could clean them up for you, but I won’t know until I take a look. Problem is, I’m in Austin today an
“I’m in the parking lot of the Lukov Complex,” I replied.
“Could you leave it there until I get back into town tomorrow?”
Tomorrow…. All I had to do was go for a run, have a stretch, and buy my weekly groceries. I could borrow my mom’s car for that. “Yeah, I can leave it here.”
“Okay, leave it there. Tomorrow I can meet you, take a look at it, and let you know what’s going on, is that all right?”
It was either that or paying a tow truck driver hundreds of dollars, which I needed for other things, to tow my car home or to his shop, which was closed anyway. “It’s fine. Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Girl, what did I just say? You’re never a bother. I’ll see you tomorrow though, honey. It’ll be early evening, so keep that busy schedule open for me. It was about time I dropped by to see your mama anyway. It’s been long enough, she needs somebody to remind her she looked like a troll under the bridge before she hit puberty,” he laughed.
I smiled. “You’re the only one who can do it. She almost beat my ass the last time I told her I thought I saw a wrinkle on her face.”
He laughed more. “All right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sorry again I can’t help you out today.”
“It’s okay. Bye, Uncle Jeff.”
“Bye-bye, Jasmine baby,” he said before hanging up.
I felt better as I hung up the phone.
Then remembered I still had to get home.
Fucking shit.
Shoving the door open, I got out of the car and went around to the other side as I decided who would give me the least amount of hell if I asked for a ride. I was opening the passenger door to grab my bag, debating whether Ruby or Tali would be the best option when a car honked. I ignored it as I grabbed my bag and swung it out, closing the door with my hip as the sound of a car honking again made me glance over my shoulder… and regret it.
Because in a black car with sleek lines and the driver-side window rolled down was a face I knew too well.
“Want some candy, little girl?” the idiot asked as he placed a forearm on the door and shoved his black-framed, black-lensed glasses up onto the top of his equally dark hair.
I blinked as I took a step back and let my butt rest against my mustard-colored passenger door of my Subaru. “Not from you,” I replied, watching the guy I had tried my best not to talk to all afternoon.
He didn’t flinch or make a face, but raised his eyebrows. “Need a ride?”
How the hell did he know I needed a ride?
“I saw you get into your car and start banging on the steering wheel,” he went on, like he knew what I was wondering. “I don’t have any jumper cables.”
Of course he didn’t. His car was not even a year old. His car before that had been a midnight blue BMW that couldn’t have been more than three years old.
“Get in,” he kept going.
“I—”
“I’ll give you a ride. Stop overthinking it. You don’t even have to pay me.”
Oh God. I hated him. I hated him even more when he smiled like he thought he was hilarious.
I could call Jojo or Tali or Ben or James or Ruby. They would come get me. I knew they would. Even if they were already over at my mom’s.
“You really want to wait around here for someone to come get you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows again.
He had me there.
But I also didn’t want to get into the car with him, so….
“Get in, loser.”
And that had me blinking. “Did you just quote—”
“I don’t have all day. Let’s go. You don’t want to wait around, and neither do I,” he finished before tipping his head toward his passenger seat.
Shit.
Two other cars had parked in the lot while we’d been arguing, and I could see the families getting out of their vehicles. Did I want to be out there arguing with Ivan while people watched? Maybe. But I had said we would do better and keep going with this façade so….
“Fine,” I muttered, fully aware I sounded like an ungrateful ass and only slightly feeling bad about it. I took a step toward his Tesla and then stopped, narrowing my eyes at him. “You promise you won’t kill me?”
He grinned. “I promise if I do, it’ll be quick and painless.”
I did this to myself.
“I’m going to take a picture of your license plate so if my body comes up missing, they’ll check your car for my DNA.”
“I have bleach,” he returned immediately.
Why was he being… it wasn’t nice, but more… not a total asshole?
I frowned at him as I walked around the back of the car to take a picture of his license plate, because even though I realistically knew that Ivan wasn’t actually going to kill me, someone should still know where I was. At least that’s exactly what I would tell my sisters to do if they were in my position. You couldn’t trust anyone.
Circling back around the front of the car after sending my mom a picture of Ivan’s plate number, because if there was anyone who would raise hell to get me back, it was that woman, I got inside the car and set my duffel on the floor, then clipped my seat belt in.
Then, cringing on the inside, I turned to look at Ivan and forced an almost-smile on my face as I slowly murmured, “Thank you,” like each word was getting plucked out of my mouth with pliers.
“Don’t sound so excited,” he replied. Then he smiled. “Which bridge do you live under and how do we get there?”
“I can’t stand you.”
He snickered as he dropped his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose and faced forward. “Where to?”
I wrinkled my nose but gave him the directions to start off, watching in silence as he turned one way and then the other before guiding the quiet, beautiful car onto the freeway. I took turns looking out the window, then glancing at the huge screen built into the dashboard, and then looking back at Ivan when I didn’t think he could see me. The last thing I wanted was for him to catch me taking in how perfectly shaped his nose was, and how well it fit into the profile of the rest of his bone structure. His jaw was this thing that I’d overheard the older teenage girls babble over. His cheekbones and brow bones were proportionate to the rest of his face. To me, his face reminded me of one that would belong to a prince or something. Royal.
Not that I would ever admit that.
And it wasn’t like it mattered when under that pretty face and pretty skin was evil incarnate.
“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Ivan drawled all of a sudden.
I blinked and thought about glancing away but decided that would look even worse. “I will. I think the encyclopedia needs an entry on Assholes and could use your picture as an example.”
His right hand let go of the steering wheel and covered a spot over his heart. “Ouch.”
I snorted. “Oh please.”
He glanced at me with those crazy dark glasses covering his eyes. “What? You don’t think you could hurt me?”
“You need a heart for it to hurt.”
His hand didn’t go anywhere. “Ouch, Jasmine. Really. I have a heart.”
“It doesn’t count if it’s made out of sticks and stones and painted red.”
The only corner of his mouth I could see, turned up just a little. “I made it out of clay, Meatball. Give me some credit.”
I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. But I snickered and turned my face away, like if he couldn’t see me doing it, it wasn’t actually happening.
“You know, we might be able to get along if we tried,” he said after a moment, while I still had my face turned away.
I wanted to look at him… because there was a lot a person’s face couldn’t hide, especially a face I figured I knew as well as Ivan’s… but I made sure to keep my gaze out the window. Because Ivan and me as friends? Why was he bringing it up and asking? I wasn’t sure what his motives were. “I don’t know about all that,” I told him honestly.
“But you aren’t your sister. Your personalities are totally different.” Because they were. Karina was sweet most of the time, but had a backbone that I respected a lot. She didn’t take most things seriously, unless she really cared about them. She balanced me out. She was warm and easygoing where I… wasn’t.
He hummed but said, “I didn’t think you made so many excuses.”
Now that had me glancing at him. “I’m not making excuses.”
Ivan had his gaze forward as he said, “Sounds like it to me.”
“I’m not—” Was I? Shit.
“You always say you can do everything—”
“Because I can.” Then I frowned. “Lee only asked us to be nice to each other. We’ve been… handling it.”
He didn’t say a word; he just lifted his shoulder like he was egging me on. But why the hell would he do that?
“It’d be easier if you didn’t hate me,” he added.
I frowned at the windshield. “I don’t hate you.”
That time he did glance at me, his expression even, but something about it still disbelieving.
“I don’t hate you,” I repeated, looking at him even though he’d glanced away by then. “Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because you’ve said, ‘I hate you.’”
I blinked. “That doesn’t mean I really hate you. I didn’t know you were that sensitive. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you-hate you.”
His snicker was annoying. “I don’t really care if you hate me.”
That had me rolling my eyes. “Let’s be friends, but I don’t care if we are or not, okay,”
I mocked him, shaking my head because that didn’t make any fucking sense at all.
“So?”
He was still going with this? “So what?”
“So, yes or no?”
Yes or no? To us being friends when I didn’t understand why he would bother to try? When he made it seem like he didn’t care whether we were or not? The fuck? Was this how people became friends in real life? I didn’t know. How the hell would I? Every friend I had I’d made back when I didn’t distrust every person I met.
And Ivan?