Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (4 page)

Only a few more thrusts before he was grunting and streaming into her. It had taken longer to enter her in the first place, but she’d heard from friends who had already lost their virginity that it didn’t last long. Especially the first time.

“It is better next time.” He brushed from her face the hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I make it better. Do you want to stay?”

She had a curfew, but a night in Alex’s arms was worth her father’s wrath. “Yes.”

Cold air hissed from the air conditioner across the room. She burrowed under the covers and curled up; Alex’s body complemented hers as though designed for it. He tucked his arm around her.

In the morning, the blackout curtains had obscured all but a white glow framing the windows. Alex had woken her with a kiss, a sensuous touch that ignited her like a match to a stick of dynamite. His face was rough with stubble not yet as thick and coarse as it would become, his chest still naked of hair. Nearly a man but not quite.

Then he was inside her again, and it was better, just as he’d promised.

Aleksandr drifted into the kitchen to pour another drink and light a cigarette. “My host mother printed it and framed it for me.” He shrugged. Avoiding eye contact, he tapped the ashes into a ceramic ashtray.

“You’ve kept this all these years.”

“I don’t usually have guests snooping around my condo.” He turned from the counter, eyebrows raised. “Chto yebat? What do you really want?”

“You know how I felt.”

“Stop.” His eyes softened, pleading with her not to dredge it up. She’d chosen anyway, security over love.

“You gave me a purple orchid corsage. I gave you a matching boutonnière. The colors were silver, blue, and purple. Starry night.”

He took a long drag and blew it out slowly.

“You were so nervous, I could feel you shaking. After eight years, I remember every detail.”

He gritted his teeth and hurled the tumbler of vodka at the floor. It shattered inches from her, and liquid splashed her shoes. Stephanie, her heartbeat double-timing, jumped back.

“Get out!” he shouted. “Go back to your safe fucking fiancé and your perfect little life!”

“
My
perfect life? Look who’s talking!”

“You think this is perfect? Do you see a wife or even a fucking girlfriend around here? Do you have any idea how lonely I am no matter how many women I fuck? Do you know why?” He crushed the cigarette and advanced on her, looming like some fairy-tale beast, his face red, fists clenched at his sides. Too much, in that instant, like her father. Stephanie, groped for the doorknob. “Because in eight fucking years, I haven’t been able to let you go! Is that what you want? Are you happy now? You have all you need to write your story. The real Aleksandr Volynsky is a fucking pussy-whipped bitch over the girl he lost his virginity to. Now get the
fuck
out of my house.”

Stephanie stared at him, at his rising and falling chest, into his bloodshot eyes. “Aleksandr, I—”

“You broke my heart.” The crack of his voice on the last word betrayed his otherwise lifeless tone. “And you do it every time I see you. Now please, go away.” He pushed her enough that she stumbled into the hall so he could slam the door in her face.

A thousand thoughts fought for purchase. She had done worse than break his heart, and the cruelest part was that he had no idea.

Stephanie raised her fist to knock but dropped it. She had to let it go. They’d been kids. He was better off
not
knowing.

You broke my heart.

She stared at the door, wondering if he was watching through the peephole, before she walked away.

***

Aleksandr

Valentine’s Day. What a trite day for a wedding. He’d expected better of her.

Sasha leaned into the spray, hot water sluicing over his skin. He’d done the right thing. She had been careless with his heart before, and he could not trust her with it. The upcoming road trip would put necessary physical space between them, at least for ten days. The team had to win half or more of the possible points to deem their trip a success. He needed to focus on that, purge her from his mind. His desideratum. His firebird. A blessing when she’d been his and his curse when she had vanished.

He closed his hand around his erection. He was acting like a complete lunatic around her, his emotions an unnavigable labyrinth. Before this week, life had been simple if not happy. Play hockey, drink, and fuck. Uncomplicated. Concealed in his public façade, he’d buried the pain so long that, resurrected, it was as fresh as raw meat.

Sasha pumped his fist. He remembered their nights together with a clarity nearly a decade and myriad other women should have erased. And would have, if he’d not mythologized her the way he had so many aspects of his life.

She’s engaged, asshole.
She’d had eight years to get in touch, hadn’t she? And she hadn’t.

His gasps echoed in the too-large bathroom. He shuddered, grunted, and clenched his teeth as he came with a guttural sound too closely resembling a sob.

Sasha washed himself and shut off the shower, then grabbed a towel from the rack. Once dry, he wrapped himself in his bathrobe and padded barefoot into the living room, where he switched on the gas fireplace.

She still pronounced his name the proper Russian way: “Ah-lyek-
sahn
-der”, not “Alexander” like everyone else. Hadn’t forgotten. He stared at his cellphone, willing her to call.

It did not ring.

Chapter Four

Stephanie

Dave leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Steph, we need this story.”

“I know. He’s just—”

“Difficult. But that’s your job, to break through and uncover the real deal. Listen, Steph, you know I love having you here—”

Stephanie’s guts clenched.
Here it comes.

“—but with your credentials, I think I expected more.”

Funny, coming from the guy who had refused to assign her anything of substance for three years because he’d deemed her too unseasoned. “I can get this story, Dave. I just need more time to work on him.”

He nudged his glasses up and regarded her as a teacher might a brilliant but lazy student. “You have until the end of next week. And if that story isn’t on my desk by five p.m. next Friday, our conversation will be even less pleasant.”

Stephanie swallowed around the tears rising in her throat. Shawn would have a field day if she broke down at work. “I understand. And I’ll get the story.”

Dave flicked his hand toward the door.

***

Stephanie started the bath, then poured a large glass of wine. She could talk to Joe about most things, but tonight she felt guilty relief she didn’t have to explain her failure, that she could sulk and soak and be asleep before he left the office. She lit some scented candles, dimmed the lights, and plunked a bath bomb into the steamy water.

Aleksandr intruded into her thoughts. She’d stopped believing in so many things by sixteen, chief among them love. There had been so little of it at home, and she’d become jaded enough to know her friends’ proclamations of such were naïve, foolish, a child’s rendering of the concept.

And then, one August morning, the boy who changed her life.

She hadn’t believed in love at first sight or soul mates, hated fairy tales in general and Disney in particular. She’d felt nothing but scorn for the girls who reorganized their lives according to whatever boy they were dating that semester. Yet on a long-ago summer afternoon, love had seemed, with a boy she’d known a mere eight hours, the most natural thing in the world. He’d held her hand under her desk all day long. And she had prayed he would never let go.

Seeing him again had unsealed channels she’d believed blocked off if not forgotten, but she hadn’t expected his presence in her life after so many years. A presence she had gone out of her way to request. And in those channels flowed the truth: her love of the sport was not the incentive for monitoring his career, though he and hockey were inextricably linked. It was that every day, she conceded to the piece of her heart he’d never relinquished. She thought of him, and dreamed. 

She gulped the wine, letting the boozy warmth infuse her limbs, her brain. Anything to get him out, though if eight years hadn’t been enough, one night stood no chance.

***

Aleksandr

Sasha and two of his teammates walked into Teasers, the bouncer having waved them through without charging the cover. It was funny how things worked in this country, how the people who could most afford things often got them free, while those with the least money were expected to pay regardless of their ability to do so.

Tyler had suggested going to one of those seedy places where the girls danced nude. That didn’t surprise Sasha, as Tyler had no class. Sasha had been with enough women that nowadays he liked a little something left to the imagination, and some random coke whore thrusting her diseased pussy in his face failed to impress. So jaded already at twenty-five.

They sat at a small, round table by the main stage. A waitress appeared immediately, her eagerness no doubt spurred by the expectation of a large tip and something more, though Washington State’s ban on the sale of alcohol in strip clubs allowed her to serve only soda or energy drinks. Her tight, black T-shirt clung to her ample breasts, and black boy-shorts hugged a hot little ass. Yes, she might get something more after all, and he whispered as much to her. The waitresses were safer. He distrusted women who took their clothes off for a living.

A woman—and that was being generous—emerged from behind the glittery curtain. He suspected she’d auditioned with a fake ID, because no way in hell was she eighteen. She launched into her routine, peeled off the hooker dress she’d bought at some sex shop, and revealed small breasts with lime-green pasties over the nipples to match her G-string. He felt like a dirty old man watching her hang upside down from the pole, her face passive, disinterested. Trying to get through the night. Probably a runaway. His skin crawled.

Tyler stood at the foot of the stage, waving a fifty. She dropped onto her six-inch heels, squatted with her back to him, and plucked it from him with her ass cheeks, then tucked it into her waistband. He ran his hand up her leg.

“Hey, man, no touching,” a bouncer said.

“Do you know who I am?”

Fucking hell.

“Look who I’m with!”

“I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. No. Touching. I have to tell you again, you’re outta here.”

Not a hockey fan. A lot of those in Seattle.

“She tips you out, right? You really want to throw this away?” He flapped the bill in the bouncer’s face.

“That’s it, motherfucker. Get your ass out of here.” The bouncer, who had a good fifty pounds on Tyler, grabbed his arm.

Sasha jumped up from the table. “Wait, wait.” He set a hand on the bouncer’s shoulder. “Let’s calm down—”

“Who are you telling to calm down? And get your hands off me!” The bouncer released Tyler and shoved Sasha, who stumbled back against the table, his height for once a disadvantage.

He curled his fingers into a fist. Adrenaline was running the show now, and he did not bother to think about the consequences before he drove that fist into the bouncer’s gut. Other men rushed over to restrain him and Tyler until the cops arrived.

Perfect.

At the station, they booked him despite his being able to post immediate bail. Mug shot, fingerprints, and a full body search, which did not humiliate so much as infuriate him. Probably some asshole wanting a peek.
Seven inches,
mudak
. Suck on that.

Hours later, once the booking process had ended and the sun was on the verge of rising, he posted bail and walked out of the county jail. His phone was already ringing. He’d get a disciplinary lineup scratch for breaking the midnight curfew, but he ignored it. He had to get back across town to his car.

“Need a lift?”

The cocktail waitress. He smiled. “Yeah, I do. My car is at the club.”

“Follow me.”

***

She slid her mouth up and down his shaft and stopped to run her tongue around the tip. Then she wriggled out of her shorts and panties and straddled him despite the confines of her Chevy Cavalier. Even with the passenger seat pushed all the way back, his long legs once again proved incompatible with compact cars. No way in hell were they having sex in his Mercedes, though.

She leaned in for a kiss. He seized her upper arm, and she flinched. “If you use your mouth, you use it to suck my dick. But you do
not
kiss me. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her eyes wide. He let go, and she rubbed her arm. “What do you have against kissing?”

“Nothing.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Could feel Stephanie’s silken, downward-turned Natalie Portman lips on his. “Forget it.” He dug a condom out of his pocket, tore open the wrapper, and rolled it down his cock. He shifted so he could slide into her, his hands on her hips as she bounced. He laid his head against the headrest.

If he kept them closed, he could almost pretend.

***

Stephanie

Two Hockey Players Arrested in Altercation at Strip Club:
Tyler Long and Aleksandr Volynsky of the Seattle Earthquakes were arrested last night at a local strip club, according to police reports. Andrew Gagne was also present but not arrested. Police say Long and Volynsky provoked a physical confrontation with one of the club’s bouncers, Michael Johnson, when Long allegedly violated the club’s no-touching rule. Both men posted bail and were released. Assault charges were later dropped at Johnson’s request.

“It’s over now, the charges were dropped, and they’ve paid for it—literally,” the Earthquakes’ general manager, Pat Mason, said. “Coach has decided both Volynsky and Long will be scratched for the next game. The commissioner has fined both players but will not be pursuing hearings and/or suspensions.”

“God.” Stephanie rubbed her temples. She had her work cut out for her with the poster boy for everything wrong with professional sports. She picked up her phone.

Stephanie: Coworkers are doing karaoke after work. Gonna tag along. Meet up later?

Joe: Nah, lots to do. Have fun. Shawn going?

Stephanie: No, he never goes if I do. I ruin his fun :)

Joe: Ha ha, good. See ya later.

***

The group arrived at the Den, a sports-and-karaoke bar with a small stage and a DJ in the back room. The bar was charming in its squalor, the cocktails cheap and stiff, and the staff sociable. After flipping through the karaoke binders and putting in their requests, Stephanie and
King County Today
’s receptionist, Rhonda, ordered burgers and fries. They ate their delicious dive-bar meal as one by one, karaoke singers vacillating between amazing and horrible warbled from the room behind them. There was already an hour-long rotation wait.

“Heard things didn’t go so well.”

“Hence the booze.” She clinked her glass with Rhonda’s.

By the third drink, aware of her tongue’s increasing clumsiness and the slur on the last word of each sentence, she’d told Rhonda the entire wretched story. Rhonda offered a sympathetic nod or
tsk
in all the right places, until a hush descended on the bar as an extraordinary baritone crooned “Into My Arms” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

“What in the world is
that
?”

“We should find out.” Stephanie slid off the barstool. She and Rhonda edged their way through the crowd and into the back, standing room only. “Oh. My. God.”

“Isn’t that Volynsky?”

Half the crowd was recording video that guaranteed thousands of YouTube views. Wolf-whistles and shouts of “Sasha!” attended the caramel voice—rich, smooth, with a hint of darkness—flowing from his lips. Born to perform, as an athlete or otherwise. Soaking in his audience’s adulation. In his superiority. Despite the pop-music confines, he could not help but assert his obvious classical training.

Despite the women vying for his attention at the front of the stage, his gaze homed in on her with a laser’s exactitude, rooting her to the floor. And from then on, he did not look anywhere else until the song ended, as if he knew she could not have left if she’d wanted to.

Mic drop. He raised his arms, flashed victory signs, and hopped off the stage to raucous applause. He’d have to ruin the moment, the pompous ass.

“I need to get out of here.”

“You okay to go by yourself? Let me call you a cab.”

“I’ll be fine. I can call Joe if I need to.”

“All right. Be safe.”

“I will.” They hugged. “See you on Monday.”

She weaved her way through the throng, trying to keep her head down but needing visual confirmation she and Aleksandr were not about to cross paths.

And smacked into a solid, T-shirt-clad chest. She reluctantly lifted her chin.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Intoxication had thickened his accent.

“I’m on my way out. Nice job getting arrested, by the way. Good-bye.”

“Wait. Don’t go yet.” He grasped her arm and refused to let go despite her attempt to dig her heels into the floor. The obsequious clearing of a path for him nauseated her. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was a spoiled brat. He led her to a corner in the back room. “I apologize.”

“How noble of you.” Stephanie tried to wriggle away. She was close enough to feel the hard contours of his muscles, the heat radiating off him.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like, seeing you again after all these years?”

She had been trying to drink it away all week.
“Aleksandr, my job is on the line because of you. I need a story or I’m done. And you know what? I don’t even care anymore. My fiancé wants to move back East anyway.”

The pained expression again, more naked now that the barriers had fallen. “I tried to forget about you after we lost touch. I wanted to. But I just…couldn’t.”