Read Online Sex, Lies & Nikolai by R.J. Lewis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R.J. Lewis
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slides it to me, a hair away from touching me.
I know he’s not talking about the orange juice. There’s a suppressed side of me that likes that he’s not talking about the orange juice.
I look into his pale blue eyes. “Three dollars and fifty cents,” I tell him, my voice surprisingly steady.
He pulls out his change and takes an absurdly long time sorting through it. He looks at me every couple seconds, his eyes dancing along my face. But just as I question his look for intrigue, it vanishes back to casual.
“Did you make it home without a problem last night?” he quietly asks without looking at me, sliding his change across the counter. His words are not delivered in that confident way I expect.
I nod, thinking he’s just making small talk. “Yes.”
“I should have made sure of it.”
I give him a perplexed look. Nobody’s ever said something like that to me. “Don’t worry about it. I can take care of myself.”
He thinks on my words and then tilts his head to the side. “Of course you can, rybka.”
There’s something odd about his expression as he looks me dead in the eye. An awkward pause follows, and I’m not sure what to say.
“Have you eaten?” he then asks. “There’s more life in you today.”
My cheeks heat at the hint of concern in him. It’s all so bloody foreign to me. “I have.”
“Good.”
Good.
Like it matters to him.
Like he cares that I’ve eaten. Why would he when he was so quick to refuse me a loan?
I feel awkward about this whole thing. He knows I ate because of his charity, and I feel like I’d be a bitch if I don’t acknowledge that. Loan or not, he helped me.
I nervously squeeze the fake gem around my necklace before I finally say, “Thank you.”
“For what?” he has the audacity to ask. Maybe he likes making me uncomfortable, but judging by the seriousness in his voice I think he genuinely wants to know.
“For the money,” I whisper very quietly, conscious of the fact Benji is not far off and I don’t want him to hear me.
He doesn’t respond; he just studies me, his expression masterfully concealed. It makes me regret the words instantly.
I count the change – always exact – and bag his juice. I give it to him and he takes it from me, but his hand runs down my wrist when he does. It’s a quick move, but he touches me just the same. My mouth parts as I look at him, knowing I won’t get an answer from those indecipherable eyes.
“My receipt,” Nikolai reminds me.
My brain is mush. I don’t know how I forgot it. I hand him the receipt and he takes it, deliberately brushing his fingers against mine.
He’s touching me for a reason, I can feel it. I just don’t know why, but it’s making every inch of me come alive. Like last night, I’m sensitive to the slightest touch, like my skin is thirsty for it. He watches my face closely, and I feel utterly transparent.
“You shouldn’t thank me,” he then tells me. “You earned it, and it was worth every penny.”
I don’t respond to that. I’m all tongue-tied and stupid. I look like a mute, nodding stiffly at him while my cheeks burst in flames. I hate him for this effect on me. For making me feel this way in general.
What is it about you Nikolai that makes me squirm when you look at me?
“Don’t come back to my store again, rybka,” he then adds. “Not unless it’s daytime and you have something to give.”
I’m taken aback, and confused. “What could I possibly have to give?”
“It’s a pawn shop. You give me something, I pay. Think about it carefully.”
“I’ve got nothing of value.”
He tilts his head to the side again, and I wish more than anything to understand that expression on his face. “Figure it out.”
I stare at him blankly. Because, again, I’m stupid.
“You can find me there in the afternoons,” he continues. “My men will take you straight to my office. When you want something from me, that’s where I’ll be.”
When I want something
I know he’s not talking about the orange juice. There’s a suppressed side of me that likes that he’s not talking about the orange juice.
I look into his pale blue eyes. “Three dollars and fifty cents,” I tell him, my voice surprisingly steady.
He pulls out his change and takes an absurdly long time sorting through it. He looks at me every couple seconds, his eyes dancing along my face. But just as I question his look for intrigue, it vanishes back to casual.
“Did you make it home without a problem last night?” he quietly asks without looking at me, sliding his change across the counter. His words are not delivered in that confident way I expect.
I nod, thinking he’s just making small talk. “Yes.”
“I should have made sure of it.”
I give him a perplexed look. Nobody’s ever said something like that to me. “Don’t worry about it. I can take care of myself.”
He thinks on my words and then tilts his head to the side. “Of course you can, rybka.”
There’s something odd about his expression as he looks me dead in the eye. An awkward pause follows, and I’m not sure what to say.
“Have you eaten?” he then asks. “There’s more life in you today.”
My cheeks heat at the hint of concern in him. It’s all so bloody foreign to me. “I have.”
“Good.”
Good.
Like it matters to him.
Like he cares that I’ve eaten. Why would he when he was so quick to refuse me a loan?
I feel awkward about this whole thing. He knows I ate because of his charity, and I feel like I’d be a bitch if I don’t acknowledge that. Loan or not, he helped me.
I nervously squeeze the fake gem around my necklace before I finally say, “Thank you.”
“For what?” he has the audacity to ask. Maybe he likes making me uncomfortable, but judging by the seriousness in his voice I think he genuinely wants to know.
“For the money,” I whisper very quietly, conscious of the fact Benji is not far off and I don’t want him to hear me.
He doesn’t respond; he just studies me, his expression masterfully concealed. It makes me regret the words instantly.
I count the change – always exact – and bag his juice. I give it to him and he takes it from me, but his hand runs down my wrist when he does. It’s a quick move, but he touches me just the same. My mouth parts as I look at him, knowing I won’t get an answer from those indecipherable eyes.
“My receipt,” Nikolai reminds me.
My brain is mush. I don’t know how I forgot it. I hand him the receipt and he takes it, deliberately brushing his fingers against mine.
He’s touching me for a reason, I can feel it. I just don’t know why, but it’s making every inch of me come alive. Like last night, I’m sensitive to the slightest touch, like my skin is thirsty for it. He watches my face closely, and I feel utterly transparent.
“You shouldn’t thank me,” he then tells me. “You earned it, and it was worth every penny.”
I don’t respond to that. I’m all tongue-tied and stupid. I look like a mute, nodding stiffly at him while my cheeks burst in flames. I hate him for this effect on me. For making me feel this way in general.
What is it about you Nikolai that makes me squirm when you look at me?
“Don’t come back to my store again, rybka,” he then adds. “Not unless it’s daytime and you have something to give.”
I’m taken aback, and confused. “What could I possibly have to give?”
“It’s a pawn shop. You give me something, I pay. Think about it carefully.”
“I’ve got nothing of value.”
He tilts his head to the side again, and I wish more than anything to understand that expression on his face. “Figure it out.”
I stare at him blankly. Because, again, I’m stupid.
“You can find me there in the afternoons,” he continues. “My men will take you straight to my office. When you want something from me, that’s where I’ll be.”
When I want something