Chapter 33

DIMITRI

I hate parties.

But she enjoys them.

As I step into the club, completely out of my element, and see all the young, happy people, my self-doubts begin to surface. ~Anya doesn’t deserve someone like me. She deserves someone younger, her age, someone full of hope and who shares her interests.~

After she calls to me, looking stunning, I don’t feel better about myself. I scraped together my Halloween costume from Blake’s old collection in storage, while she looks like she spent hours planning hers.

Her short white outfit sticks to her curves, tight for intentional reasons. It exposes a good glimpse of her cleavage, which has my nails kissing my palms when I see other men steal glances at her.

The zombie makeup only covers half of her face; the other half is gorgeous—just her pure innocence. If zombies were like her, they wouldn’t be making scary movies about them.

She beams delightedly when she reaches me, her giddy expression shining with the lights above. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she says, holding my hands.

Her fingers are soft, so soft, unlike mine.

“You look pretty,” I whisper, choking through an onslaught of emotions that clog my throat at her sight.

“I’m literally wearing zombie makeup.”

“You’re always beautiful to me.”

The music descends, cross-fading into something romantic and disastrously alluring.

“Okay, cheesy man,” she chuckles. “You do talk like an English professor.”

Staring blankly, I am lost in the way she phrased that fact. “I am an English professor.”

The smile on her lips grows before one of her hands reaches up to pinch my cheek. “Aw, you’re so cute sometimes.” Only Anya Renée can live after calling me cute. And she knows it.

I open my mouth to reply to her when someone collides with me so sharply that I stagger forward, grabbing Anya, afraid that she might get hurt. Whirling my head around, I glare at the person, my fingers fisted over Anya’s nurse costume.

“Sorry, man!” the drunk guy slurs, colliding with some other people as he paves his way out of the crowd. I release Anya only after he is a safe distance away. “I hate parties,” I grumble.

Anya laughs, enclosing fingers around my wrist before dragging me along with her. “Come, there’s a private spot.”

“You shouldn’t drag me to private spots,” I tease her with a smirk as she pulls me with all her strength. I purposefully slow my pace so that I can see the way her nose scrunches in frustration when she has to put more energy into dragging me.

“Why?”

“I can’t keep it under control when stuck alone with you.”

“Who says I don’t like it?”

~This girl…~

Anya tugs me toward a closet-sized area with a privacy curtain, but before she can drag me inside, I spot a familiar woman drinking with a man at the bar on the other end of the room. Realization storms over me, and I pull back on Anya’s grasp, making her stop.

“Wait—what?” I lock my eyes on the woman, and in my periphery, I see Anya’s head turn.

“Is that Mrs. Sharma? I didn’t know she was a member of this club too. Isn’t she married?” Anya gasps. “That’s not her husband she’s drinking with.”

I drop my hand from hers, this scene of infidelity enveloping me and forcing my legs to march in her direction.

“Dimitri!” Anya calls, her voice thick with agitation, and pushes me back. “Don’t spoil the fun now!”

“Anya, she has kids,” I tell her.

This is insane. I never thought that Mrs. Sharma would cheat on her husband, especially considering her husband is one of the most respected faculty members of the college—he is the dean!

“C’mon, as if you have never seen secret affairs around the club. We’re proof of that, Dimitri.” She guides my face down and raises her eyebrows inquisitively. The warmth in my body grows in response to her questioning expression.

“Not the point.” Despite how hard my voice sounds, my anger drains out of me. I can’t be unhappy with Anya so close and touching me.

She takes my hand and pulls me back. “Drop it, grumpy. Come here.”

“How can she cheat on that poor man?” I ask after we enter the private corner and Anya draws the curtain back. She makes hasty work of pushing my mask up my face, but I am still stuck on Sharma, rambling. “He loves her so much. Or does he? I have to find out.”

“Dimitri…”

“Should I tell him what I’m seeing tonight?”

“Dimitri.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“Dimitri!”

“No, I can’t jus—”

Anya drags me down by my collar, and the rest of my words get drowned in the sweet-and-sour taste of her lips when she slams my mouth with hers.

The noise of the bass ceases; everything ceases. It is only her and me, tucked in a private alcove, while her lips trace the shape of mine.

Her tongue slithers inside when my lips part, and as the kiss deepens, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. I kiss her, pressing the hard edges of my body to her soft ones and pushing her to the wall behind her.

She floods my senses, ensnaring me so deep that I growl when she pulls away.

The smile on her lips is meek. Her cheeks are rosy, and her lips appear thoroughly kissed. She laces her fingers together at the nape of my neck, looking up through thick eyelashes. “Can you please stop focusing on Mrs. Sharma and focus on me instead?”

I trace my knuckles over her cheekbones, breathing in her scent. “Miss Renée, I’m never not focused on you.”

Her smile widens. She stands on her toes, sticking her tongue out and licking the seam of my lips. “Happy Halloween, Mr. Rossi,” she says. “May all your demons be chased away this year.”

“I think I invited a number of them in when I laid my eyes upon you,” I say with a dry chuckle. “Demons are my friends.”

She studies me for seconds before responding, “Then they are mine too.”

I move down to kiss her again when the curtains are suddenly yanked away. On instinct, I quickly turn my back to the intruder, slipping the mask back on with a pounding heart.

“Anya!” Vanessa shouts, and relief fills me.

Spinning, I face the woman, who is dressed in a skimpy pink panther costume with her eyes looking drunk as hell. As I watch, Vanessa grins at me before almost falling over Anya. I grab her arm, dragging her to stand straight before she can hurt my girl.

“Oh my god, Vanessa!” Anya says, her expression horrified at the state her best friend is in. “Why are you so red? How much more did you drink?”

While Vanessa sways, I keep my hold tight on her arm. With a glass in one hand, she raises the other to show a minuscule distance between her thumb and forefinger. “A pinch.” She laughs then tilts her head, blinking smoky eyes at me. “You must be Dimitri! So pleased to meet you.”

I look at Anya, gesturing for her to do something.

Anya steals the glass from Vanessa’s hand, placing it on the floor and rubbing drops of sweat off her best friend’s forehead. “Nessa, you know him already.”

Vanessa blinks more profusely. “Do I? I don’t even know…” She laughs maniacally, slipping her arm out of my grasp and taking wobbly steps. “The bartender put some secret ingredient in the shot he made. It was tasty.”

Scoffing, I raise my hands and throw a knowing look at Anya. “See?”

She slaps a hand on her forehead as her head tilts down, but she brings it back up to watch Vanessa do a little moonwalk while staring up at the disco lights.

Vanessa then spreads her arms and spins around once. She stops, abruptly rushing toward me. “By the way, you like Anya, right?” she asks, pushing me to the wall with a very strong hand.

I glance at Anya, and she is apologizing to me with her eyes. “Yeah,” I answer with a gulp.

Vanessa drops her hand, clapping enthusiastically. “Good. You should know”—she stabs me with her forefinger in the center of my chest—“she’s my best friend. If you hurt her, I’ll end your life.”

Anya grabs Vanessa, placing one of her arms over her shoulders. “Come with me.” She manages to haul Vanessa away from the crowd while I help by walking behind them to keep other people off.

“No, I need to talk to Dimitri,” Vanessa slurs. “Dimitri!”

“Yes?”

She has her eyes closed for some reason now, making things all the more weird when she grins. She pushes Anya off her and strides up to me, grabbing the lapels of my jacket.

“You better not hurt her!” Tears tumble from her eyes, and she slowly opens them, showing me the heavy emotions clouding her. “If you break her heart, I’ll tell everyone what a creep you are.”

I cringe just as Anya chides her. “Vanessa!”

Vanessa turns with a confused look to her friend. “What?”

“You need to go home,” Anya says, trying to pull her away from me, but Vanessa has other plans.

She brushes Anya off and begins to sway her hips to the changing music. “No! I’m staying.” She dances salaciously, going round and round. “The music is grooving.”

“Nessa, please.”

Vanessa slips from under Anya’s arms, moving to the music.

“Damn it.” Anya sighs. “She needs to go home.”

“How about I take you both home?” I suggest.

Her soft gaze touches mine as she cranes her neck. “You will?” She snakes her arms around my waist, linking her hands behind my back. “Did I ever tell you how sweet you are?”

Anya rises on her toes to kiss me, but the song ends, and another one begins— a more hippy one. She squeals and pulls away from me, hopping and clapping. “Oh! I like this one!” she yells. “Come, I wanna dance one song, and then we’ll go. Wanna dance with me, zombie guy?”

Her smile and energy are infectious, so I let her pull me to the dance floor.

There, she sways her hips, gluing our bodies together. I dance with her, twirling her along with the beats. She laughs, and that sound is the most intoxicating thing I have ever been lucky enough to hear.

I bring her to me, her back pressed to my chest as I whisper in her ear, “The day I say no to you, kill me.”