Page 24 of Finding Alexei
I find Alexei where I left him in the kitchen. He watches me approach, a dark and predatory look on his face. I like it way too much. It sends a shiver all the way through me.
“Hi,” he says, his voice tense.
“Hey,” I say, attempting a casual and breezy tone.
The truth is, he makes me feel anything but casual. He makes me feel hot and irritated at times, but also cherished, and it’s a feeling I’m not accustomed to at all. The truth is, his caring for me makes me nervous. What will I do if he changes his mind tomorrow and decides we’re too much work? I won’t let myself be devastated. I can’t.
I consider asking him about his choice in music tonight, but I have a feeling he’d say something about classical music being good for babies, that it increases their IQ or something. It’s a statistic I think I’ve heard somewhere. He’s like a freaking baby-whisperer.
Alexei sets the table while I retrieve my wineglass. There are two whole roasted chickens, baked potatoes with all the fixings, and steamed broccoli. It’s better than I’ve eaten in a long time. This is a far cry from my usual dollar-menu fare from the drive-through I often have for dinner. I don’t want to tell him as much, as I sense it will only make him angry—or sad—and I can’t bear either of those looks from him.
“This is amazing,” I say instead, sitting in the chair he pulls out for me.
The other times we’ve eaten dinner together have been at the breakfast bar or on the couch. This feels like something different, and it makes my mouth twitch with a smile. I busy myself with cutting the chicken he serves me, and heap sour cream onto my steaming potato.
I don’t even comment on the fact that he’s made two chickens. I’m coming to learn his excessive caloric intake is necessary to maintain his body weight. The guy can eat, that’s for sure.
“So . . . what did the guys say when you brought Ella with you today?” I smirk, blowing on a bite of my food before placing it in my mouth. Yum!
Alexei grins. “Fuckers thought she was mine.”
I’m smiling. Why am I smiling? “Did it go okay? Was she good?”
He nods. “As good as a two-month-old can be in public. She had a blowout when we first got there.”
“A blowout?”
“She shit herself all the way up her back,” he says, deadpan.
I almost choke with laughter before quickly swallowing my food. “Right. Sorry I asked.”
He shrugs. “It was no big deal. I brought extra diapers and another outfit, so we were golden.”
Oh my God, the image of Alexei with a diaper bag on his broad shoulder . . . ovary explosion times a thousand.
“Plus, my friend Jane, she’s the assistant manager for the team, helped out. She took Ella while I was in the meeting.”
I nod, giving him the side-eye as I ponder who the hell Jane is.
“This is delicious, by the way,” I say, helping myself to another big bite.
“Thanks,” Alexei says, but I can tell he has more on his mind than our dinner. “So, um, her mother . . . do you have any news yet?”
I release a heavy sigh and shake my head. “Nothing yet. I called the officer I filed a report with, but there’s still no news.” At least she hasn’t turned up dead.
We finish the rest of our meal and wash the dishes together.
Ella still isn’t up from her nap when we settle on the couch. I’ve polished off one glass of wine and Alexei has refilled my glass, though he isn’t drinking. I suspect it’s because he has practice tomorrow. Something inside me likes how disciplined he is, while the other part of me feels a little weird drinking alone.
“How was work?” Alexei asks, sitting across from me. I can’t help but notice his voice is a little cold when he asks this question.
“It was fine.” I sip my wine.
“Anyone bother you today?” His darkened blue eyes, that beautiful midnight color I love, are watching everything, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers, moving from my eyes down to my breasts.
I swallow. “Nope.” Not any more than usual, anyway.
“Good.”
His firm tone makes my insides quiver. It’s quiet and dark outside, and we’re alone, and I can’t help but think about last night . . . about the way his hot mouth felt moving over my sensitive flesh . . . about the soft grunts he made when I took him deep in my throat.
“What is it?” he asks, his voice mischievous.
“What?” I blink at him innocently.
“You turned all pink on me. What’s going on?”
Oh, dear God. “I was just . . . remembering last night.”
Did I just say that out loud?
I can’t believe I just admitted that.
