Page 105 of Breaking Away

I sigh. “Don’t say that. I’ll get a complex.”

The corner of his mouth slides up. “Get one.”

My pulse jolts. Not only from the sustained eye-contact, but because our bodies sway closer as if they can’t help themselves. When our legs brush, the contact reminds me.

“Your knee, is it better?”

Dmitri pulls away. “It is.”

“How badly was it hurt?” I remember how slowly he carried me in his arms last night and the ice-bath before that. “Does it hurt now? Should you get it looked at professionally?”

Dmitri shifts. There’s an awkward edge to his posture. Maybe I’m pushing too much, because it seems like he really doesn’t want to talk about it. “It’s… healing,” he finally offers.

“Oh—that’s–”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why there are people decorating today?” he interrupts.

That was an obvious change of topic, but Dmitri’s never been a subtle man.

“Sure,” I concede. “What’s happening today? Why are people decorating?”

“A barbecue.”

My eyes widen. He’s doing it? Throwing a barbecue for the team? But?—

“Where is the barbecue grill?”

His mouth flattens. “Is that important?”

“It’s a… barbecue.”

“I see,” he says. “What about catering? When will that come out?”

I try not to laugh, clutching my stomach. “We went to the same high school so I know you weren’t some trust fund rich kid. You must have been to a barbecue before. You must know therearen’tchampagne towers because that’s not casual at all. It’s like the opposite of casual.” My palms spread out. “This is about team building, remember?

“The goal isn’t to intimidate?” He taps his chin. “Or to prove how much better you are?”

I can’t tell if he’s being serious, but I have a feeling he’s both out of touch with social gatherings and being purposefully extra.

“Do you know how to friend?” I smile. “Because I don’t think you know how to friend.”

I expect he’ll deadpan about how he doesn’t care. That he always does what he wants, no matter what. I ready myself for the most monotone reply.

“You’re right,” he says softly. “I don’t know how to friend.”

Oh, no.

My heart…

Unable to stop myself, I put a hand on his arm. “Would you like some help?”

“If you wouldn’t mind?”

I don’t. “Here I thought I was a lost cause with my life, but this makes me feel way better.”

“Mean, Basra.” He nudges me. “Where do we start? Should I call my assistant?”

“Nope. Prepare yourself, snob. We’re going to the supermarket.”

---