Page 99 of Breaking Away

“I know.” His expression tightens. “It’s not enough.”

The spoon hovers up to my mouth. “We can start with this. Let me know if you want to take pictures. You can show the team. I won’t mind. Whatever you decide, I’ll take it.”

Ice cream brushes my lips. I’m lost in a haze. I don’t know what to do, but to open my mouth and taste. With the toppings, it’s so delicious that I moan.

Dmitri stiffens, shifting his supported knee deeper into the couch. It registers in my head that he’s got it wrapped.

I reach over and trace the edge of the thick athlete’s tape. “Why?”

Dmitri loads up another bite for me. “It’s a little dinged.”

A little? Over the scent of chocolate, I smell ointment. The kind that burns your nose if you breathe it in, it’s so potent.

“What were you doing in the bathroom?” I whisper, remembering how cold he was.

“Ice-bath.” Ice cream brushes my mouth again.

“Are you hurt?”

He nudges the spoon against my lips until I open. Eat. Swallow. Moan again. Repeat.

The ice cream finishes too quickly.

Dmitri puts the bowl down and picks up two glasses. “Water or milk?”

I’m a double-down-on-the-dairy-woman. “Milk, but wait?—”

“Drink.”

I try grabbing the glass as it’s offered, but he won’t let me. “It’s what a maid does.”

“It really isn’t.” And yet, I still drink from his hands.

When he asks if I want more ice cream, I shake my head, squirming in my seat. A very naked hockey player in an apron is serving me as I lay legs spread out on a chaise. It’s dizzying. Heat pools lower in my belly.

“Why?” I manage to ask.

“You know why. You won. I’ll do anything.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” I glance away. “You’re just a hockey player, right? I should expect…”Disappointment.

Except I don’t. Not from him.

It killed me when he took back his word about the barbecue and left me alone tonight. I hunch, remembering it.

“You are so mad at me.” Dmitri inhales sharply. “And I deserve it all.”

“We had an agreement and then you changed your mind. All good. I’ll live.”

His arms come down, resting on either side of me. He’s tall, big, and blocking the light. Tendrils of damp hair fall across his forehead. A flush blooms across his cheeks, neck, and part of his chest I can see.

“I. Fucked. Up.”

His voice is raw… hoarse…

I smell honey and medicine. But I taste something even more bitter. My chin lifts. “The ice cream is you fixing it? Do you think that’s all it takes?”

I wasn’t wrong when I confessed to him earlier. Old Kavi would have nursed a man’s bad mood all night so carefully. But today, I went out. Today, I picked myself. And before then, with the photos I took tonight, there was a step forward of believing in my work. I’m learning it. That I deserve more than the little I’d allotted myself for so many years.

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