Page 37 of Breaking Away

Fuck.

Before I can scramble away, I’m lifted and set neatly back on my feet. Lokhov isn’t even winded by having to reposition my entire body. Instead of letting go, his hold shifts up to my shoulders. Knuckles whisper along my spine. Not on purpose, since I sense his body stiffening behind me. More like with supreme patience (annoyance) he’s guiding me into the seat like I can’t possibly move unsupervised any longer.

“Roads and now planes,” he mutters.

“Hey!” Plopping down on the seat, I glare up at him. There’s a rant brewing inside me, but it stops at the strangest sight. His mouth. One side is slightly up, at an angle I’ve never seen.

“Are you annoyed or laughing at me?” I accuse.

“Lokhov doesn’t laugh,” supplies one of his teammates.

I see no one is bothering to hide how much they’re eavesdropping.Great.

“Go away,” growls Dmitri, realizing the same. He doesn’t sit, but reaches up to tug on a clasp above him. With a whoosh, a curtain drops, blocking us from the others.

When he catches me gaping at him, Dmitri shrugs as if this is normal behavior. “I had it installed, because I like to sleep on the flights with no interruptions.”

“Bro, someone put down this barrier,” Hughes yells. “Where did you go? We’ve been separated!”

There’s a snigger.

Oh, wait.That’s me.

“Don’t encourage him,” chides Lokhov, finally sitting down beside me.

Twisting to face him, I scrutinize his mouth. “I’m seeing things.”

“There’s medicine for that.”

“Did you… smile?”

He looks offended. “No.”

“Do it again,” I order.

“Do what again?”

Instead of telling him, I reach over, my fingers hovering above the scar notching his mouth. Quickly, I tap the right corner where his upper and bottom lip meet.

Both his eyebrows shoot up.

“Not too much,” I say. “Just enough that the person has blue balls, wondering if you’re actually laughing at them or not.”

“I give you blue balls?”

“You give everyone emotional blue balls.”

His throat flexes, but I’m more distracted by the mouth.

Why are his lips so damn plush?I almost rub along the crease but yank my finger away just in time.

He doesn’t blink. The way his pupils press on me is unsettling. Golden-brown. Predator-still.

Betweenmycrease (the naughty one), a low throb echoes.

What am I doing?!

Shifting backwards, I swing my bag to settle on my lap, pretending the zipper on there is fascinating. Meanwhile, more announcements sound overhead. I don’t hear the words, too focused on the inner shakings of my womb. Can a uterus be rattled? Mine sure feels like it is. Unfortunately, not in a bad way.

---