Page 85 of Breaking Away

Today, I spent the entire morning looking up jobs in Seattle. Mid-afternoon Lokhov walks in and stands in his signature spot, across from me with the kitchen island firmly between us. I’m surprised by how often he’s been home. Way more than Tyler ever was. It’s like Dmitri has no life outside of playing and traveling for hockey.

He finishes a protein smoothie.

“I can make you one,” he offers.

“I’d rather die.”

“I’ll add less spinach in yours.”

“See my earlier answer.”

“Are the lights too bright for you? I can turn them down,” he deadpans.

He’s poking fun at me, that time I sat in the dark.

“Depends. Are you going to rip off your shirt, traumatizing me again?”

Istraumatize the right word? Not really.

“Apologies, Princess.” His voice is a whisper of a mocking chide. “I’ll keep my clothes on around you.”

“The sacrifice of it all,” I quip.

It doesn’t escape me that our conversations have gotten way easier. Living with Lokhov, I’m forced to admit, isn’t an absolute chore. Actually, it feels… nice? We have meals together and watch bad TV at night when he’s not traveling for work. The routine is frighteningly easy to fall into.

Around him, I can also hear myself think. My thoughts feel like my own. I don’t get it. It was never like this in Seattle, so why is Vancouver so different?

Lokhov rinses his cup. A watch that measures his fitness activity sits thick on his wrist. Branching up from there are attractive veins and tendons. “Speaking of sacrifice, how badly are you losing this bet of ours?”

This is the first time he’s brought it up since we shook hands, but I’m ready. “Unlike you, I’ve made progress.”

He lifts his chin, as if saying,Go on.

“I made an online photography account where I can share my work.”

Have I posted anything on there? No.

Making it was stressful enough.

“Two, I’m putting together a resume.”

Not a photography one, but he doesn’t need to know that.

The resume is for real life. I spent a lot of time going back and forth, wondering if I could putAssistant to the Seattle Bladesdown as work experience, even though my dad never gave me an official title, and I wasn’t on payroll. All I got were those irregularthank-youpayments.

“What else?” asks Lokhov, observing me with those eyes…

Which, why do they have to look so golden in this light? His apartment is full of windows, so sunbeam shafts drape over him from different angles, no matter where he stands. It’s… breathtaking. No. Bad for the retinas.

“What else?” I parrot. “Excuse me, but what haveyoudone to be a better team player?”

“I told Hughes it was a good morning today.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

I smother a laugh. “Seriously?”

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