Page 20 of Inked Adonis

Samuil literally ducks through the door—and to think I thought my studio felt small with just Rufus inside. I’m not even sure we’re all going to fit, but somehow, we manage.

The heinous criminal of a dog immediately launches himself onto myfree-if-you-can-haul-it-awaycouch. Mud and lake water spray everywhere as he makes himself perfectly at home.

“This apartment is going to smell like wet dog for the next three months,” I say with a grimace.

Rufus, villain that he is, just lays his head on his crossed paws and gives me the sweetest puppy dog eyes the world has ever seen.

I can only sigh. “That dog could get away with murder, I swear.”

Samuil doesn’t say anything, but it’s only because he’s walking the length of my bookshelves, head tilted to the side so he can read the spines. Shoved between and on top of the books are unpaid bills, an old Chinese takeout container, and—yep, there it is. My bra. Dangling from theChildren’s Illustrated BibleGrams gave me when I was five.

If there’s a God, He’s laughing His divine ass off right now.

“It’s not exactly the Taj Mahal, but… it’s home.”

“I think it’s wise not to live in a tomb.” He stops in front of my purple, lacy bra for just long enough to take in all the ratty details before he turns around. “An apartment is a better choice.”

It takes me a second to understand what he means. A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. “Right. I just meant, you know… it’s small. Sorry.”

“You’ve apologized for enough without adding your apartment to the mix,krasavitsa.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Nothing bad.” He chuckles, but still doesn’t offer me a translation.

He meanders towards the window wall of the apartment, where I know he’ll find the stack of smutty novels currently subbing in as the leg of my broken armchair. Today has been humbling enough, so I cut him off at the pass.

“My bedroom is that way.” I gesture towards the door in the corner like I’m Vanna White.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

My ears burn. “That’s not what I— My bathroom is in my?—”

“I’m only teasing, Nova.” His hand ghosts across my lower back as he guides me through my own apartment. “After you.”

On the brief and yet somehow endless walk across the living room, I catalog the horrors he’s about to see. Unmade bed, yet more books littering the side of the mattress where a second human could theoretically sleep—though it’ll be obvious enough that hasn’t occurred in many moons—and a week’s worth of bedtime drinks I was too lazy to clear away.

I want to apologize ahead of time, but it’s way too late for that.

When we walk into my room and I see my open underwear drawer, complete with a parachute-sized pair of granny panties dangling from the knob, I bite my tongue until I taste blood.

“Cozy,” Samuil murmurs, almost to himself.

That’s certainly a word for it.

I screech to a halt outside the bathroom door. His body collides with mine, a wall of pure muscle that sends electricity sparking through my rain-damp clothes. I spin around. “Give me a second.”

He opens his mouth, but I’m already squeezing through the crack and slamming the door in his face.

And, just like I thought, the box of tampons Rufus ransacked this morning is still scattered across the floor. Along with—Jesus take the wheel—my vibrator and a bottle of lube.

I commence the fastest clean-up in modern history. I’m aScooby-Doo-esque blur of limbs, and I’ve just managed to shove all of the crap into the tiny, overstuffed cubby under the sink when Samuil calls out, “Everything okay?”

“Doing great!” I squeak, peeking behind the shower curtain to make sure I didn’t leave any hair stuck to the shower wall.

It’s clear. Thank God for small mercies.

“The water takes a minute to heat up,” I warn. “And the shower is a little small, even for me. You might not even fit because of all the… All the you.” Heat crawls up my neck. “Also, my shampoo is from CVS, so it probably has chemicals that’ll make your hair fall out. But you can at least rinse off?—”

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