Page 37 of One For my Enemy

(The Gentlemanly Thing.)

“So,” Lev said, holding up the two paper-bagged cans of beer. “Which one are you thinking?”

Sasha sighed, shaking her head. “This isn’t exactly what I thought you meant when you said you wanted to get a drink,” she informed him drily, and he grinned.

“Well, I only have thirty minutes, per your rules, and I’m certainly not going to spend them being surrounded by a bunch of Erics. So,” he repeated, weighing the two for her benefit, “do you want the cheap beer, or the cheaper beer?”

Grudgingly, she permitted a wary half-smile. “Give me the cheapest beer you’ve got.”

“Done,” he determined, handing it to her, and led her out the door, slowing slightly to match her pace as they headed down the sidewalk. “Cold?” he asked, letting her interpret any subsequent options, and she took a long, pointed sip from her can.

“Nope,” she said, after a swallow. “I can handle, oh, twenty-five more minutes of this. Can you?” she prompted, challenging him with a glance, and he passed her a smirk in return, then a nudge that only subpar balance ensured was more playful than lingering.

“So,” he ventured, as they ambled leisurely down the sidewalk.

“So,” she agreed. He gestured left and she nodded, crossing the street as he fell back to take a path behind hers, swapping sides with her on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?” she asked, bewildered, and he took another swig from his beer, shrugging.

“Gentlemanly thing to do, according to my father,” he explained, and then recited, “In the old days,” (as Koschei’s voice rumbled in his ear), “the mud from the street would fly up and get on the lady’s skirt, so men always walked on the street side.”

“I’m not wearing a skirt,” Sasha reminded him, gesturing to her jeans, and Lev shrugged again.

“Well, no, but still.” He tossed her a sidelong glance. “Wouldn’t want to risk it. Precious cargo,” he informed her with a sip of his beer, beckoning her onward.

Instead, she paused for a moment.

Turned to him.

Frowned.

“Damn it, Lev,” Sasha grumbled with a sigh, “you’re such a noble idiot.”

“Am I?” he mused. “Huh. Sounds right, but then ag-”

He broke off as she shoved him hard against the wall of a building, slamming him into it with a motion so calculated he had to wonder how long she’d been silently planning it in her head.

“Oof,Sasha—”

She kissed him, her lips tasting like summer-flavored lip balm and cheap beer, and he let his own beer drop from his hand, catching the sound of it toppling over on the sidewalk as she slid her arm up to his neck, snaking around to pull him closer. Lev responded with enthusiasm, hastily dragging the zipper of her coat and shoving the panels aside to place his hands on that single bare inch of skin, the little sliver of torso he’d been trying all night not to eye too indiscreetly.

Her skin pebbled instantly at his touch. “Could have just said so,” he muttered to her.

“Shut up,” she advised, slipping her tongue in his mouth.

Her hands wandered to the zipper of his jeans, and he shifted as she pulled open his top button, trading places to shove her against the wall. He slid his hands up first, spanning the width of her ribs and sloping briefly over her breasts, before dragging them back down, his fingers lingering on the lip of her button-fly jeans.

He wanted to.

Fuck,he wanted to, and if that wasn’t a fucking problem.

“Shit,” he whispered into her mouth, “I want you.”

“Well, you still have twenty minutes,” she replied airily, and he grimaced.

Fuck, he really wanted to.

But something (something glaringly obvious, at that) wasn’t quite right. He ran the scenarios, feverishly failed each one, and withered.

Right or wrong, he’d have to take the losing odds.

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