Page 14 of Unrequited
Chapter 3
ZOYA
We meet every single week.
James the Liar and little Zoya.
Every week.
Forsix months.
Six whole months, same time, same place. A little hidden world carved out just for us. I start planning everything around our Thursday night secret rendezvous.
It becomes the highlight of my existence. I live for my Thursday nights.
The only reason I get away with it without my brothers finding out or at least suspecting that something’s amiss is because they’re damn busy. Traveling, marriage, children, growing our small circle into something larger, more powerful. Sometimes I pretend I’m with one of my friends, but mostly I hide my tracker.
And maybe it has something to do with the fact that no one would ever expect Zoya Kopolova to be a sneak.
Every Thursday, I bring pastries and stories and questions.
And he listens.
He watches more than he speaks, his gaze heavy and thoughtful, like he’s memorizing me piece by piece. His piercing blue eyes don’t leave mine as he listens.
I’m fully aware of how hard I’m crushing on him. Just seeing him with those rolled-up sleeves, his tanned, muscular forearms as he leans forward and holds onto my every word… I can’t be immune to him, no matter how hard I try.
And I do try. A few months in, I gave up and fully owned my crush.
It’s just a crush… right? And somehow, I started building my life around those meetings. Around him.
My Mr. Thursday.
There’s something inside me that whispers warnings I don’t want to hear. That I should be wary. That I should be afraid. That Ican’thave this man and shouldn’t allow myself to be vulnerable around someone like him. Someone so dark, so still. So dangerous.
But I can’t stop.
The more I try to pull away, the more I crave his presence. His voice. His steadiness. The way he calms the chaos in my mind. He has this way about him.
“Aye,” he’ll say, just listening, nodding. “Go on, little lass.”
Go on, little lass.
And I do go on. Go on talking. Go on trusting. Go on falling in love with a man I barely know.
He understands the things I’ve never told anyone, and worse, I do tell him everything. Every dark little corner, every secret I’ve never dared speak out loud.
And he just listens.
With that non-judgmental calm that feels like an anchor in a storm.
But the more I talk, the more Iwant.
I want him to touch me.
To hold me.
To kiss me.
