Page 70 of Toxic Temptation
“Easy there, tiger.”
I stare him down. “Get out. And take Baldie with you.”
Pavel snorts, but Osip looks like I’ve slapped him. “Baldie?” He runs a hand over his shaved head. “Wow. Low blow, Doc.”
“He’s sensitive about his hair.” Pavel grins. “Or lack thereof.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m sensitive about my privacy. And yet here we are.”
The two men exchange glances. “Okay, okay,” Osip says, raising his hands. “We know when we’re not welcome. We’ll be back tomorrow with the rest of the stuff.”
I look at the three boxes already crowding my tiny living room. “More stuff? There’s not enough space for more stuff.”
“Which is why it would have been smart for you to move in with Luka and me,” Kovan says with perfect‘I told you so’delivery. “But you wanted to be closer to the hospital.”
“I work there, in case you forgot.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m not arguing. Just pointing out why we’re here.”
I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “Luka, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed?”
He nods. “Where’s the second bathroom?”
“There’s only one bathroom. We’ll have to share. It’s through that door.”
“Only one bathroom?” His eyes go wide. “No way!”
He grabs his backpack and dashes toward the bathroom, looking excited about the prospect of the three of us sharing a bathroom the size of a broom closet.
“Bye, Osip! Bye, Uncle Pavel! See you soon!” He high-fives them both before disappearing behind the bathroom door. “Whoa! It’s so small!”
Pavel and Osip laugh as they head out, leaving me alone with Kovan. The moment the door closes, I jab my finger into his chest.
“This is fighting dirty and you know it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He walks to my kitchen and opens the fridge, just like his brother did. “Pavel was right. We need groceries.”
“You’re not going to be comfortable here.”
“We’ll manage. You saw Luka. The kid’s having the time of his life.”
“Because this is new for him. But he’s used to big houses and maids and?—”
“He’ll adjust.”
“Kovan, you’re not listening to me.”
He closes the fridge and turns to face me. “You’ve got that backward.You’rethe one not listening tome.” His voice drops, and he glances toward the bathroom. “This act we’re selling has to be convincing.”
“I know?—”
“How do I convince a court to give me custody when I don’t even live with the girlfriend who’s supposed to provide maternal influence?”
I hate that he’s right. “We can pretend to live together,” I try. “You call me when you need me, and I’ll show up at your place?—”
He cuts me off. “No. We need to know each other. Living together is the fastest way to make that happen.”
I scramble for some argument, any argument, that will get me out of this without admitting how terrified I am of spending so much time with him.
