Page 1 of Bad Teammate
1
Katerina Nikolaeva
Moscow, Russia.
Heavy metal thundered as the Metro car careened through the subway tunnel. I clung to the steel railing as the car jerked from side to side, testing my balance in high heels.
The car was crowded with bodies. In every direction I looked, male commuters openly ogled me and my best friend, Alina, feasting their hungry eyes on our bodies. I lowered my head.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I said, tugging the hem of my skirt lower.
I didn’t want anything to do with this double date, but Alina never took no for an answer. She’d practically dragged me out of my building.
“Don’t worry. You look gorgeous,” Alina reassured me. “Kirill is going to find you irresistible.”
I tutted. “That’s thelastthing I’m worried about.”
“Okay, so what’s on your mind?” she asked.
“All the work waiting for me at home.”
“Katerina.” She laid her hand on my shoulder. “You need a break. All youdois work. What’s the point of it if you never get to have any fun?”
“It’s not like it’s my choice. The second I take some time to myself, the money stops.”
“Which is why you should be very excited to meet Kirill. He’s a junior architect at Dmitri’s firm. He dresses nice and he drives a Mercedes. Dmitri says he has a bright future at the firm, and a great head on his shoulders, too.”
Ever since we were young, boys fawned over Alina. It was easy to see why—she was always drop-dead gorgeous, even when the rest of us girls had to go through that ego-scarring awkward-teen phase. Alina was tall and leggy and blessed with assets that made men drool all over themselves. It never ceased to amaze me how easily she could get menyearsolder than her so thoroughly wrapped around her finger. Her latest boyfriend, Dmitri, was twice her age.
I sighed. “If I needed money that bad, I’d ask Sasha.”
“Okay, if you don’t need the money, then why do you push yourself so hard?” she countered.
It was a fair question. I didn’t have an answer, so I said nothing.
The Metro car lurched to a stop. A few commuters scampered off but more climbed on, packing the crowd tighter into the car. Alina and I moved closer.
“Don’t you miss it?” she asked, lowering her voice. “The excitement of connecting with a hot guy you’re really into? Thetingleswhen you kiss him for the very first time?”
“Tingles? There’s supposed to be tingles?” I laughed. The few guys I’d kissed hadn’t given me any sort of pleasant sensation at all.
She gasped. “Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten the tingles.”
I stayed mum, because I didn’t want to rouse her curiosity about whatotherpleasures of the flesh I hadn’t experienced.
“Isn’t there some small part of you that still dreams of meeting the perfect guy?” she asked. “Don’t you want a guy who spoils you like a princess and encourages you to chase your dreams?”
I took a deep breath, but I didn’t need to ponder the question—ofcourseI wanted it. Who in their right minddidn’twant that perfect soul mate, who just so happened to possess the resources to free you from the grind of daily life? Every girl had been conditioned to want that since the day she was born.
But it was clear that not everyone on the planet got what they wanted; in fact, very few did. And I’d learned enough in my twenty-three years to know that I wasn’t one of those cosmically lucky ones who got whatever they wanted in life. I don’t say that bitterly, only realistically.
“That’s fairy tale nonsense,” I said at last. “Russian mendon’t want to provide. They only want sex.”
Alina shook her head vehemently. “No, I disagree with that. Deep down, men still want to provide for us—it makes them feelneeded. A weaker man might feel threatened by your success, yeah—but that’s only because it makes him feel disposable.”
I chuffed. “I don’t know.” Maybe she had a point. It had a funny way of making more and more sense as I thought about it—but still, I had a hard time accepting it.
“So how old is Kirill, anyway?” I asked.
