Page 47 of Pretty Little Toy

19

ILYA

Dressed in a crisp white button-down and jeans, I ride the elevator up to Whitney’s apartment, bracing for the day’s events. I’ll try to be on my best behavior since she’s asked me to meet thispartnerof hers, but I don’t intend to give him any room to think he can move in on my woman.

The elevator doors open, and as I reach her apartment, I can hear the muffled sound of Whitney’s voice within.Is she on the phone?I glance down at my watch to check the time. Twelve o’clock–I’m right on time for lunch. I knock to let her know I’m here before letting myself in.

“Ilya, hi,” she says as soon as I step through the door, her tone higher and slightly strained. Dressed in a loose-fitting cropped sweater and designer torn black jeans that button at her navel, she looks sexy and casual all at once. But I’m immediately on guard from the tension in her voice.

My eyes shift to the figure behind her, and I bristle as I realize her partner must have come earlier than invited. I take him in as my irritation spikes. While he’s around six inches shorter than me, he’s well-built, almost burly, and wearing a tight-fitting long-sleeved tee that shows off his muscles. From his sandy-blond hair, which he wears in a knot on top of his head, and his blue eyes, I’d guess he has English ancestry, and his cocky smile tells me he thinks he’s hot shit. By anyone’s standard, he would qualify as good-looking, which only pisses me off more. How Whitney thought I would be okay with this as her partner, I don’t have a clue. But before she has a chance to offer introductions, I plan on clearly defining boundaries for this mass of muscle-bound ego before me.

“Lunch is at noon. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to show up before you’re invited?” I deadpan, narrowing my eyes as I stride past Whitney to get in her partner’s face.

“Ilya!” Whitney gasps, rushing up beside me and putting a restraining hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine. Trent, you’re fine. This is Ilya. Ilya, this is mydancepartner, Trent, who you’re going to treat nicely.”

Satisfaction curls the corners of my lips as Trent takes a step back, his eyes widening as his cocky smile drops from his face, replaced by the all-too-common hint of fear that I know how to instill in most people with little effort.

“Um, maybe I should go?” he suggests nervously, his eyes shifting between me and Whitney as he takes a side step closer to the exit.

“No. You’re staying,” Whitney says with authority, making Trent pause. “I’ve gone to the trouble of making a nice lunch for us all, and you aren’t leaving until we eat.”

Trent hesitates, his eyes flicking toward the door, and I love watching him squirm. It took me all of two seconds to see how he thought this day was going to pan out when Whitney invited him over, and now I have him backpedaling so fast he’s about to fall on his ass. This is why I didn’t like the thought of Whitney having a dance partner. She might think it’s platonic, but this guy clearly thinks he’s got a shot.

“Trent, sit,” Whitney snaps, pointing to the living room couch as if directing a dog.

And to my utter delight, he does as he’s told.

“Ilya, can I have a word with you in the kitchen?” she says through gritted teeth.

I know she’s about to scold me, but seeing the tucked-tail expression on her partner’s face makes it entirely worth it. I follow her into the back of the kitchen, where a wall hides us from view.

“You think I’m going to be okay withthatas your partner?” I hiss, going on the offensive.

“Can you please calm down?” she demands, crossing her arms as her eyes flash dangerously. “You agreed to meet him, and so far, you’re not even trying. You’re just puffing up your chest to scare him off. I told you, I’m not interested in Trent, but I need a partner to pass my classes, so you have to make peace with it, Ilya.”

“I am trying, but you went and picked a partner girls would find attractive, and you just expect me to be fine with it? I don’t like the thought of lettinganyonetouch you, but that guy? Come on.”

Whitney barks a laugh, which catches me completely by surprise. Of all the ways she could have responded, I didn’t expect that. “First off, I didn’tchooseTrent. My professor assigned everyone partners. And trust me, he’s not my type.”

I don’t bother arguing as I raise my eyebrow skeptically. He’s fit, classically handsome, and the same age as Whitney, not to mention they have a major interest in common.How could he not be her type?

But as her eyes study my face, Whitney’s expression softens slightly, and her arms drop to her sides. “Just talk to Trent, and you’ll understand why you have nothing to worry about,” she insists. “Please?”

“Fine,” I grumble, scowling.

“Thank you.” Whitney grips my arm and leans onto her toes to kiss my cheek. “And please try to be nice.”

I follow her from the kitchen without a word, and Whitney invites us to sit at the dining table, where a charcuterie board already waits for us. I sit stiffly in a chair, and as Whitney settles into a seat beside me, I watch Trent’s intensely complicated decision process about whether to take the chair closer to me or Whitney. It’s as excruciating as it is funny to watch him make a mountain out of a molehill, and by the time he finally plops into the chair across from me, he looks mentally exhausted and like he’s about to break a sweat.

“Sangria, everyone?” Whitney asks, lifting a pitcher of peach, strawberry, and kiwi-infused white wine.

“Allow me,” I offer, taking the pitcher from her an pouring her a glass before filling the wine goblets in front of me and Trent.

“What a spread.” Trent claps his hands and rubs them together as he looks enthusiastically at the selection of sliced cured meat and cheese. He reaches forward to add several slices of each to his plate.

“Don’t fill up on this. I also have salad, baked ziti, and grasshopper pie,” Whitney warns. “I’m just waiting on the ziti to be done.”

“Grasshopper pie?” Trent asks, blanching as he holds his appetizer plate in midair. “Oh, I–uh–decided to go vegetarian this month. You know, keeping down the calories and all.”

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