Page 27 of To Catch a Firefly

Lucky

“Fuck,” Danil groans, his mouth near my ear as we dance. His hands are on my hips, some other guy’s hands are on his hips, and with my eyes closed, all I hear is the pounding beat of the music and Danil’s occasional swear in both English and Russian. Until he says, “Let’s get out of here, Lucky-boy.”

I let my eyes open and give Danil’s nipple a good twist.

He grunts before laughing. “Do that again later.”

“Stop with that nickname,” I tell him over the hammering pulse of the club.

“Come on, Lucky,” he croons, seemingly uncaring that the guy behind him is slipping his fingers in the front of Danil’s jeans. “Your place, my place, doesn’t matter.”

God, I could really use the release. It’s been weeks.

“Tim can come, too,” Danil says, as if trying to sweeten the pot.

“Tom,” the guy behind him corrects.

Danil’s eyes widen, and I have to work hard not to laugh at hisoopscringe. Luckily, Tom can’t see it.

“Tom, too,” Danil says quickly. “What’cha say?”

Danil is smiling before I’ve even nodded my yes.

The three of us make our way out of the club, Tom looking as if he won the lottery. We grab a cab out on the street and head toward Danil’s. While Danil and Tom kiss in the backseat, I roll down my window and inhale deeply. The air smells of exhaust, spiced meat from a street vendor, and something I’ve never been able to name in all the time I’ve lived here. It’s nothing like Nebraska.

I never thought I’d miss the earthy-sweet scent of corn.

Danil’s apartment is in a high-rise much nicer than my own. He comes from money—something that’s evident in those fancy watches he rotates through and the fact that his building has not one, but two pools—but he’s surprisingly down-to-earth, all things considered. Still, it’s always a bit of a shock stepping into his three-bedroom home with world-class views and trying to reconcile that level of wealth with my coworker who has no problem following me into grimy caves or along three-day hiking trails for our assignments at the magazine. Heck, he’s usually the first one leaping into semi-danger.

Now, though, Danil is all suave sophistication as he leads Tom into the living room, his eyes on me all the while. Even as Danil undresses Tom, and even as he kisses down his neck, those dark eyes stay locked on mine.

I blow out a slow breath as I approach, and Danil grins, like the cat who caught the canary. I can’t blame alcohol on my decision to keep up this game with Danil—I didn’t drink anything at the club—and I can’t even say I don’t want it. It’s thrilling every time I let him drag me into his web. It might not mean anything, but who says it has to?

I strip off my shirt as Danil sinks to his knees in front of Tom, and for a blissful reprieve in time, there are no fields of green and maize in my mind or memories of waterfalls. No worry that I’m somehow making a mistake with my life or longing for things I told myself were off-limits. For a little while, I let myself feel nothing but good. I even almost convince myself it’s enough. That it doesn’t all feel a bit…empty in the end.

When the rush has swept past and the three of us lie sprawled out on Danil’s plush living room rug, Tom is the first to speak. “Shit. Holy fucking shit.”

Danil chuckles, his arm over Tom’s waist but his thumb running a circuit on my hip. “That good?”

Tom blinks up at the ceiling. “Shit.”

“Excuse me,” I say, extracting myself from the pile. Danil frowns, but I grab my shorts, pulling them on as I make my way to his balcony. The air is crisp when I step outside, and I almost go back in for my shirt, but in the end, I hunker down in a chair and wrap my arms around my knees to ward off the chill.

I’m not surprised when Danil joins me a few minutes later. “Here,” he says, dropping a blanket over my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Danil sits next to me, shirt and jeans in place. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, extracting one and tucking it between his lips as he flicks on a lighter.

“You really should stop,” I tell him.

He hums, shrugging as the cigarette lights. His inhale sounds like a sigh. “I like it.”

“It’ll kill you.”

“So glad to hear you care about my health,” he says, flashing me a smile.

“You’re my friend,” I reply, tucking the blanket more firmly around my shoulders. “Of course I care.”

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