Cheslav looks at me with such admiration that I find my face heating with embarrassment. “So, you are the reason he is not completely in the poorhouse despite his poor gambling decisions?”
“Pretty much,” I admit. “Like I said, I really love accounting. Cheerleading was fun. But this feels like my life goal.”
Cheslav looks down at his hands curled over the balcony’s wooden railing. “It must be nice to have a life goal beyond your original dream.”
This morning, I was shoving him away, but this afternoon…
I cover his hand with mine. “I’m sorry your last season happened during the pandemic. That must be very hard for you.”
He stiffens, but then he takes an audible breath and relaxes his shoulders. “I will tell you now, what I should have said the morning I received the call about our hockey season being put on pause. It is hard. So hard, I do not want to talk about it.”
I nod, wondering if I would have felt the same way if it hadn’t been so imperative that I find the next thing to sustain myself after I realized I wasn’t going any further as a cheerleader. That gives me an idea.
“The act of figuring out what came next really helped with my transition. You don’t have to go into your family’s business just because that’s what’s expected of you. Maybe while we’re quarantining together, you can use that time to come up with a new life goal. Something you want.”
He tosses me an almost smile. I can tell that it’s hard for him to be in this conversation with me. He’s not the kind of guy who talks about his feelings. At least not easily.
But he’s trying, I note. He’s trying for me.
“Let me show you rest of house,” he says instead of responding to my suggestion. Then without waiting for me to answer, he reverses the hold on our hands and pulls me back inside.
So no, we’re not exactly communicating at one-hundred percent. But that conversation feels like a good start.
Maybe Cheslav’s plan isn’t so crazy, after all.
Chapter Sixteen
“No! No! You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do that!” I yell after Cheslav comes into my room and pulls the covers off me the next morning.
Cheslav tugs at my wrist. “Come, krasotka. It is only few miles.”
“A few miles in the sand!” I respond. “And I’m not a runner.”
“Not yet, no,” he answers. “How about one mile, and we slowly increase?”
“But why, though?” I whine. “I just want to stay here, eat breakfast, and get to studying.”
“No breakfast, no study until you run with me.”
What kind of cruel beast…?
“Then I’ll starve and fail the CPA,” I answer, pulling the covers back over my head.
I feel the bed depress beside me with his weight. “You want me to leave you alone while you study, but we must spend time together so that I can convince you to become my wife.”
“Can’t we just talk or something? Get to know each other like that?” I ask, my voice still foggy with sleep.
“Nyet. Exercise is something I must do every morning. Or else my mind is not right.”
I lower the covers with an, “Aha! You never exercised once during our four days together.”
“Da, I did. But it was different kind of exercise.” His eyes darken with bitterness. “The kind you say is off limits because it is not good way to get to know each other. But if you remember, this kind of exercise is how I always woke you up.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “So you’re saying we either exercise or we fuck in the mornings. No compromise?”
“Yes, that is exact meaning of my words,” he answers without any shame whatsoever. “No compromise. Not on this.”
Uggghhhhh!
And that’s how I come to find myself on the beach, jogging beside Cheslav.
“So you do this, every morning?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the fact that I’m out here, jogging at the butt crack of dawn.
“Da, usually in home gym. Then, hour or two of strength training before practice or game day.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. “I just do YouTube yoga and Just Dance to keep my cardio up.”
“Just dance,” he repeats.
“You’ve never heard of Just Dance?” I pant, bugging my eyes at him. “It’s the best thing ever.”
“You will show me.”
And that’s how we end up in front of the television in the living room after we finish our beach run. Dancing and laughing as we try to pull off all the choreographed steps.
After six songs, Cheslav nods and says, “It is like video game, except you move instead of sitting on couch. I like this for cardio. From now on, we will do one mile on beach then come back to house for this Just Dance.”
So that’s what we do.
Again, I could do without the beach runs. It takes days for my legs to adjust to the new routine and stop being sore. But after years of being a single player on Just Dance, it’s fun to do all the two-player routines with someone else.
And Cheslav is a shockingly quick study. I think a lot of guys—especially elite athletes would have thought me silly. Cheslav not only does the six songs with me every morning but also analyzes all the dance moves to improve his performance for the next day. Not going to lie, this makes me feel all kinds of gooey inside.
By the time a few days roll around, he’s totally keeping up with me.
“I was telling my publicity person about new workout, and she is asking that we record it for her so that she can post on my Instagram TV,” Cheslav tells me later in the week over lunch.
We’re eating the grilled chicken and salad Vlad brought us for lunch out on the balcony, and we’re both dressed a lot more laid back.
Usually, I stick to business casual, even when I don’t have Zoom meetings. And Cheslav tends to throw at least a blazer over everything he wears.
But today I’m wearing one of the sundresses from the beach resort wardrobe that magically appeared in my closet a few days ago (courtesy of Vlad I suspect). And Cheslav is wearing nothing but a pair of running shorts.
Can’t say I mind the view. His rippling abs almost make up for the healthy diet he insists we both stick to, except on one designated cheat day every week.
“She is also asking if we can do TikTok of Toosie Slide.”
I crook my head, not just because I don’t even have a TikTok account, but also because “You talked to your PR team about me?”
“Yes, of course. You will become my wife.”
“That’s not a sealed deal yet,” I remind him with a grimace. But then I have to ask. “What did they say?”
“They are happy you are former Princess South Carolina. They want us to do many things to rise our stars.”
“But I don’t want or need to have my star risen.”
He considers my argument, then counters with, “You say you have pitching problem for your future business. TikToks and marriage to hockey superstar will help you with that.”
I cut my eyes to the side. He has a point there. Visibility is everything in the world of sports, and there’s no better way to get visible than dating a famous athlete.
“But if we start making TikToks, and our relationship doesn’t work out?” I have to ask him.
“In my family, relationships usually work out,” he says, with a smug sneer.
I’m almost used to how often he sneers now, even when he’s being optimistic.
“My family’s just the opposite,” I answer him truthfully. “My whole life and personality are built around the assumption that it’s not a matter of if things fall apart, but when.”
He regards me for a few somber beats, then he says, “I am sorry, krasotka. I am sorry, so many things fell apart for you before.”
Like I told him, I’m strong. I don’t need anyone else. But something about his empathy and understanding…I feel my chest crack a little, and suddenly I’m fighting back tears, even as I mumble, “It’s okay. I’m good.”
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“Yes, you are. You are very good woman, and I hope by time month is done, I can give you reason to believe in this. Believe in us.”
Now I can’t speak. I don’t know what to say, even if I could.
“How about compromise?” he asks. “I record the next Just Dance workout. But I keep on my phone until you say, ‘Yes, Chess, it is alright to send.’”
“Okay,” I agree, still fretting my lip.
“Okay?” he asks like he’s won the lottery.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, fine. I’ll Just Dance with you—”
My phone rings, interrupting the moment.
It’s Cynda.
“Hey, Cynda, how are you?” I say, tilting the phone to keep Cheslav out of the background. “Is everything okay?”
“Are you okay?” Cynda scrunches up her nose at me. Despite her expression, she’s outrageously beautiful, even more so after cutting all her hair off last weekend. Now her exquisitely sculpted cheekbones, long nose, and sharp eyes are on full display. “You called me.”
I silently curse. How had I forgotten that I called her this morning and left a message? That Cheslav is one hell of a distraction.
“Also, why’s it so noisy?” she demands.
“Oh, sorry, it’s the ocean. Here, let me step inside.”
I turn the phone downwards so that Cynda won’t be able to see anything but the floor as I tell Cheslav, “I have to go inside to take this. It’s my friend, and she can’t hear me.”
Both of Cheslav’s eyebrows come up. “Your friend? Same friend who got you in trouble? Perhaps it is time for introduction.”
“Okaygoinginsidenowbye.” I open the balcony door and leap through it before Cheslav says anything else Cynda will definitely ask me to explain.
I lock myself up in the ensuite bathroom in my bedroom and sit down on the toilet before flipping the phone back around.
“Hey, what’s up?” Cynda immediately demands. “Who was that? And why are you at the ocean?”
“Long story,” I answer. “And that’s not why I called. Tommy came by my condo a few days ago. He was demanding to know where Gina was. Like I was hiding her from him or something. The conversation got weird and threatening.”
“What?” Cynda’s expression immediately goes from suspicious to worried. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I assure her. “Don’t worry.”
“Is that why you’re staying near the ocean now?” she asks, her tone a little less interrogating now.
“Yeah, sort of. Like I said, it’s a long story. But I’m safe. I’m just worried about Gina.”
Cynda, who was never Tommy’s biggest fan in the first place, narrows her eyes. “You didn’t tell him about the email, did you?”
“No, of course, I didn’t tell him she went to Canada. Even with the border closed, he might go looking for her there. But Cynda…” I fret my lip. “Do you think that’s where she really is?”
Cynda looks down, like she’s feeling sick to her stomach, just like me.
“I don’t know,” she answers quietly. “I mean she hasn’t gotten in contact like she said she would. Also, I didn’t know she had an aunt in Canada. Did you?”
I shake my head, feeling even sicker with worry. “I think we need to try to find her. Make sure she’s safe.”
“Me too. But how? Like, hire a detective?” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Wait, could you ask your mysterious Russian with the beach house right on the ocean to help us?”
Now I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “How did you know he’s Russian? And has a beach house on the ocean?”
“Girl, I am from small town Missouri,” she answers, sucking her teeth. “We don’t even have to sip the tea. We get all of it with just a whiff. Now, are you going to tell me this long story or what?”
I grimace and look away. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You are so obviously lying!” Cynda shouts, pointing an accusatory finger into the phone.
“Okay, I’m getting off the phone now,” I answer with a laugh.
“But wait, I want to hear more about the sexy Russian? Is he mafia or a hockey player? I mean why else would a Russian be in South Caroli—”
I hang up before she can finish that problematic assumption. It’s not the nicest thing to do, I know. But Cynda can be like a pit bull with a bone, and Cheslav isn’t a conversation I’m ready to have yet.
Which makes it all that more ironic when I find the secret hockey player elephant in the room standing right outside the door when I emerge from the bathroom.
“Why do you not tell me real reason this cop comes to your home?” he demands.
Several emotions hit me at once, and I decide to go with outrage first. “Why were you listening in on my phone call?”
Cheslav sneers in that particularly Russian way of his. “Know that I am one bored hockey player. If you hide in bathroom to gossip with friend, of course, I will listen. And now you will answer my question about not coming to me with this problem.”
I shake my head. “I mean, it’s not your problem.”
“Your problems are my problems,” he informs me, pulling out his phone. “You will tell me this Gina’s full name. And I will have Vlad look into it. Also, her boyfriend’s name. I do not like that he would show up at your home. He will not do this ever again now that you are under my protection.”
I stare at him, not knowing how to take this. “I’m not…I’m not yours to protect.”
“You and I both know this is not true,” he immediately answers, his expression softening. “I will protect you and baby. I will protect you always.”
And of course, he looks deep in my eyes.
Okay, did I say this guy played to conquer? Make that melt.
He melts me. And even though I know what’s right, what’s entirely rational and logical, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to withstand this.
Chapter Seventeen
With taxes pushed back due to the virus, I have a lot more time to study for my June exam than I thought I would. A few of my clients diligently file on April 15th—mostly the ones who stand to get something back. But most of them put it off. And I get the feeling what should have been an early April swamp won’t happen until after I take my test in early June.
Surprisingly, Cheslav and I fall into a comfortable routine. Every morning we record ourselves doing Just Dance. Though, I’ve ordered cuter workout outfits to cover up my expanding belly. Also, solid colors look better on video, according to Cheslav’s PR team.
After that, I work until Vlad comes in with lunch. He’s staying in one of the downstairs bedrooms and seems to be exclusively on meal pickup these days.
After lunch, I study until the words begin to swim. By that time, Cheslav’s usually done with his second workout of the day. And he always has something he wants us to do together. Sometimes it’s binging a show like Tiger King. Sometimes it’s “American board game I order. We do not have it in Russia as kid. You will teach me to play, da?” Sometimes when I come back out to the living room after hours of studying, he’s sitting on the room’s balcony. Watching the ocean with a sad look on his face.
“Everything okay?” I asked the first time I found him like this.
“I am bored and a little sad,” he answered. “But everything is better now that you’re here, krasotka.”
Then he pulled me down into his lap and held me while we watched the ocean.
And whenever I found him out on the balcony after that, I simply slipped into his lap. No questions asked.
One day, during the third week of quarantine, I come out after studying and find him at the formal dining table with a puzzle spread out in front of him.
“What’s all this?” I ask, picking up the top of the puzzle box. It has a cute-to-death picture of Baby Yoda on it.
“Puzzle,” he answers, gathering all the green pieces. “I did not do puzzle in Russia as kid. You will have to…”
“I know, I know,” I answer wit
h a laugh as I take a seat on the other side of the table. “I’ll have to teach you. The first and most important lesson is to always start with the frame.”
“Not green face?” he asks over his pile of Baby Yoda pieces.
“I mean, maybe do that second, but the frame is like the spine of the whole thing. Once you get that in place, the rest of the puzzle feels doable.”
“I see,” he says with a smirk. “It is like metaphor for our relationship. Right now, we build frame. Later on, we fill it with all the good pieces. Like wedding and babies.”
“Babies?” I repeat, widening my eyes at his plural.
“You think I want just one? I can’t imagine life without my baby brother growing up. He is my best friend.”
My stomach twists with a weird emotion, thinking about Cheslav and the brother he calls every day.
“What are you thinking about?” Cheslav asks me. “Why do you have sad look on your face.”
Usually, I’d suppress the feelings and just move on. I don’t even talk about my relationship with my brother with Cynda and Gina. But the quarantine has me feeling a little crazy. Or maybe it’s because Cheslav’s a virtual stranger. I find myself willing to tell him things I’ve never told anyone else.
“I don’t have nearly the same relationship with my brother,” I confess. “He was already showing great promise as a football player by the time he was eight. So I can’t remember when it didn’t feel like I was basically his servant.”
I fiddle with one of the puzzle’s end pieces as memories of a childhood spent in my brother’s shadow wash over me. “My mom named him after the Clemson University Tigers even before she knew he had what it took to play the sport professionally. And many of my early memories consisted of being told I had to be quiet because Clemson needed his sleep for practice. Later on, when I was in junior high, I was expected to do all the household chores by myself because Clem was the one with the big football career in front of him. The one being scouted by colleges. And when money was tight, my dance lessons were the first thing to go. I once couldn’t do a show I had spent two semesters rehearsing for, because my mom had to decide between new cleats for Clem and my dance class tuition.”
Billie and the Russian Beast: An Enemies to Lovers Russian Hockey Player Sports Romance [50 Loving States, South Carolina] (QUARANTALES Book 2) Page 8
