“Darling, you’re the prude between us, and you’re also too damn naive. All you care about is Aaron, shopping, and your plastic friends, half of which I fuck behind your back.”
“Who?” she demanded, turning toward him sharply. Her entire face changed. She looked . . . weird. Older. In a span of seconds.
It was Conrad’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Stop playing games with me, Conrad.”
“Games are the only thing I have left with you, Bea.”
My fingers dug so deep into the belt that the buckle bit into my skin and popped it open, blood filling my fist.
Mr. Roth had no idea his paper tiger of a wife was right. That the only time Arya and I had touched in a way that wasn’t innocent that entire summer was when Arya herself had initiated it.
Two weeks ago, we’d broken into Mr. Roth’s study, where he kept his Cuban cigars. I wanted to steal one and share it with my Hunts Point friends, and Arya was always up for mischief. It was a lazy afternoon, and the penthouse was empty. We found the engraved leather box just when my mom got back from the supermarket. The surprise click of the door made Arya drop the cigar case with a loud thud. Footsteps reverberated across the hallway, the sound ricocheting in my stomach like a bullet as my mother approached to investigate.
Arya grabbed my wrist and dragged us both to the space between the filing cabinets and the floor, where we were smooshed together under the belly of the console, limbs tangled, hidden from view. We were chest to chest, our hot breaths mixing together, fruity bubble gum, slushies, and a kiss that could never happen permeating the air, and suddenly, all the times I’d been told not to touch Arya made sense.
Because the need to touch her shot from my spine to my fingertips, making the pit of my stomach feel empty and achy.
Mom walked into the room. We saw her worn-out sneakers from our spot on the floor as she turned 360 degrees, surveying the area.
“Miss Arya? Nicholai?” Her voice was shrill.
No answer. She cursed softly in Russian, stomping one foot over the marbled floor. Adrenaline made my veins tingle.
“Your father will be very mad if he finds out you’ve been in here.” Mom tried and failed to lace her tone with authority. My eyes held Arya’s gaze. Her whole body shook with a giggle. I pressed my palm against her mouth to stop her from laughing. She poked her tongue out and licked between my fingers. The shot of pleasure that bolted through my spine made me dizzy. I let go of her immediately, gasping a little.
After a few minutes, Mom finally gave up and walked away. We stayed completely still. Arya took my hand and flattened my palm over her chest, her smile so big it threatened to split her face in two.
“Whoa. Feel how fast my heart is beating?”
Actually, all I could feel was the need to put my lips on hers. The way my own heart flipped and twisted in my chest, trying to break free from its arteries and veins, and the way I didn’t feel so brave anymore next to her.
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
I jerked my head yes. “Thanks for saving my ass.”
“Yeah, well, I still owe you from that time we were being chased.” Her smile was big and genuine and told me I was definitely, definitely on the brink of catastrophe.
“Arya?”
“Hmm?” Her hand was still on mine.
Let go of me.
But I couldn’t say it.
I couldn’t deny her anything. Even what could have been my goddamn destruction.
Instead, I kept my hand on her chest until the coast was clear and she slipped away on her own.
That was my first mistake of many.
The day with the cigar box changed everything.
We were skidding on the brink of disaster, always dangerously close to the edge. Not because I wanted to kiss her that bad—I could probably go for eternity not touching her, even if I didn’t like that idea all that much. But because my ability to refuse her was nonexistent, which meant sooner or later, she was going to get me in trouble.
Funny how her parents were so worried I’d corrupt her, when she could probably convince me to kill a man with no more than a toss of her crazy Medusa hair.
A few days before summer vacation came to an end, I eavesdropped on the Roths again. This time, it was no accident. I was worried they wouldn’t let me spend next summer with Arya. I wanted to know where the wind was blowing. At this point, Arya was the closest thing to happiness I’d ever achieved, and I was willing to do some screwed-up things to keep our arrangement going.