I can feel Russ’s eyes on me from across the kitchen counter, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of looking at him.
“I did tell you,” he says smugly.
“Shut up. I don’t wanna hear it.”
After I flooded the bathroom and we had to evacuate the kids, we finally have them resettled in the main building. Thankfully, because we do movie nights in here, there were already mats for them to use and Cooper, the senior working tonight, was able to point us in the direction of sleeping bags.
I’d like to think that the kids sensed the stress radiating off me because none of them have tried me and they all lay down on their makeshift beds straight away. There’s a kitchen attached to the main room where we make drinks and snacks in the evening and that’s where I spend the next fifteen minutes guzzling whipped cream straight from the can.
Russ moves around the table until he’s standing beside me. He nudges me with his hip gently, so I nudge back and, before I know it, I’m on top of the counter with a huge man between my legs.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ears on both sides.
“Build a time machine and go back to before I flushed that toilet.”
“I could do that. Might take me a little bit of time though.”
I point the bottle toward him and he opens his mouth, letting me squirt whipped cream onto his tongue. “If you could go back in time and change something, what would you change?”
It’s a question I think about a lot, which is silly because it’ll never happen, but for some reason I love to torment myself with how I’d have done things differently.
His hands rub up and down my thighs gently and he concentrates on watching that instead of looking at me, until he eventually shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You wouldn’t change mistakes you’ve made or even, like, exams you could have done better on or something?” He shakes his head. “Seriously, nothing?”
“Have you heard of the butterfly effect?”
“I am familiar with butterflies, yes.” There are currently one hundred of them living in my abdomen and they all come to life when you’re near me. However, I think he’s probably talking about the movie. “What effect do they have on my time machine?”
“Not butterflies, the butterfly effect. If I change one thing in my past, it’d cause a ripple effect and I wouldn’t chance not meeting you.”
Make that two hundred butterflies, all flapping at once.
My throat feels dry, but I force out the words anyway. “You know you don’t have to sweet talk me to get into my pants, right? You’ve already done that bit.”
“I’m not sweet talking you, but I’m never going to get bored of seeing your cheeks flush pink.”
It’s an overwhelming feeling, watching Russ step into the guy he clearly is deep down when you ward off the insecurities. I feel so fucking lucky that I’m the one watching.
My kiss catches him off guard but he settles into it quickly and I hope to God that nobody steps on a butterfly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
RUSS
Aurora hands me my second coffee of the day as we watch Xander and Emilia argue.
Several weeks ago, the words talent and show were mentioned in the same sentence in what I hoped was a joke. Then Aurora told me how important it is to her, emotional blackmail some would say, and because I can’t help but do whatever she wants because I’m obsessed, I’m now waiting to be taught to dance.
I knew that if I let her down after missing the first practice she would never learn to trust me, so I’ve been in our designated rehearsal spot before everyone, ready to go.
What Aurora didn’t consider when she told us we had to be prepared enough to do a good job, is that we would have to decide on our talent as a group.
I know what my and Aurora’s talent is, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to do it on a stage with an audience.
She stands beside me, occasionally bumping me with her hip, while Maya and Clay stand on my other side, and the four of us congregate together watching our two other counselors argue. Again.
“It’s a talent contest, Xan,” Emilia snaps.
“And I am brimming with natural talent,” he argues back.
“I’m a professionally trained dancer.”
“You can’t teach what I have.”
Maya folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “Should we intervene?”
“Nah,” I say, taking a swig of my coffee. “He’ll wear himself out eventually.”