Page 29 of Finding Alexei
“Ryleigh?” Alexei asks, still watching me. “Can you help me with something?”
“Sure.”
I follow him into the pantry, which is the size of a walk-in closet, complete with a wall of shelves built in for wine bottles. I have no idea what he needs help with, but if he wants me to take over cooking the entire meal, I won’t mind.
“What’s up?” I ask.
When he turns to face me, we’re standing just inches apart. It’s impossible not to notice the way he towers over me. With all his bulky muscle, he easily weighs over a hundred pounds more than me. Anytime we’re alone like this, it’s as though the air between us is charged.
He meets my eyes and places his hands on my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “I just wanted to check on you. I know this is probably a lot. First, I dragged you here, and now I’m entertaining friends and you’re along for the ride. Are you okay?”
Is he serious? He’s worried about how I’m feeling? It’s so unexpected that a lump of emotion momentarily lodges in my throat.
“I just don’t want to be in the way,” I manage to say.
His hands on my shoulders give me a firm squeeze. “You’re not. Jane and Weston are cool, so please don’t worry.”
I nod. “And you did sort of drag me here, didn’t you?”
Alexei chuckles, and when he meets my eyes again, I don’t miss the way they smolder with unmistakable heat. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
My mouth curls into a smirk. “We’d better get back out there before your friends wonder what’s happening in here.”
He shrugs. “Let them wonder.”
I love how he doesn’t care what anyone thinks, that he’s never been concerned with his image or what the media would say about someone like him hanging out with someone like me.
“Promise you’re okay?”
I nod. “Promise.”
We rejoin his friends, and soon dinner is ready and everyone sits at the table. The burgers are cooked perfectly, and they pair well with the salad and wine Jane and Weston brought. I’m glad I thought to make something for dessert later. Alexei said they had dinner covered, but my grandmother taught me the most amazing recipe for peach cobbler, and I haven’t made it in years.
“This is great,” I say, helping myself to another bite of the tomato-and-feta salad that Jane brought.
She smiles warmly at me again, yet I can’t help but notice the curious glances she’s been casting my way all evening.
As Weston and Alexei have an enthusiastic conversation about their odds of winning the next game, Jane gives me another smile. I would really love to know what she’s thinking.
“Alexei, everything turned out perfectly,” I say at a lull in conversation.
“Your name is Alexei?” Jane asks, her nose crinkling. “How did I not know that?”
He shrugs. “Everyone calls me Alex.”
“Everyone except for Ryleigh,” she adds helpfully.
My cheeks threaten to turn pink, and I take a big gulp of my ice water to temper the burn.
“So, are you two . . .” Jane looks between Alexei and me with her brows raised, leaving the rest of her sentence unspoken.
Part of me is relieved, but the other part kind of wants her to put Alexei on the spot, wants to hear him define what this is.
Two people sleeping together? Check.
But is it more? Or am I just a charity case to him that he’ll see through until I’m on my feet again, or until Andi comes back?
Alexei dodges the question by lifting one shoulder and looking at me. The smirk on his full lips makes my stomach twist. Why am I the only one who calls him Alexei? From what he’s told me, he and Jane have been friends for years.
I duck my head and head toward the kitchen—flee is more like it—mumbling something about taking the ice cream out of the freezer to thaw a bit.
“I’ll help.” Jane smiles at me as though she knows something I don’t.
Once we’re alone in the kitchen, I grab two cartons of vanilla ice cream and place them on the counter, and busy myself with locating the ice cream scoop in the utensil drawer.
“So . . . how long have you and Alexei been friends?” I ask.
Jane grabs some bowls from the cabinet. It doesn’t escape my notice that she knows exactly which cabinet they’re stored in. She thinks about my question. “About four years now, I guess.”
I nod. “And you and Weston? How long have you been together?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “That one is much harder. We grew up together, high school sweethearts. And when he left, I hated him for years. Then he got drafted to the Hawks, and well . . . he slowly won me back over.” She pauses, catching my eye. “Oh my God, you wanted a simple answer like two months or something, didn’t you?” She places her hands over her face and groans.
