Page 4 of One Last Shot

He takes in the limited amount of space between us, his eyes sliding down and back up to my face. “Petra,” he says my name like he’s choking on the word, “nothing can happen between us.”

I’m so surprised by his response that I just blink at him, my lips parting slightly as I try to catch my breath. His eyes are on my mouth, just like they were in the garden earlier. His forehead is creased and his eyes crinkle at the corners. If that isn’t a look of longing, then I don’t know what is.

“Why are you doing this, Sasha?” I ask. He’s fighting something that is so obviously right.

“You’re a child.” The condescending tone hits me like a spray of ice water to my face. “I don’t see you like that.”

“Bullshit,” I say. The attraction that’s been growing while he’s been home this summer is clear as day, painted across his face, embedded in that hungry gaze. I know he loves me, and I know he could bein lovewith me if he let himself.

“I don’t feel that way about you, and if you don’t realize that, you’re a fool.”

His words don’t just sting, they crush. Sasha istryingto hurt me and I don’t understand why he, of all people, would do this. Especially when I can tell that he doesn’t mean it. His words are at odds with everything else ... his body, his face, the emotion I see in his eyes. He’s in pain too.

“Why are you saying these things?” I whisper, trying to hold back the tears that are clouding my vision.

“Because you need to hear them. You’re playing a dangerous game, flirting with every man around you. You’re sixteen, but you look a lot older, and you’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days.”

“You sound like all the jealous, catty girls at school. Is that what you are, Aleksandr? Jealous and catty?” When he doesn’t respond, I say, “I can’t help what I look like.”

“You need to be careful,” he says, his eyes bouncing all over my face like he’s cataloging every last detail.

“Oh.” The word is an icicle dancing between us. “You’re one ofthose.”

“One of what?”

“One of those people who thinks that instead of teaching boys to respect girls, we need to teach girls to be careful not to attract too much attention from boys.”

“No, I’m just someone who used to be your friend, but I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”

A literal knife piercing my pounding heart would do less damage than these words. He’s left a gaping hole in my chest, a wound so deep and fresh I can barely utter, “What?”

“You heard me.” There’s no expression on his face, his eyes are placid, his lips are flat. “This is goodbye.”

“Sasha.” The words are a whispered plea floating off my lips and falling on deaf ears. “No. I can’t lose you too.” This doesn’t even make sense.

Not once did I envision tonight ending this way. I would have done anything to keep his friendship, because there isno onein this world more important to me than him. I don’t understand why he’s doing this to us.

“You have no choice,” he says, and he’s never sounded more like his father in his life.

When he descends the ladder, I don’t for a second believe this is really the end, that this is really goodbye forever. We’re too close for that. He’s my best friend, and even if he doesn’t want anything more than that, he would never end our friendship like this.

Over nothing.

Would he?

CHAPTER2

PETRA

Present Day

I stand at the window in the living area of the hotel suite, sipping my coffee as I take in the view of the southeast corner of Central Park. I can see across The Pond to the Nature Sanctuary, and beyond that, the buildings of the Upper West Side rising above the opposite edge of Central Park.

When my coffee is half gone, I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for—the rustling of the sheets. I pick up the second cup of coffee off the windowsill and head back into the hotel bedroom.

He’s propped up on one elbow and his muscles bunch up in ripples across his abdomen. Yep, he’s as fit as he felt in the dark last night.

“Wow,” he says, sleep clinging to his voice as he looks me up and down. I’m in nothing but a T-shirt, and I’ve spent the past twenty minutes fixing my curls from their post-sex messiness.

---