Page 3 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
I fire back:Is that a euphemism for wanting him to fuck me on every available surface while he gazes into my eyes and says I’m not done with you yet?
Send.
If so, yes.
When Mika’s reply isn’t forthcoming, I make the fatal mistake of raising my eyes.
Fatal because Andrej Ivanov has opened the window and is currently reading my text messages from over Mika’s shoulder, while my so-called friend angles her screen towards him to give him a better view.
Her smug smile tells me all I need to know: he read them all. As if he needed yet another woman to remind him that he’s a walking, talking, alpha. Now he also knows exactly what I’vebeen thinking since he walked through the door of Gianna’s hospital room.
So, I guess I have two choices.
One: I throw myself across the bed, snatch Mika’s phone out of her hand, and hurl it out of the now open window.
Two: I pretend that I’m gloriously and naively oblivious.
I’m going with the lesser of two evils.
I zero in on Gianna, ignoring the curl of Andrej’s lip in my peripheral vision, and say, “Did you prepare a speech for later, Gi?”
My best friend wrenches her eyes away from her beautiful baby daughter. Like a lioness protecting her cubs, she instinctively seeks out the twin in Leonid’s arms before she finally reaches me. Each passing moment feels like an eternity with his eyes on me, but I don’t waver. I’ve had plenty of practice over the years at keeping a deadpan expression.
Gianna scrunches up her face, and I already have my answer. “I’m sorry, Car. I was going to do it last night when I got home, but my babies had other ideas.”
She smiles down at the babe in her arms, and I wonder briefly if they’ll ever be able to tell their own children apart.
“Could you do it for me?” she adds. “Please?”
I glance at the clock on the wall. We’re running out of time, and I know how important this grand opening is to Gianna. The mayor will be attending along with plenty of other important people in Chicago; not the kind of event where I can ad-lib a speech and still expect to impress people.
“We’d both be grateful,” Leonid says from the visitor’s seat where he’s cradling the other twin.
“Of course she can.” It’s easy for Mika to say, she isn’t the one under pressure to write a mayor-of-Chicago-worthy speech while being mentally undressed by the babies’ uncle.
“I’ll help.”
My heart screeches to a halt and then starts thudding in reverse like it can rewind the past few seconds and watch Andrej repeat the offer.
“I’m free for the rest of the day,” he adds. His eyes meet and hold mine, and I’m frightened of what will happen if someone doesn’t pry me away from him soon.
“You want to help her write a speech?” The question from Leonid saves me in the nick of time.
“It’s fine,” I blurt out. “I’ll do it.”
“I think it’s a great idea.” Mika doesn’t even try to contain her grin. “I remember the last speech Cartier gave; she got the director’s name wrong twice.”
“I was hungover.” I glare at her, but it goes unnoticed. “I’m quite capable of writing a speech.”
Mika is on a roll now, in full-on ‘let’s embarrass Cartier’ mode. “So hungover that she woke up in the shower that morning wearing a hi-vis jacket and steel-toe-capped boots that she stole from a construction site.”
“And whose fault was it?” I arch an eyebrow. “Who threatened to rip up my antique copy ofJane Eyreif I didn’t do a tequila shot?”
“Mine. I’ll hold my hands up.” Mika, unfazed, raises both hands in mock surrender.
Gianna chuckles. “It was funny, Car. You delivered the speech and then crashed out underneath the staffroom table with a packet of sugar as a pillow.”
“This is the reason why I don’t drink.” I address Mika and Gianna. “Because I have friends who can’t be trusted to keep me sober. I lost my favorite pair of cowboy boots that night.”
