Page 17 of Dance of Defiance
Laz shrugs his shoulders. “No. But even from a distance, I could tell she had agreatpersonality.”
Laz cups his hands out in front of himself, as if he’s holding two basketballs to his chest.
“Great,hugepersonality…”
Bane snickers and I roll my eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
“Mouthwateringpersonality,” Laz continues.
“Meh, Roman’s not a boob guy,“ Bane sighs.
Laz makes a face. “Lucky for him, his arranged bride-to-be has the infrastructure to turn thedeadinto boob guys.”
The two of them start to go at it again. But just then, my phone lights up on the table in front of me.
Stepan
Your father wants to speak with you. I’m waiting outside.
I frown at the screen for a minute.
Stepan
Yeah, still outside.
I debate turning the phone face down and continuing my mission to drink myself into oblivion, but then it lights up again.
Stepan
Don’t ignore me, Roman. I’ll come in to get you and embarrass you in front of your friends.
I allow a grin to creep into the corners of my mouth as I throw back the last of my drink and stand.
“Gotta run, boys.”
Bane’s brow furrows as he looks up at me. “Papa Nikitin?”
“Yup. When he says jump…”
“You better fucking ask ‘how high’!” Bane and Laz crow at the same time, demonstrating that they have spentfartoo much time around my father.
I give them both a fist bump and head outside to where Stepan is waiting behind the wheel of his all-black ‘69 Mustang Mach 1—AKA “his baby”. At forty-two and single, I’m guessing this car really is going to be his one and only baby.
My father’s number two, who's always been like a strict if protective uncle to me, eyes me as I fold my large frame into his muscle car. “How drunk are you?”
I swat at the mini Manchester United F.C. soccer cleats perennially hanging from his rearview mirror as I turn to him. “Not very?”
Stepan rolls his eyes. “Have you ever considered the concept of moderation?”
“Have you ever considered buying a car from this millennium?”
“Nope. Buckle your seat belt.”
“Wow. This ancient thinghasthem?”
Stepan’s only response is to peel away from the curb so fast that I almost fall out of my seat.
Well played, sir.
