Act Twelve
Baylee Wright
Practice ends, and I open up my blue locker. Shower pipes groan through the cement walls, the locker room extremely full and the bathrooms in use. Most everyone keeps to themselves, coming down from the first exhausting day of the season.
I rummage through my gym bag—and I freeze.
What…is this? I frown and grab a thick white envelope that lies on my towel. I turn it over. Next to the seal, I detect the legible, unmistakable handwriting of Luka Kotova.
For all the birthdays I missed.
“What’d you do, Luk,” I whisper to myself, my lungs burning up. Gently, I peel open the seal, and my thumb skims the edges of cash. Many, many bills. I don’t even have to count to know there’s exactly a grand here.
I rock back into the locker, my knees weak. My eyes burning.
I can’t believe he did this.
Then again, I can. He’d give the shirt off his back to a homeless man. I know this, because he would do it all the time in New York. How many shoes did he kick off and hand to other people that needed them more?
In the same breath, he steals from stores too many times to count. Timo used to say that he has a Robin Hood complex, but we all know it’s even more deep-seated. Rooted somewhere that Luka barely touches.
I fan the bills and shake my head. I can’t accept a thousand dollars from Luka. No matter how sweet the sentiment. I wouldn’t even accept money from my own brother. I smooth my lips together and close the flap of the envelope just as tenderly.
My pulse rushes forward. I have to find Luka.
So I peer down each row of lockers. No. No. I can’t exactly ask anyone where he is. They’d question why I’m searching for him. I already overheard someone discussing our fake cocaine drama earlier today, and saying, “It must be so awkward for them to be working together.”
Awkward, no.
Tense, definitely.
I’m used to discretion, and I keep up the secrecy as much as possible.
After more searching, I think he’s either in the shower or already left the locker room.
Envelope still in hand, I pass the rows of lockers and head to a dark blue door that says showers in gold lettering. I push inside.
Taupe curtains enclose every individual shower stall. I scan the area, charcoal tiles wet beneath my sneakers.
Kotovas fill the space, chatting loudly in Russian, drying their hair with extra towels. Definitely semi-naked. I’m not fazed, and I don’t see Luka among them.
I walk further inside and pass the ten sinks situated in the center. A couple girls use the mirrors and comb their wet hair. I spot Zhen at a sink. He puts in a new pair of contacts, oblivious to his surroundings and me.
I’m invisible.
A wanderer. Watcher. Attempting to be a finder.
Find him. I grip the money tighter and peer at the other side of the sinks. Closer to the group of Kotovas. They don’t notice me either.
Steam builds and clams my skin. I waft the air, and as soon as my hand drops, a shower curtain whips open.
I’m motionless.
There he is.
Cotton towel tied low around his waist, his sculpted, partially naked body is in my direct view. He doesn’t notice me yet.
I slowly skim him from head-to-toe. My lips part in heady desire that heats my skin more than the steam. I haven’t felt this ache since we split up. I take a shallow breath, and I actually clench between my legs. Pulsating some.
I can’t close my lips together. The instant arousal stuns me, but more than that, I’m hypnotized. By him. Beads of water roll down the ridges of his abs, his biceps cut without flexing.
His right leg is inked fully, more tattoos than I remember. And the muscles along his waist create a V-shape, pointing towards his package that’s hidden behind a thin towel.
I can confidently say that he’s not only attractive but that I’m extremely attracted to him. That hasn’t changed. In fact, it feels stronger.
Just before I call out his name, Luka turns his head.
He catches my gaze, and he solidifies, his brows furrowing. His eyes flit to the envelope.
I say, “Can I…” talk to you about non-work things? I don’t have to finish because he already nears me.
Pushing his wet hair out of his face, he nods to the envelope. “That’s yours, Bay.”
Bay. It’s like no time has passed, but then it’s like forever spans between us. Look at his body. It’s changed. He’s clearly physically different.
I’m different.
We’ve been separated for years.
I fight the emotion that tries to surge again, and I swallow hard. “It’s yours.” I hold the envelope out. “You know I can’t accept it.”
Predictably, Luka raises his hands. “I’m not taking it back.”
“Yeah you are,” I whisper since his group of cousins have quieted by the wall. “I’m returning it.”
Luka crosses his arms, further proving that he won’t reclaim the envelope.
For some reason, my lips start pulling upwards. “Stop.”
He begins to smile off mine, and he nods at me again. “Stop what?”
“Stop being stubborn or I’ll just throw this at your feet.”
Luka stares intensely at me. Into me. Lightness, happiness floods my soul so abruptly, so quickly that I become overwhelmed.
I breathe, “Luka.”
Love me.
His chest rises in a deep inhale, and then he reaches out and takes the envelope. During the exchange, his fingers stroke my hand, lovingly. Affectionately.
My neck warms, and much further down—I’m wet.
I know I’m wet.
Suddenly Matvei rips the towel off Luka’s waist and snaps it against his toned ass. Buck-naked.
My eyes grow, mouth slowly dropping, and Luka, hardly surprised, flips off his snickering cousins with one hand and uses his other to barely shield his dick.
Luka catches me staring, and he laughs into a wide smile.
It’s infectious, and my lips begin stretching again. We’re allowed to chat. Professionally, but that word could be expanded to other topics. If I take the risk.
So I say, “Nice tattoos.” His ink only reached his knee before, but now the new designs rise all the way up his right thigh.
It’s incredibly hot.
“That’s what you were staring at?” he teases.
I’d shove his arm if I could touch him. In the past, he’d probably pull me into his chest right after and squeeze me in the tightest, warmest hug.
Tension keeps us apart. “Mmhmm,” I say, not able to play into his words as much as I want to.
His smile vanishes, and he nods understandingly. We’re both frowning now, and it hurts. God, it hurts so badly.
I start walking backwards to the exit, and I say, “I’ll see you around…co-worker.”
His eyes smile more than his lips. “See you, Bay.”
We can do this.
I hope.