CHAPTER EIGHT

THE BAR WAS HOT AND noisy, and Tabitha was wishing she’d not come. Her wig itched. Xtina’s sky-high vinyl boots were awkward. And Daniil was across the room with the women from the arena and hadn’t looked her way once.

“Here.” Samara returned with beers and shoved a bottle into Tabitha’s hand. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like beer much, and definitely not this kind which tasted like bitter, malt-flavored water. But at least it was cold. And if any situation demanded a little liquid courage, this one did.

If she got the chance to talk with Daniil, she didn’t know what to say. What if he recognized her voice? If he asked her to dance, what if her wig came off? If he suggested they go find a convenient amplifier, would she make like Blondie in the movie, or retreat behind the Ice Queen?

The potential for humiliation was endless.

The way things were going right now, it might not be a problem. Daniil and his friend Ruslan were surrounded by a flock of females eager to get to know this exotic new species; Russian male figure skaters. There wasn’t a single reason for them to wander over here.

“Your turn,” said Xtina, who’d taken her turn at the pool table.

Tabitha set down her beer and considered the possible shots. Orange striped ball, corner pocket. Easy enough. She balanced the stick on her knuckle and aimed. The stick grazed the white ball, sending it spinning into the pocket instead.

The two guys lingering near the pool table snickered. “Nice shot,” said the taller one, who had a large reddish stain on his white t-shirt.

Why couldn’t it be Daniil Andreev hanging out here rather than these two? Tabitha responded with a bland smile. “Thank you. I meant to do that.”

Yeah, right. She wasn’t any good at pool. Neither were Xtina or Samara. They didn’t even know the rules, so they’d made up their own. Whoever sunk the most balls won. A simple game, but it was taking a while.

She passed the stick to Samara who sank both the yellow and black balls, taking the lead. After a triumphant bow, she passed the stick to Xtina.

“Hey! You can’t do that!” sputtered Stained Shirt. “You sank the eight ball. Game’s over, you lost. Our turn.”

“We’re playing by different rules,” Tabitha said.

“Those aren’t rules! You don’t know any more about pool than you do about music.” He waved his beer in Samara’s direction. “You realize that idiot on your t-shirt OD-ed on purpose?”

Her sister’s smile faded, and she smoothed her hand over the image of Harry K, captioned RIP, and the date of his death, two weeks ago. “Yeah, I know. It was tragic.”

The other guy snorted. “What’s tragic? He fucking sucked and took the coward’s way out. The only thing tragic are people glorifying him with those stupid t-shirts.”

“Fuck off.” Samara’s voice was low and angry, but trembled.

Though Tabitha found her sister’s grief over a musician she’d never met baffling, she didn’t feel it was her place to judge. It definitely wasn’t this guy’s place. “Hey, if you don’t like his music, fine. Don’t buy it. But that doesn’t give you a reason to act like a jerk.”

Suddenly, there was a light touch on her shoulder, and she caught a whiff of the crisp scent of Polo Black. Daniil Andreev’s deep, exotic voice tickled her ear. “If they are being rude, say the word, and I will be happy to teach them manners.”

Heart pounding, she spun around, brushing his face with her synthetic hair. He stepped back, grinning a little as their gazes locked.

He wasn’t tall, which wasn’t unusual for a skater. But his well-defined upper body, tattooed arms and rock-star eyes made him look tough, cool and confident. She hadn’t a doubt he was good in a fight, and definitely not afraid of one.

Ruslan had joined them too, and though he was more baby-face than bad-ass, it evened the odds should Stained Shirt or his buddy start something. Not that Tabitha wanted that to happen. Fortunately, Stained Shirt didn’t either. “Hey, nobody’s bein’ rude to anybody. We’re just waiting for these fine ladies to finish up their pool game.”

“Which we will, thank you,” said Tabitha, lowering her voice to sound less like herself. She fished out the eight ball and returned it to the table. She threw what she hoped was a sexy look at Daniil. “Want to be on my team?”

“Sure.” He smiled and moved closer to Tabitha. “Which are we, stripes or solids?”

“Either. We made up our own game.” She leaned against the table and slipped into the skin of her “Someone New” program character. She ran her tongue over her white frosted lips. “Whoever gets the most balls wins.”

He smiled slowly, and gave a low chuckle as he gazed into her eyes. “I’ll bet you play very well.”

“Actually, I’m quite new at it. But eager to learn.” She angled herself to show off her body, accented by a fitted black tank, and a red mini-skirt. His admiring gaze took in all her hard work in the gym. In the hot, charged moment, a part of her longed for him to touch her the way Rod had touched Blondie. It seemed as though he might be reading her thoughts. Even as he bent to take his turn at the pool table, his gaze lingered on her until the very last minute.

Pool balls collided with a sharp crack, and the solid-color green one rolled into a pocket at the opposite end. Tabitha licked her lips. “I like your technique. Maybe you could show me a few things.”

“Happy to.” A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I’m Daniil. And you are?”

She froze, as the fake name she’d concocted suddenly vanished from her mind. And then, as if her thoughts had beamed out a distress signal, her sister suddenly appeared at her side. “Hildegard,” she supplied, answering his question. “Hildegard Snarski. And I’m Samara.”

Daniil tilted his head. “Like the city in Russia?”

“Um, no. Like the demon ghost girl in The Ring. Ever seen it?”

“Actually it means ‘protected by God.’” Tabitha said. A wise choice on Fiona’s part, as she’d been much too distracted to do it. “It was our grandmother’s name.”

“You’re sisters?”

“Cousins,” offered Xtina, who looked oddly normal with her brown hair pulled back into an Ariana Grande ponytail. She passed her cue stick to Tabitha. “And I’m Christina. Spelled with an X.”

“Hildegard, Samara and Christina with an X. Snarski.” He laughed and turned to Ruslan. “And people think Russian names are strange.” Peering at Tabitha, he followed her around to the other side of the table. The red ball was in line with a corner pocket and she bent low to set up the shot. “It’s funny. You don’t look like a Hildegard,” he said. “I think you look more like a Tabitha.”

Crap! Not only did Tabitha miss the cue ball, she almost dropped the stick. Yep, he was onto her. She could either retreat in shame… or she could play the game. She looked up through her fringe of blue bangs. “Nope. Definitely not Tabitha.”

“I see.” His alluring sideways grin suggested he not only liked the game, he wanted to dial it up a notch. “How long are you in town?”

“What makes you think I’m not from around here?”

“Just a guess. There are lots of people in town for the figure skating competition. Like Ruslan and me. Maybe you are one?”

“I know nothing about figure skating. I’m just your average girl from Chicago.”

“With blue hair and a funny name.” He gave a low chuckle and moved closer, so that his shoulder brushed against her bare arm. His nearness and the aroma of Polo Black filled her senses. “So tell me....Hildegard Snarski... is it true what I’ve heard about American women?”

She felt the familiar adrenaline rush that accompanied a daring leap. Usually it was a leap off the ice, but not this time. She had no idea what he’d heard and was a little afraid to find out. Then again, the “Someone New” girl wouldn’t be afraid. Neither would Samara. Nor would Hildegard Snarski. She twirled the square of blue chalk around the tip of the cue stick and blew away the excess. “Tell me what you’ve heard, and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”

He trailed his fingertip over her arm, whisper soft against her skin. “That they’re after a good time. No expectations, no strings. Just one night, and then goodbye.”

She blinked and her cheeks felt hot. That’s was what tonight was all about. It wasn’t like she could actually date Daniil Andreev! But the way he’d put the question front and center was disconcerting. “Is that what you’re after?”

“When I can get it,” his low voice and warm breath tickled her ear. “Russian women? They always want something from you. But why be tied down when there’s so much beauty to enjoy?”

Did he really believe that, or was he just saying it to see how “Hildegard” reacted? Then again, what did it matter if he was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type? This wasn’t about a relationship. This was about fun. An adventure. If it only lasted one night, so much the better. Her heart was pounding as she looked deep into his darkly lined eyes. “I can’t think of a single reason.”

He took the cue stick from her hand and passed it to Samara. Or maybe it was Ruslan. Tabitha didn’t know, or care. She could only think about how he was moving closer, and the way her lips were tingling, as he leaned in and angled his head. His hand moved from her bare shoulder, over her throat to cup her jaw and he brushed the pad of his thumb over the swell of her bottom lip.

And then his mouth was on hers, hungry and demanding, taking what he wanted. She gripped the edge of the table, as his arm snaked around her, pressing against the small of her back. His tongue probed her mouth, triggering wild spirals of desire that blocked out the sounds of the bar, and awareness of people around them.

She arched her back and pushed her breasts against the hard contours of his chest. Blood pounded through her veins, and her core felt like liquid, soaking her panties, driving her wild. Consumed with urgent need she’d never experienced before, she gave a small gasp when he broke contact. Then his warm breath against her ear sent shivers through her body.

“Want to get out of here?”

Oh my God, was this going to be her amplifier moment? Tabitha the Ice Queen had never dropped to her knees to deep throat a man to grunting climax. Not that she objected to the idea. It was that the opportunity had yet to present itself.

“What did you have in mind?” Her voice was low and raspy as he flicked her earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

“An adventure. Just you and me. Are you up for one?”

Good question. The World’s Oldest Virgin didn’t carry around a stash of condoms, though it was possible he did. Still, she didn’t want her first time having sex to be a random hook-up with a virtual stranger, even one as alluring as Daniil. But a hot and heavy make-out session outside the bar? Her pushed up against a wall, him eagerly skimming his hands beneath her t-shirt.

Now we’re talking.

That she was in disguise only made the fantasy hotter. Though he knew who she was and the threat of discovery was there, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she trusted him to keep her secret. This was a night to cast off her inhibitions. Tabitha Turner might go through life playing it safe, but not her blue-haired, wild-child alter ego.

“With you? Absolutely,” she said.

He bracketed her face with both hands, claiming her once more with intoxicating kisses that made her knees weak and her insides quiver. Her eyelids fluttered and as he bent to nuzzle her neck, she looked over his shoulder to see Samara, Xtina and Ruslan staring. Ruslan pumped his fist in a show of manly approval. Xtina and Samara exchanged high fives.

Go for it!

Outside the bar, she and Daniil headed around the corner of the building into the shadows. Then once more his mouth was on hers, but now his kiss was different. Long, slow, even gentle, but no less entrancing.

“So where are we going?”

“Wherever you want to go. You’re from Chicago,” he teased. “You tell me.”

Oh, right. She’d forgotten that little detail. “Um, I don’t get out much. Anyway, you invited me. I assumed you had something in mind.”

He gave a low, sexy laugh. “I do. But let’s start with drinks and dancing and see where it goes from there?” He laced his fingers through hers. “We can go to a city neighborhood I found a few days ago, and then you can pick the place.”

No plans, just doing what she wanted. Perfect. “We’ll just see what looks like fun once we get to... wherever.”

The energy of the night time streets, and the crisp, cool autumn air brought a heady sense of freedom and excitement. On the rare occasions she was out late, she was doing something skating-related, or feeling guilty that she was missing out on much-needed sleep. But tonight, she wasn’t working or guilty. She was free to have fun with a hot guy happy to do what she wanted to do—even if she wasn’t sure what that was.

“So, Hildegard Snarski. Tell me about yourself.” He gave her a playful smile as they walked to the elevated train platform a few blocks from the bar. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a stylist,” she said, having this part of her story down. “Specializing in anime.”

“I thought you looked like a Pokémon character.”

“Not Pokémon! I’m Isla from Plastic Memories, an AI cop who falls in love with her human partner, only to die a tragic death.” This, according to Xtina, who’d briefed her on the storyline.

“You seem close to your cousins. Do you come from a big family?”

“Not really. My mom came from rural Missouri and joined a carnival that was passing through her hometown. She worked as a fortune teller and then ended up in LA.”

“Was she an anime stylist too?”

“Nope. She had lots of different jobs, but mostly, she was a groupie.”

“Really.” He laughed at her outlandish story. Little did he realize that she was telling the truth. “And let me guess. Your dad is a rock star.”

Actually, it was Samara’s dad that was the rock star. Tabitha’s was a carnival worker named Donnie who died in a motorcycle accident when she was a baby. Hildegard would have a much more glamorous history. She tossed back her hair. “Yeah, that’s right. A rock star.”