His back is still turned to me. I only know he’s referring and definitely knows I’m here because he called me kukla. As to what else he said, I have no idea.
“You know I have no idea what you just said,” I reply and now he turns to look over at me.
“Then how’d you know I was talking to you?” He smirks.
“You called me kukla. The other day I asked Lyssa what that meant.”
He chuckles. “I hope you didn’t ask her anything else.”
“I did, and I learned my lesson,” I reply nervously with a small smile
“Maybe save those questions for me.”
“Okay, so what did you say just now?”
“I was asking if you were going to watch me all night.”
“I don’t plan to.”
He gives me a mysterious smile and I can’t believe how normal we sound.
“That’s a shame.”
“I’m sure it’s not.”
He takes another draw on his cigar and when a serious look forms in his eyes I know he’s going to ask me something more fitting to what we normally talk about.
“What are you doing out here at this hour Summer Reeves?” He takes another drag and lets out the smoke slowly so it loops into little rings before it disappears into the night.
“Nothing… much,” I reply and I realize how foolish I sound. Clearly I came to see him. I came out here because he’s here and I can’t deny that.
His eyes roam over my body, leisurely taking me in from head to toe in my camisole pajama top and shorts.
“Well come closer and do nothing much with me.”
It sounds like an invitation to sin.
I move closer and he motions for me to come even closer. When I do, I gasp as he picks me up like I weigh nothing and sets me on the table next to the wine.
He looks at me, picks up the wine, and offers me some.
I’m not much of a drinker. I can drink now to be social, but the situation I’m in is the perfect instigator for me to drown my sorrows. In the past, I use to hit the bottle hard when the bad memories struck me down. Then I’d follow that with drugs. I’ve come a long way since then by learning to spot the signs of when I should stay away from things that knock me off the strait and narrow.
Since I he’s here with me I’m sure a few sips won’t hurt me so I take a swig of the sweet wine. It hits the back of my throat and gives me a light buzz that takes the edge off. It’s another expensive looking wine I don’t recognize and the words on the bottle are written in Russian.
“That taste nice.”
“Russian wine always does. This is Fanagoria 'Cru Lermont' Saperavi.”
I like how he sounds when he speaks in Russian.
“Did you ever live in Russia?”
“No, but I’ve been several times.”
“I would never have guessed you were Russian.”
“Because I’m half Russian.”