Ivan snickered. “I know. I’ve met her husband how many times now? All I said was that she’s cute, not that I want to take her out on a date or anything.”
“Great, she’s too good for you,” I threw back out, still staring at him.
That had him go, “Ha!”
“She is,” I told him slowly, not letting his laugh get to me.
“You know, there’s a lot of people in the world that would think I’m too good for them,” he said, his tone sounding… off.
I rolled my eyes and settled into the seat, crossing my arms over my chest. “Probably. But you wouldn’t be good enough for my sister, hot shit. So reel the ego in a little.”
“If I was interested in your sister like that—and I’m not, all I said was that she’s cute, but there’s a ton of cute girls in the world—”
“My sister is the prettiest. Both of them are. Don’t compare them to the rest of the world’s women.”
Ivan snickered. “All right. Jesus. All I’m trying to say is that, if I was interested in one of your sisters—and I’m not, listen to me—you really wouldn’t let me date them?”
This weird feeling I wasn’t about to mull over made my stomach uncomfortable, but I ignored it. “Hell no.”
His snicker made me smile from how insulted he was. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” I emphasized.
“Why?”
“Where do you want me to start?”
There was a pause. “I’m a catch.”
“A catch and release.”
He groaned, and I couldn’t help but look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Plenty of women would want to go out on a date with me. Do you know how many messages I get on Picuregram a week?”
“Teenagers who haven’t grown up yet to realize how dumb they are don’t count, and neither do elderly women with bad eyesight,” I let him know.
Apparently, he was going to ignore my stipulations because he kept going. “I’m rich.”
“So?”
“I’m not ugly.”
“To your eyes.”
Ivan snorted, and if the corner of his mouth tilted up into a partial smile, I was going to ignore. “I have two gold medals.”
I made a “pfft” noise as I angled my hips and upper body to watch Ivan. “One of those is a team gold, and what’s-his-face has like twenty.”
This man opened his mouth for a moment, on the verge of saying something, and then closed it before shrugging those shoulders he seemed to hold me above half the day. Lean, strong shoulders, so much stronger than anyone ever gave them credit for. I wasn’t exactly light as a feather. I was heavy for my size, but it was all muscle. I was sure I did weigh more than most girls did in a smaller frame, and he always lifted me like it didn’t matter.
His head ticked to the side, and his hands flexed on the steering wheel. And then he smirked, even though he was facing forward. “You’ve got a point,” he conceded, not exactly sounding happy about it. “But how many do you have?”
What happened next, I would never have been able to predict. But it happened.
We both went “OOOOOOOOH” at the bullshit that came out of his mouth like we were in fifth grade and had made a really good “yo mama” joke.
We went “OOOOOOOOH” so deep and into it, totally unexpected, that it lasted maybe three seconds before we both burst out laughing, my head crying no at the movement and my back aching, but I did it anyway.
Was it fucked up of him to point out that I hadn’t won any gold medals even fully aware it really chafed me? Duh. But this was Ivan. What the hell else would I expect?
Plus, it wasn’t like I wouldn’t have said the same exact thing if we were in opposite positions.
But it made me laugh. And it made him laugh.
And I still muttered, “Asshole,” even as I laughed to myself, head pounding and all that mess, but smiling. “Eat shit.”
“Got you,” he chuckled, that mouth of his split wide into a smile so big it was like his face couldn’t handle it.
“Shut up,” I responded, shaking my head. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
He laughed. “That’ll never get old.”
“Fuck off.”
“No thanks.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed again, and then Ivan did too, but I caught him sneaking glances over in my direction twice, a smile pasted on that pale pink mouth. He did it again. Then again.
“What are you looking at?” I asked him, unsure why he kept glancing over and not liking it.
The smile on his face didn’t go anywhere as he replied, “You.”
“Why?” He looked at me every day.
“Because.”
Was there something wrong with my face? “Because what?”
“It’s rare you laugh.”
If there had been any semblance of a smile left on my face, I wiped it clean. “I laugh.”
“I’ve only seen it happen a few times.”
I tried not to huff, but it still happened. He wasn’t the first person to ever tell me that. “I don’t laugh unless I find something funny, but I do. I laugh with my family all the time. I’ve laughed with Karina a million times. I’m just not going to pretend like I think something is funny if someone makes a shitty joke or says something stupid. I’m not fake.” Did I sound crazy defensive or was I imagining it?
Ivan was still smiling as he said, “You’re probably the least fake person I know, Meatball. Jesus. I like your laugh, even if it sounds a little scary.”
I blinked. “Scary?”
“You sound like a psycho when you laugh, all heh, heh, heh, heh.”
My spine went rigid, and it wasn’t because of the fever still in my body. “What am I supposed to sound like? Hehehe?”
He was still grinning. “No. Your heh, heh is just like you, and don’t ever laugh like that again. That’s creepy. I might have nightmares tonight from it. God. You sound like a possessed doll or something laughing from a dark corner, waiting for me to go to sleep.”
I couldn’t help but laugh again, even though my head hurt.
Then he ruined it by glancing over his shoulder and wiping his expression clean. “I’m still pissed off at you by the way. Don’t think I forgot.”
I had forgotten.
I had forgotten I was mad at him and that what he’d done was total bullshit.
But now that he reminded me, I shifted away from him and shut my mouth. And when I set my forehead against the glass, thinking of how much I’d screwed up, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but it happened.
We were sitting beside each other after eating a dinner we’d made after only exchanging three words the whole time.
Dinner. Is. Ready.
He’d woken me up when we’d gotten to his house—the absolute last house I ever would have imagined him living in—and he’d said maybe ten words to me. To top it off, he hadn’t joked around once while saying any of them. Which was fine by me because I wasn’t in the mood either.
Luckily, I’d been too busy taking in the ranch-style home to really care. A rich blue with white shutters, it was nothing like the loft-style or Mediterranean home I thought he would live in, in some glitzy neighborhood with a guard and a community center with a badass waterpark. Nope. As I looked around the property, all I saw was green grass and trees in the distance. Ivan had acreage. So much acreage I couldn’t see another house anywhere or hear any voices in the distance.
“Don’t freak out when I open the door,” he muttered, sounding annoyed or frustrated, or probably both knowing him. And people thought I had a bad attitude.
I didn’t ask him what there would be to be freaked out about as he got out of the van and went around to the sliding door of the passenger seat that was opening on its own. “Come, Russ,” I heard him mutter before he whispered something that sounded like, “Lacey, be good,” as he unclipped the little white dog from the seat belt, and she jumped off the seat and out of the car, running full speed toward the front of the house the second she could.
I got out too, grabbing my bag and damn near moaning at the weight before hefting it to the house, regretting that I didn’t ask Ivan to help me. Not that he would in the mood he was in, but maybe.
I had just kept looking at the house, the three-car garage attached to it and the grass on top of more grass.
It was beautiful.