As the song changes, Camila lets Kat sit on the bar, and I drop onto my stool, catching Bay’s rising smile before Dimitri’s body blocks us again.
Timo stays standing and raises his glass of whiskey-bourbon. “Listen up!” he shouts jubilantly, stealing the attention of more than just our family and friends.
We all grab hold of our drinks.
Timo points his scepter at our sister. “To Katya Kotova.”
Kat cups a vodka soda, her gaze lit up at Timo.
“I wouldn’t choose any other sister but you. May your seventeenth be the best it could ever be.” Everyone raises their drinks in agreement.
“Thanks, Timo,” Kat breathes, eyes welling in happiness.
“And to Nikolai.” Timo spins his scepter towards Nik.
I look back at my older, stoic brother who holds onto Timo’s gaze. In the creases of Nik’s no-nonsense demeanor, there’s light. I can’t say these two have always gotten along.
They haven’t.
But some sort of peace hangs in the air.
Resolution between them. And love.
Timo says loudly and deeply, “You’re the brother we all don’t deserve, but I’m damn happy I have you. You’re irreplaceable to us. I hope you know that.”
Nikolai nods, telling him he feels the sentiment.
Timo raises his glass higher. “Happy Birthday to Nik and Kat…” His voice trails, and his eyes widen, lips down-turning at someone in the distance.
I can’t see from the ground, but I know who it is.
Timo collects his thoughts and repeats the same phrase and cheers in Russian. Then we all drink. I already finished off my beer, so I set my bottle down and keep an eye on Timo.
He hops off the bar and then tries to stand behind John’s stool, shielding his boyfriend from the incoming person.
Sergei.
My older brother squeezes between jam-packed bodies and somehow reaches the bar. Of course he chooses the only free stool, which happens to be in the middle of Baylee and John.
(I’m not happy.)
Timo tries to wedge himself between our older brother and John. The same tactic Dimitri is using towards Bay and me.
It literally only causes Sergei to focus entirely on Baylee.
I rest my elbow on the bar and peer beyond Dimitri, who’s busy waving a hundred dollar bill at Camila. With the strobe lights, the music, and the chatter—the chaos should disorient me, but I hone in on Sergei.
“Can I buy you a whiskey?!” he asks Baylee over the commotion. I remove my hat, just to run my fingers through my hair.
“No thanks!” she shouts back.
Sergei scoots closer to Bay like I had done. “I always find you sitting alone.”
(She’s not alone.)
Baylee shrugs, tensed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” She eyes his Black Sabbath T-shirt and the leather bracelets on his wrist. He’s definitely dressed differently outside of work.
“Other than it being lonely.”
Dimitri shifts forward, obstructing my view again. “Bartender girl, I have a hundred dollars for you!”
I grab his shoulder and pull him back slightly.
He doesn’t even notice.
Baylee flashes her phone at Sergei. “I have baseball streaming to fight boredom. I’m good.”
Sergei laughs. “Why even stay here if you’re just watching baseball?”
Because she can. What other fucking reason does she need? I shake my head a couple times, my muscles more constricted than normal. Nik said there aren’t teams concerning Sergei, but I instinctively feel Team Baylee. I can’t help it.
Baylee shrugs again. “Says the guy who hates baseball. I don’t think you’d understand.”
Sergei goes quiet instead of becoming defensive like I assumed he’d be.
I edge forward more and wave my empty beer bottle at Sergei, catching his attention. “Where’ve you been?”
My brother rotates towards me. “Convincing Geoffrey to return our act’s music to the original tempo.”
My brows knot. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did,” he says. “You couldn’t keep up.”
I almost laugh, and my smile stretches very wide. It’s ridiculous how easily he can blame me and think it’s a constructive critique. I’ve been trying. I practice for twelve hours a day. I can do more within the fast tempo than I could days ago, and he missed a rotation in his triple-full yesterday.
So it’s not all on me.
Baylee gives me a look like is he for real?
I nod in reply. He’s a hundred-percent unaware of how people perceive him.
“It’s not funny,” Sergei tells me. “You need to take this seriously.” And he’s reading my expression incorrectly.
“I have been,” I assure him. “I don’t know what else to say, dude.”
“You could say thank you.”
My brows jump. “Geoffrey really returned our act’s music because you asked him nicely?” That’s incredibly hard to believe.
“Yes,” Sergei says like it’s simple logic.
It’s not.
I don’t understand how that worked at all.
Dimitri leans forward, forcing me to edge back, and Camila Ruiz stands in front of him.
She splays out her palm for the money.
“Ah-ah-ah. Beer first.” Dimitri wags a finger at the draft spouts.
Baylee is near laughter, and I understand why. Neither one of them have recognized each other yet.
Camila looks to Baylee and asks, “What?”
“No, no, no,” Dimitri chimes in, putting his hand at Bay’s face. “Ignore this one. She’s purposefully trying to make me dehydrated.”
“If only that were true,” Baylee says into her sip of water.
Camila squints in the poor lighting and tries to scrutinize Dimitri. She stiffens at the sight of his neck. “Is that a burn mark?”
“Yes, Nancy Drew, now beer. Right there.” He jabs another finger. “I’ll make it easy: I don’t even care what kind. Just give me something.”
Camila smiles. “You’re Dimitri.”
I can see the gears clicking in his brain, processing her voice, maybe. And then he says, “Princess?”
Camila curtsies.
Simple as that, he forgets about his pursuit of beer. Dimitri grins and rests his elbows on the bar, leaning so far over. “You’re obsessed with my cock.”
“Tiny cock,” she corrects.
“Whatever you like to call it, it’s fine with me, princess.”
Camila taps the red glow necklace on her head. It’s complicated could mean anything, and Dimitri would hit on her even if the necklace represented taken.
“You know what the red one means?” he says.
Camila crosses her arms and waits for the punch line.
Dimitri straightens up. “It means you’re confused until you’ve met me.”
She stretches her hands on the bar, and confidently, she says, “Take a long look. Because that’s all you’re ever going to get.” At this, Camila snatches his hundred-dollar bill and starts filling a pint of beer.
I pat his shoulder. Dimitri is the underdog, every which way you look, and I understand that more than I do a champion. I understand someone losing more than winning and fawning over people you can’t have from afar.
Dimitri isn’t pushy. When someone rejects him, he accepts this fact, but he still watches like maybe there’s a hidden chance. A world in which he gets what he wants, too.
So I’m not even a little surprised that he hasn’t peeled his gaze off Camila—or that he doesn’t pressure her either. He just grins when she glances back at him.
Horns and trumpets suddenly blare through speakers, and multi-colored lights flash. Girls in matching silver cocktail dresses parade into the club. Carrying baskets and bottles of booze.
John scoffs. “Not this stupid thing again. Why didn’t you warn me?” He’s asking Camila.
She slides the overflowing pint to Dimitri. “Because you still would’ve come and complained for a solid three hours beforehand. I was saving myself, cuz.”
“What is it?” Baylee asks, just as the girls strut over to the bar. They pause to pour liquid in a few mouths, and then they reach into their baskets.
I can’t see what they grab.