Okay. That was a new rule, and one he’d broken way before he’d consciously put it in place, but still. Whichever way he looked at it, he’d fucked up. And all because he’d let his drunken horniness get the better of him when the actual reason he’d followed Jonah into that bathroom had been to check he was okay after he’d vanished from the FG table.
Jonah’s kiss had caught him off guard. Then his anger. And his mouth on Sacha’s cock. Sober Sacha might’ve seen the frustration behind Jonah’s desire for him, but drunk Sacha had been too consumed by the pleasure of it. Too caught up in his spinning head and thundering heart. Even after, he’d lacked the brain power to string a coherent sentence together. Jonah had walked out before it returned to him, and he’d left the pub entirely by the time Sacha had pulled himself together enough to exit the bathroom.
Sacha had gone home after that, taking a cab to the Chelsea street that was a stone’s throw from Jonah’s penthouse apartment. He’d drunk more vodka, jacked himself under a cold shower with Jonah on his mind, then passed out face down on his bed, still wet from the frigid spray.
He’d woken up shivering.
He was still cold now. Lonely too, an emotion he couldn’t make sense of. Being alone had never bothered him in that faraway place before Jonah.
So he is the barometer you measure yourself with now? The litmus test for your mental health?
You are a fool, Ivanov.
Sacha scowled. Even his own name no longer sounded right without Jonah’s honeyed voice wrapped around it, and the sad fact irritated him enough to crawl out of bed and into the shower again.
The shock of cold water eased his headache, then warmed enough for his limbs to feel like they belonged to him again. His thoughts remained stuck on Jonah, and his blood pumped south, but he ignored his dick, washed his hair, and scrubbed his skin clean of the scent of a late night in the city.
Back in his room, his phone was alive with texts from Helga.
Helga: Where are you? Did you leave?
Helga: Your scarf is still on the table. I’ll take it home.
Helga: Did you leave with Jonah? I can’t see him either.
If only. Sacha deleted the texts without reply, then changed his mind and thanked Helga for rescuing a scarf he didn’t care about, confirming that he’d gone home alone. He didn’t know about Jonah, but he could do without office gossip speculating about something that hadn’t happened. It would annoy him too much, mainly because he wished it was true.
He threw his phone onto his unmade bed and retreated to the kitchen in search of coffee. While it brewed, he sat at his breakfast bar and opened his laptop. For once, he didn’t have a great deal to do. A few hours at most before he reached a point where he could do no more without his team around him.
It was early afternoon when he hit the wall. He shut his laptop and glanced around his messy flat. He’d let things go in recent weeks, too caught up in work, and his obsession with a certain British red head. His fixation on Jonah remained, but with nothing to do with his hands, the disorder around him was abruptly infuriating.
He flew around his living space, gathering stray clothes, books, and newspapers. Filling the dishwasher, organising his barren fridge, loading laundry into the washing machine, and hanging suits that needed to go to the dry cleaners. It killed a few hours. Then he spent the evening on his couch. He ordered sushi and ignored a string of bad films while playing a game of chicken with his phone. Over and over, he opened the short message thread he shared with Jonah. Typed messages. Deleted them. All but one.
Sacha: I am sorry about yesterday.
He didn’t hit send. He stared at it for a full half hour before he deleted that one too, admitted defeat, and went to bed.
Sunday morning dawned after the longest sleep he’d had in months. And for the first time in forever, he had nothing to do. He was free. It was a shame he had forgotten what to do with himself.
Boredom drove him out of the house and to the nearest shops. A Christmas market filled the street, alive with sparkly lights, and the scents of ginger, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Dozens of stalls were crammed into a small space, loaded with artisan foods and crafts, trading to the soundtrack of a brass band playing Christmas carols. Sacha had already bought his team gift vouchers to thank them for weeks and weeks of hard work, and he had no desire to buy presents for anyone else, but he wandered the market anyway, searching for something he couldn’t quite name.
He trailed to a stop at a stall selling glass decorations for a yolka he didn’t have. He picked up a green pyramid that was the same colour as Jonah’s eyes. Held up to the sun it glittered like a prism. Sacha bought it without bothering to contemplate why.
A doughnut stall was doing brisk business at the end of the street. He’d passed it by on his way out, but the fresh air had awakened his appetite, and he drifted closer, poking at his phone, reading the messages Helga had sent him that morning.
None of them mattered. He replied anyway.
“You’re going to crash into a lamppost if you walk around the city like that.”
Sacha jerked his head up, his pulse already jumping before his brain caught up with the voice he’d been craving all weekend.
Jonah was right in front of him. Hardly surprising considering they lived in the same borough, but it took Sacha back all the same. He’d lived in his flat for three years, and he’d got impression Jonah wasn’t new to his penthouse apartment either. How had they never bumped into each other before?
That’s easy. You never leave the house in daylight. He’s a daylight creature. Look at him with the sun in his face. Beautiful.
It wasn’t a new conclusion, and in the time it had taken Sacha to think it, a protracted silence had stretched out between them.
Jonah sighed and made tracks to walk on by.
Sacha shot a hand out to stop him. “Wait.”
“Why?”
“Because—” Because what? Sacha didn’t want to be alone? Or was he finally going to admit that being alone had suited him just fine his entire adult life until Jonah had come along with his smiley, kind, perfect family and his damn fucking Christmas tree?
Sacha rocked back, startled by his own vitriol.
Jonah frowned and started to pull his arm away.
Sacha dug his fingers in. “Please,” he said. “I am sorry I am difficult to understand. Will you please walk with me a while?”
For a long moment, he feared Jonah would refuse. That the hardness in his emerald gaze was there to stay. Then it faded, revealing the gentleness Sacha adored so much. “Okay. I was walking past where I think you live anyway. I guess you could come too.”
“Where do you think I live?”
“In the converted flats round the corner, the ones with the rose trees and grey hipster window frames.”
Sacha snorted. “Okay, luchik. You might be right, but only because I give you directions to the bakery a few weeks ago. Not because you are clever.”
“You don’t think I’m clever?”
I think you are brilliant. “No.”
Jonah started walking again, back the way he’d clearly come, and in the direction of Sacha’s flat. He was carrying paper bags from the various market stalls.
“What did you buy?” Sacha asked.
“Gifts. For my parents, mainly. They’d never come somewhere like this, so it’s a good place to buy them things they’ve never seen.”