I’d never been to see the ball drop even though I’d been living in Manhattan for four years and I’d grown up in New Jersey. I doubted Eloise had either. Traditionally, she had been more of a pjs-on-the-couch girl.
“Miss, where do you want the food set out?”
We turned around to see a catering staff member standing patiently waiting for an answer.
Eloise blinked. “Um, where do you suggest?”
“Most guests who book this suite prefer passed hors d'oeuvres with a single station of displayed food by the bar.”
“We’ll do that then, thanks.” Eloise looked at me and shrugged. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Me either. I go to student parties with box wine and a bag of chips and salsa.”
Dak came into the room and drew up short. “You look gorgeous,” he said to Eloise. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
She blushed and looked adorable and in love and he looked like he wanted to rip her carefully chosen dress off of her and toss her on the sofa. I was super happy for her but also very conscious of the fact that never once had Curtis looked at me like that and we were together for three years.
They shared a deep and intimate kiss that forced me to wander away before it could be considered a threesome. Two guys came into the suite and I realized who they were immediately. Oleksander and Cash, my first and second choices. There was no time like the present to put my plan into place.
I gave them a wave and introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Sydney. Eloise’s cousin.”
“Cash.” He gave me a warm smile and reached his hand out.
I shook it.
“Volkova,” Oleksander said. Noticeably not offering me his hand.
“Excuse me?” I asked, frowning. Wow, he was hot in person. Distractingly hot.
The image online hadn’t done justice to the male presence he created in the room. He was huge. Tall. Broad. Muscular. With very, very big hands that while he hadn’t offered me one to shake, were eye level to me, folded across his chest in the universal indicator of disinterest.
“You asked me my name. It’s Volkova.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “That’s your last name.”
He nodded. “My name.”
Why did it sound like he had an accent that was more pronounced with each word? Was he messing with me? “You ask strangers to call you by your last name?” I asked, wanting to confirm that fact. “Is there a reason why?”
“His name is Oleksander,” Cash said, giving his friend a little frown. “You can call him Olek, right?”
“Call me whatever you want.”
“Just don’t call you late to dinner?” I joked.
He just stared at me.
Damn. Tough crowd. He was wearing a suit and with his arms crossed he was giving off a hitman or Russian mafia vibe. Secret Service. Something dangerous, and it was as hot as you would imagine. “Oleksander Volkova,” I said, trying his name on for size. “Olek. Train. Hmm.”
“What, you don’t like your options?” he asked.
To be honest, not really. But I said, “I think I’m going to try on Olek and see how that goes.”
“Wonderful,” he said, and it was clear he did not think it was wonderful.
“I need a beer,” Cash said. “Sydney, can I get you anything?”
“I’ll take a dirty martini. Very, very dirty.”
“Sure, no problem.” Cash didn’t seem to notice my tone of voice, which was supposed to be flirtatious but sounded a little aggressive.
Oleksander had noticed. His eyebrows went up. “Cash, I’ll take a martini, too. Grey Goose. Not even remotely dirty. Actually, just vodka.”
Cash rolled his eyes. “Sure, buddy.” He walked away.
“Were you born in Ukraine?” I asked Oleksander. His accent was now non-existent. Interesting.
He nodded. “Moved here when I was six.”
“Here, where? New York?”
“Chicago.”
“I’ve never been to Chicago.”
He made a sound that might be considered a grunt.
“I grew up in New Jersey,” I added, floundering for a flirtatious comment. My dirty martini bit was about the extent of my abilities. Could I throw out another pun? Puns were always icebreakers.
“Dak says you’re in law school,” Oleksander said, finally lowering his hands. “That’s very impressive.”
“Thank you. I would like to be a trial attorney, because I love to talk. Well, argue. Okay, both. Talk and argue. But everyone wants to be a trial attorney, so I’m not sure that’s realistic. I do have a tentative job offer with a private firm for when I pass the bar. Which I will.” I had no doubts about that. None whatsoever. “I’m a great student, so hopefully that will translate into me being a great attorney.”
“It’s good to do what you love.”
I nodded. “Like you do.”
“Yep.”
“I understand you’re an impressive player.” Compliment him, that wouldn’t hurt. Before I propositioned him for sex.
“I am,” he said.
Definitely not humble. That would work in my favor.
“Eloise says you have a tight end.”
Cash had appeared with my martini and laughed as he handed it to me. “He is a tight end, he doesn’t have one. Two different things.”
“What are you?” I asked Cash.
“Left tackle.”
“That’s not nearly as sexual.”
“There’s nothing sexual about it,” Oleksander said. He looked at Cash. “Where’s my vodka?”
“I only have two hands,” Cash told him, taking a sip from a beer bottle. “And I ain’t your mama.”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
“Gladly,” Cash said. “I’ll catch up with you later. I want to say hi to Dak and Eloise. Nice to meet you, Sydney.”
“You, too, Cash.”
I sipped my martini and made a face. “Geez, that’s dirty,” I said. “Too dirty.”
“You asked for dirty, you got dirty.”
“You’re right. I’m appropriately chastised.” I fished around again for something to say, which surprised me. I’m not normally lacking in verbiage. This was a more awkward transition than I had expected, though in retrospect, I wasn’t sure what I had thought would happen. I wasn’t exactly sure why Olek was still standing beside me. He was definitely going to abandon me to get his drink since Cash hadn’t brought him one. More guests were arriving and any second we would be interrupted.
I needed to just get it out there, what I was after.
“Do you know what apparently I’m not good at?” I asked.
“Being quiet?” he said, totally deadpan.
“Good one,” I said, appreciating the volley. He was definitely the right choice for my number one spot. Appropriately intelligent and super grumpy. “You’re right. I’m not good at being quiet. I tend to say whatever I’m thinking. My mother said I even talked in my sleep when I was a kid.” Then I realized I was losing my train of thought. “But the other thing I’m not good at is sex.”