Wreckage was a tiny, dingy bar whose claim to fame in its fifteen-year existence was that it was the only place in Bridgeland where you could hear live music every night of the week. Unlike the wannabe club-type bars in town, a typical Friday night at Wreckage usually drew a casual crowd. There seemed to be more miniskirts and fuck-me boots than I’d ever seen before, which meant it was becoming the new “it” hangout for students. Bridgeland was small, so bars went through a popularity rotation. Anything new became the place to be, until it peaked with crowds and the newness fizzled, and then people went back to the old favorites.

As I slid onto an empty bar stool next to Greg, I smoothed down my blue-and-green mini-kilt. My black tank top and boots completed the outfit. And I thought I’d been trendy when I’d picked my clothes. “Singer” was my newest role to play, as “Soccer Girl” had been before this. The small stage at Wreckage replaced the field, and sexy clothes became my new uniform.

“You know what I’m saying, Aud?” Aaron asked. “You went to Catholic school, right?”

“I did,” I affirmed, though I had no clue what he’d said before that. I hadn’t been listening, busy contemplating my fashion status and all. I shifted toward him, giving him my full attention.

“It’s all bullshit, right? I mean, look at you. You’re a straight-up product of that shit, and you’re all about fucking and coveting stuff,” he said.

“What am I coveting?” I asked. Let them think I lived the rock and roll vixen lifestyle, because admitting I was a virgin wasn’t an option.

I nodded my thanks to the bartender as he set my trusty vodka club in front of me and a beer for Greg.

“I bet you covet that dude standing over there staring at you.” Aaron nodded toward the door.

I rolled my eyes but glanced over my shoulder toward the door, half disbelieving, half curious. No one was there, just as I’d suspected. “You’re completely mental. And for the record, I don’t think you’re using covet the right way.”

“All the bullshit is fucking up my head.” Aaron tapped his temple. “That’s what happens, man.”

“I’d put my money on the drinks you just downed,” I said, nodding to the empty shot and pint glasses in front of him.

“Or the special brownies,” Josh chimed in, curling his fingers into air quotes as he said it. Greg snorted. Aaron’s alcohol- and pot-influenced rants were famous, even to a newcomer like me. I especially loved it when he made up words.

“Air quotes? Been watching I Love the Fucking Nineties on VH1 again, Joshua? Oh, shit!” Aaron jumped up, and his bar stool knocked against my knee. “Be right back.”

“Ow.” I rubbed my knee, then turned my attention to my drink, violently assaulting the three lime wedges with my straw. Lime pulp swirled around the fizzy whirlpool, making it as thick and murky as my thoughts.

I missed Aleksandr.

I hadn’t seen him since he’d been called up to Charlotte two months ago. I tried to tell myself the phone calls and Skype chats would be enough, but they weren’t. Sometimes I just needed to be wrapped in his arms, inhaling his sweet yet masculine scent. Even the pack of clove cigarettes I’d bought to sniff when I missed him just didn’t cut it.

I sighed and twirled my hair between my fingers.

“Nervous?” Greg asked, nodding to my twirling. I glanced at my fingers and let my hair slide through them.

“No.” I shook my head and straightened in my seat. The hair twirling had been a habit since I was a kid, not a sign of nerves.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” It was a lie, but I didn’t want to talk about how much I missed Aleksandr.

“You can talk to me. You know that,right?” Greg cupped my shoulder, causing the hair on my arms to bristle at the unexpected touch. He swept the heavy bangs out of my eyes, only for them to fall right back into place. “Thinking about Varenkov?”

“Not having this discussion.” I edged away from him as much as I could without sitting on my neighbor’s lap.

“He’s living his dream a thousand miles away. Without you. And he’s wrecking it up there.” Greg took a long pull on his beer.

I silently willed myself to keep my clenched fists at my sides. Greg knew exactly which wound to squeeze to promote bleeding. He sounded a lot like Pavel Gribov, which had my right-jab reflex on high alert.

But Greg was wrong. Charlotte was only 748 miles away.

“You’re so blind, Auden,” Greg mumbled.

“What?”

“I’m right here. I’ll still be here when you realize he’s not coming back.”

Aleksandr had been right about me from the start; I really was clueless when it came to guys. Greg spewed trash because he was jealous. I tried to recall a time when I’d given Greg the impression I had any interest in him.

“I can’t do this right now.” I picked up my drink and walked toward Josh. After just finding out I had a brother that my family never told me about, and my boyfriend being miles away when I needed him most, I couldn’t handle having a conversation about Greg’s unrequited love for me.

Josh tapped me on the shoulder, nodding to the door. “Celebrity sighting at Wreckage.”

“Great. Fucking great.” I heard Greg mumble.

Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I inhaled sharp and quick when I spotted the man that I saw only in my dreams these days, the left side of his mouth turned up in a smirk just like the first one he’d ever flashed me.

Aleksandr looked more god than ghost as he stood in the doorway of Wreckage. Though it had been only a couple of months, he seemed taller, with unfamiliar muscles rippling through the tight black T-shirt he was modeling. It might have been the bar’s lighting or the moonlight shining in from outside, but I swore his cobalt eyes were twinkling.

I elbowed my way toward the door, throwing “Excuse me” and “Sorry” into the air. A dozen questions about his presence peppered my mind, but the smile on his full, inviting lips made me forget them all.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and twisted my fingers in his crazy sexy hair before pulling him into the bathroom. Aleksandr’s response was instant, encircling me in his arms and returning the intoxicating, dangerous, passionate kiss.

Once inside the bathroom, he shoved me against the door, freeing one of his hands to turn the lock. The muscles of his chest were rigid and unyielding as I slid my hands over them. His mouth was hot and wet as he parted my lips with his tongue. He held my lower lip in his teeth, tugging before he released me and pulled away. As he held me at arm’s length, his swirling blue eyes pierced me with an intensity I recognized. Lust. Hunger. Want. I loved when he looked at me that way, like he couldn’t wait to devour me.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Aleksandr whispered in Russian. Hearing him speak his native language, the language we used to communicate knowing no one else understood us, sent flames through me.

“You’re pretty fucking gorgeous yourself,” I responded, my voice thick and raspy. My palms slid from his hair to the back of his head, prickled by soft stubble.

Aleksandr pressed his mouth on mine again and placed his palms against the door, boxing me in. I rolled my head to the right, baring my neck for a barrage of fast, firm kisses. He kissed an invisible trail down my chest to the valley between my breasts. He whispered, “I love you,” so softly, I wasn’t even sure if I’d heard it over our accelerated breathing and pumping hearts. Then he brought his face back up, crushing his lips on mine again.

Though every inch of his hard body still restrained me against the door, the intensity in his touch had softened. Excitement pooled in my core when his calloused fingers brushed my soft cheeks.

Aleksandr was everything I needed. Gentle and soft, yet hard and unyielding when necessary. His burning blue eyes implored mine for answers I couldn’t give right now.