From Lukov with Love

by Mariana Zapata

I needed to chill out. Or maybe masturbate. Something had to help.

You are who you are in life, and you either live that time trying to bend yourself to make other people happy, or… you don’t.

Challenges were only hard if you went into them expecting not to succeed.

You’re hesitating because you don’t trust me because of that idiot before me, so what do you want from me? Or what do you need from me so we can get there?” That time, it was my turn to blink, because who the fuck was this person? What do you need from me? What the fuck? And why was he bringing up Paul?

“You already know it’s for the Anatomy Issue, Meatball, quit being a pain in the ass, dragging it out.” Ivan snickered, shaking his head.

Ivan coughed again, and Coach Lee’s face turned bright red. Her sputter could probably be heard around the world as she replied, “Jasmine…. the shoot isn’t of you by yourself. They want you and Ivan together.” Me and Ivan together.

“I don’t want to see your junk either.” The idiot winked. “Aww, it’s not junk, Meatball. It’s the good stuff.” I gagged.

“There’s no ‘I’ in team, you know that?” The son of a bitch had the nerve to wink. “But there’s an ‘I’ in winning, and if you want to win, you have to listen to me.”

I reeled back. And then couldn’t form a single fucking word. Not one other than one that started with an m, ended with an r and sounded like trucker wucker.

“This partnership is a decade in the making then?” I froze. Don’t look at Ivan. Don’t look at Ivan. Don’t— His knee knocked mine, and it was only because I was familiar with his voice—mostly his smart-ass voice, but whatever—that I noticed

how off it sounded, almost choked, a little gravelly… weird. “You can say that,” he said slowly in that awkward voice.

“Jasmine is wonderful,” Ivan basically choked out, somehow not bursting into flames as he said them. “What a sense of humor.”

“So much respect and admiration,” I ground out, barely holding in a choke as I nodded. “I’ve always been a big fan of Jasmine,” the idiot continued on. “Me too,” I warbled out, trying to smile again and more than likely looking like a serial killer. “Ivan is a very likable guy.”

I glanced at Ivan and made a face. “Black,” I answered, but mouthed like your heart.

“What is Jasmine’s favorite?” she asked. He glanced at me at the same time the woman looked away, “Red.” Then added like the blood of the children you eat.

“I know you better than you think I do.”

“Mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch-ass-whore. FUCK ME!”

“Want some candy, little girl?” the idiot asked as he placed a forearm on the door and shoved his black-framed, black-lensed glasses up onto the top of his equally dark hair.

“Get in, loser.”

“Which bridge do you live under and how do we get there?” “I can’t stand you.”

His jaw was this thing that I’d overheard the older teenage girls babble over. His cheekbones and brow bones were proportionate to the rest of his face. To me, his face reminded me of one that would belong to a prince or something. Royal. Not that I would ever admit that.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Ivan drawled all of a sudden. I blinked and thought about glancing away but decided that would look even worse. “I will. I think the encyclopedia needs an entry on Assholes and could use your picture as an example.”

That had him glancing at me, and if his voice was huskier than normal, I didn’t notice it.

“Jasmine,”

“The only reason I give you so much shit is because you were a pain in the ass, and then you were the only one who dished it back to me. You know you’re beautiful.” I snickered and rolled my eyes that time, because come the fuck on. Really? Now I knew he was trying too hard. Please. God. “If you think flattering me is going to convince me to do this, you don’t know me at all, Lukov.” “Not Lukov. Ivan,” he replied easily, his tone so gentle, it made me uncomfortable, because that wasn’t what I wanted from him. Much less what I expected from him. “I’m sure you’re perfect under there.”

“There’s my Meatball,” he said in almost a whisper, his fingers loosening from around my wrist until they were slipping through mine, holding our hands together like we had done it a thousand times. Because we had.

“Hand to hand lift?” I asked my partner—my Ivan—as my hands went to the knot at my robe and began undoing it.

And once, I’d accidentally caught a glimpse of huge balls dangling between his legs that had for one second, made me wonder what the hell he did with those things in his costumes.

“Fuck you,” I spat, seriously talking myself out of biting him. “Fuck you too,” he replied, not missing a beat, not sounding at all angry or frustrated, which annoyed me even more.

“You can tell me anything. You know I know what this life is like,” he murmured the words I hadn’t expected from him. Words that cleaved deep into my gut.

Ivan Lukov, the greatest frenemy in my life after my siblings, had made me hot cocoa.

“You and me, Meatball. We’re going to win if that’s what you need. Understand me?”

I blinked. “I hope you get abducted by aliens.” Ivan laughed, and the sound of it made me smile. “You would miss me.” All I said, while shrugging was, “Meh. I know I’d get to see you again someday—” He smiled. “—in hell.”

“Nobody else is going to take as good care of you as I will.”

Something warm touched my mouth later, and I’d swear I heard, “Drink it, baby,” whispered to me. And I drank it all. Whatever the hell it was.

He gave the papers another shake. “Who did this?”

He snorted angrily. “Yeah, it’s real bullshit that I give a shit about you. Suck it up and get your things, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do and you need to pack. I’m so mad at you, I don’t want to look at you.”

“Yes. The diva in the back is Lacey. She’s in time-out. I should’ve left her at home, but she can’t be in the car with anyone else other than Russ, and today’s his day for a ride.” He’d just said his dog was in time-out, hadn’t he? Oh my God.

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 Picturegram 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.

“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.”

Still in his little shit mood, holding up the bunny I’d seen against his chest.

“Why would I care?” he murmured to himself, still trying to kill me with his eyes alone.

“You. Matter. To. Me. You. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because of me,”

“You’ve been in my life for thirteen years. How could you not think I don’t care about you? We fuck around with each other because we both like it. Because there’s nobody else we can fuck around with that can handle it.”

“Are you going to move your dick or is that what kind of friends we’re going to be?” I tried to joke. His laugh was soft as he said, “That’s what kind of friends we’re going to be.”

The smile that came over his features lit me up, and I bottled it up and set it aside for later, just like I always did.

Because it was easy to forget that love was complicated. That someone could love you and want the best for you, and at the same time, break you in half.

“I believe in you. In us. Regardless of what happens, you will always be the best partner I’ve ever had. You’ll always be the hardest working person I’ve ever known. There will only ever be you.”

“Don’t you dare do it,” he hissed again, the arm around my shoulders tightening. “You don’t want anyone to see you do this. Hold it, baby, just hold it….”

His mouth went over my cheeks, warm and everything wonderful in the world. “You tried to get up,” he said to me in a voice so low I barely understood his words. “You tried to get up and keep skating, and I swear I almost started crying right then.”