From Lukov with Love

by Mariana Zapata

Her gaze was intent on mine as she finished. “I also tell her you and Ivan will kill each other if you talk too much.”

I took a step toward his Tesla and then stopped, narrowing my eyes at him. “You promise you won’t kill me?” He grinned. “I promise if I do, it’ll be quick and painless.” I did this to myself. “I’m going to take a picture of your license plate so if my body comes up missing, they’ll check your car for my DNA.” “I have bleach,” he returned immediately. Why was he being… it wasn’t nice, but more… not a total asshole?

“Don’t sound so excited,” he replied. Then he smiled. “Which bridge do you live under and how do we get there?” “I can’t stand you.”

I eyeballed him as he reached for the paper towel roll someone had left in the center of the island. He ripped off one, let his hand hover there for a moment and then ripped another one. Just as I started to cut into my lasagna, something white dropped onto my lap. It was one of the paper towels. “I wasn’t sure if you could reach them,” he whispered, being a smart-ass. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, my hands still above my plate of food. “You know, because you’re short.”

“This is like my dream come true fourteen years too late.” There was a break and then more, “You and Ivan! BAHAHAHA!” I wasn’t sure why this surprised me… but it did. Of course she would think this was hilarious.

And for some reason I wasn’t going to overthink, I snuck my hand from my side over to the thigh closest to mine and gave it a squeeze. Not a mean squeeze, just a normal one that wasn’t too hard or too loose. Friends did that, didn’t they?

That time, my mouth really did fall open. Until my mom got back? That was two weeks from then. And I told Ivan exactly that. What did he do? He shrugged, tightness all over his shoulders and arms through the T-shirt he had on. “Choose, baby. Me or your brothers.”

You can’t call it being in a bad mood if I’m not being mean to other people.” “All right, then what do you call it when you’re only being mean to yourself?” I hated it when he asked me things I didn’t know how to answer.

But they had never held my face before. At least not the way he did right then. Because his palms went to my cheeks and he cupped them. And then he cut me off. With his mouth. His lips pressed to mine. Surged to mine. Covered them. Hard.

“I want to know because you never told me, but what do you have against Mary McDonald?” he asked. “I want to know why we hate her.” Why we hate her. Ivan. Fucking Ivan.

“Do you even know why I never called you back any of those times you’d leave me voice mails cussing me out right after? Or that time you called me drunk months later, yelling at me?” “I don’t know, and I don’t really care,” I told him, my voice even, almost robotic as I looked past him toward the door and prayed, prayed that Ivan was coming. He frowned so deeply lines formed across his forehead. Those brown eyes sliced away from me before they came back. “Jasmine, it was because Ivan called me a week afterward and said he would ‘fuck me up’ if I ever contacted you again.”

“She’s my partner now, Paulie, and she’s going to keep being my partner. And you know what? I’m not real good with sharing, so it might be a good idea if you got out of here before all those things I had warned you about come true,” Ivan cut him off, as he came to stand at my side.

Ivan didn’t let go of my hand as he nodded and took a step back to get into place. Whatever happens, he mouthed to me. But then his lips kept forming words. Three words exactly. I love you.