Nikolai

Hannah

I wiped my sweaty palms down my baggy jeans as I slowly walked up the hallway of Lincoln High School, wondering for the millionth time if I’d lost my mind. As much as I didn’t want to do this, I also knew I didn’t have a choice.

I trudged forward, keeping my gaze locked on the thing causing my heart to feel like it was going to pound out of my chest: Nikolai Ivanov. He was currently talking to Jack Becker’s retreating back. The hallways were starting to clear out, as the bell for first period had just rung, but as usual, Nikolai didn't appear to be in any hurry. I knew he had a first period class, but I also understood that few people bothered to hassle Nikolai Ivanov.

Even though he was still a senior, Nikolai was intense. He possessed the intimidating presence of a person much older than his eighteen years. It was widely rumored that his dad was the head of the Russian mafia in Chicago. His imposing demeanor, in combination with the deferential way people treated him, made me believe it.

When you got over how terrifying he was, it was hard not to notice his good looks. He had short, dark hair that contrasted sharply with his blue eyes. It was his gaze that caught everyone's attention. Icy blue. Cold. Arctic, really. As a result of that frigid stare, few people crossed him, and the ones who had ended up regretting it.

Nikolai’s intense, handsome looks also made him a target for female attention, and to be honest, I was sure his attitude was part of it, too. You could often find at least a few girls following him, trying to get even a moment of his attention. According to rumor, his attention was definitely fleeting. Basically, the time it took to hook up and leave. There were a few girls he hung out with more than others, and as much as they tried to convince people it was more serious than it seemed, he always made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in dating anyone.

I'd also heard rumors of Nikolai's volcanic temper. I knew he generally appeared terrifying, and his cold stares were enough to check most people, but he also wasn’t afraid to throw a few punches if the situation required. And, as rumor had it, it was required frequently.

It was the combination of all these traits that compelled me to seek him out, but those same characteristics were also what was making me walk like I was trudging through molasses. That and the fact that Nikolai was roughly one hundred times more popular than me. To say that Nikolai and I moved in different circles was an understatement. I was one hundred percent certain he had no idea who I was.

As I got closer, I realized he looked older than a guy in high school, tougher, with his tall, muscular frame very attractively displayed in jeans and a t-shirt. His broody intensity, good looks, and athletic prowess had put him at the top of the social food chain.

My utter lack of style and self-acknowledged avoidance of social situations had earned me a place on the bottom. However, I’d always been perfectly okay with that. I never wanted to be on anyone’s radar, so I tended to blend into the background on purpose. Actually, my inability to do that with complete success was what had brought me like a dead man walking down this hallway towards the tall, imposing Russian.

As I got closer and closer, my heart started thumping in my chest like a bass drum, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I was going to propose or because being so close to his magnetic energy was overwhelming my senses.

I walked up and stood beside his locker, waiting for my vocal cords to unlock. His head was still in his locker, searching for something, I guessed, when I heard him speak.

"Are you planning to stand there all day, or do you want something?" Nikolai’s husky voice resonated from inside of his locker.

I was so jarred that he'd even noticed my approach, I continued with my anxiety-induced mutism. He pulled his head out of his locker and pinned me with a wintry gaze. Dark eyebrows lowered as he prompted me again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you want something, or not?" he barked.

Finally, my mouth started to produce words. "Hey, uh, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?" I managed to get out. This was a total shit show. Why had I not rehearsed what the hell I was going to say?

Nikolai stared at me like I had a traumatic brain injury. “Jesus,” he muttered, then rolled his eyes impatiently. "You are talking to me. So, talk."

I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the cuff of my shirt, unable to meet his gaze. "Um, this is sort of awkward, but I was wondering if I could talk to you some place a little more private?" I looked up at him to gauge his response.

His head jerked back, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Those light eyes took a journey down my body then back up to my face, cataloguing my features more closely. After he finished his evaluation, he frowned.

I had long, dark, nearly black hair and blue, almost violet-colored eyes hidden behind large, dark framed glasses. My hair was in a messy bun on top of my head, and I wore no make-up or jewelry. As for my body, most of that was camouflaged behind an oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans. Needless to say, he was not impressed and under normal circumstances was usually my goal.

He grinned and slammed his locker shut. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass,” he said as he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

I sputtered for a second, and even though my desire to talk to him had nothing to do with hitting on him, I couldn't help the arrow of embarrassment and rejection that darted through me.

"That's not why I wanted to talk to you. I have a business proposition for you," I yelled down the hallway.

"Not interested," he yelled back without turning around or stopping. I hadn't considered the possibility of him not hearing me out. Now that he was walking away, beads of sweat started sliding down my spine.

He was my last resort.

He was already halfway down the hall when I called to him. "Look, do you think anyone in your family business would be interested in helping me?" I had asked that question sincerely because I was desperate. However, judging by the swiftness in which he turned and marched back to me, now sporting a terrifying scowl, I could only assume he perceived it as more of a threat.

"Why the fuck are you talking about my family? What do you think you know about that?" he growled, thrusting his face into mine. Here was the temper I had been seeking out and hoping to use to my advantage, though I hadn't anticipated it being directed at me. I gulped and tried to formulate a response that would pacify him.

I lifted both my hands towards him in a calming gesture. "N-n-nothing. I don't know anything about them except rumors I've heard in school. I've heard—" I didn't get to finish my sentence because he roughly grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into an empty classroom.

After closing the door, he turned to me, his expression still forbidding. "What did you hear?" he demanded as I tried to merge with the wall behind me.

As I glanced down and noted his fists clenching, I started to regret this whole debacle. I took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to respond. It never occurred to me he would be this touchy about something everyone in school gossiped about. I’d even heard about it, as low as I was on the totem pole. Of course, that didn’t mean anyone ever discussed it with him, and I could see why. However, I had come to him for a very urgent reason, so I had to soldier on.

I cleared my throat, trying to quell my anxiety. "I heard your family was . . . in a certain type of business,” I murmured, hoping he would pick up on what I was insinuating. I didn’t have any interest in antagonizing him further, so I wasn’t feeling brave enough to directly say what we both knew.

His family was in the mob.

"What business is that?" he prompted, not willing to read between the lines of what I thought I was pretty clearly implying. Jesus.

"Look, everybody says your family is in the mob,” I finally blurted, incapable of finding a more diplomatic way to say it but needing to move on with this conversation. “I need help, so if you won't help me, I thought maybe I could hire them or something.” My voice petered out at the end as I saw his expression change from fury to incredulity. I felt like a total fool. He looked at me like I was a cross between a lunatic and a moron.

At least he didn’t look mad anymore.