Russian Tattoos Obsession by Kat Shehata Page A

friends wanted to do something memorable over winter break, so we’d planned a sleep-in-your car, all-nighter camping trip at Cowan Lake. I had told my dad that, as per usual, I was spending the night with Kiki, and Kiki told her parents she was staying at my place. When we move into our own apartment, we won’t have to lie and sneak around anymore.
    We’d made the lake plans weeks ago, before I’d even met the Russians. After my fail last weekend, I didn’t want to subject myself to another lecture, but if I didn’t drink and / or throw myself at anyone, I could flash the stupid girl card on the trespassing crime. I mean, damn, I could go camping with my friends without Vladimir’s and Boris’s approval. I wasn’t playing strip poker with a bunch of wasted frat boys or anything.
    With our alibis in place, I told Kiki to text me when she got to the house, and I would meet her outside. I didn’t want to give Dad an opportunity to ask questions. A knock came from the front door. Jeez, Kiki.
    I yelled goodbye to the family, hoofed it downstairs, and opened the door. Ryan was standing on my porch. His shoulders were slumped, making him look like a big dejected Teddy bear. Awkward. I’d been avoiding him since The Kiss. He had sent me a billion texts, called, Tweeted—but I didn’t have the guts to own up to my skanky behavior.
    “Please talk to me.” He reached out and tugged on my coat sleeve.
    His sweet brown eyes wore me down. “Okay, but not here.” I hopped inside Ryan’s truck and texted Kiki I would catch up with her later.
    We made small talk as he drove us to our favorite pizza place. Turned out he was spending winter break with his dad, who lived across the street from me. Once we got a booth and ordered a large white pizza with artichokes and black olives with a side of meatballs, Ryan put his hand on top of mine. “I didn’t turn you down that night.”
    I looked away, ashamed of my slutty drunken horniness. “Ryan, I’m totally embarrassed about the whole thing. Can we please drop it?”
    He shook my arm to loosen my constant anxiety. I couldn’t look at him. I took a sip of my Sierra Mist.
    “You’re not hearing me, Carter. I’ve been crushing on you since high school.”
    Pop fizz tickled my nose. “Ryan, stop it.”
    “Seriously. I only said no because I have too much respect for you to take advantage of a situation like that. But, if you were my girlfriend and wanted to attack me, I’d be all right with that.” He tapped my foot under the table and squeezed my hand.
    I peeked up at him. He had the cutest dimples. “ Your girlfriend?”
    At that exact moment, a guy bumped into Ryan’s chair. When the dude turned around and held up his hand to apologize, I recognized him—Playboy. He tossed me a wicked grin and camped out at the table behind Ryan.
    After Playboy took a seat, two of his cohorts joined him—the big, grimacing fellow that lurked around Vladimir’s house, and a wiry guy with a shaved head and a trail of black tats running down his neck. Playboy waved behind Ryan’s back and snapped a pic of the big boy and me. A not-so-subtle reminder for me to be on my best behavior.
    That trio of Russian outcasts must be the patsani Vladimir had warned me about last weekend. My God, would he really use them to teach me a lesson?
     
    ***
     
    As we walked back to his truck after dinner, Ryan said, “Can I talk you into a movie instead of going to the lake?”
    Hanging around with Ryan would be a solid plan to stay out of trouble. I hated the thought, but the Russians were right about drinking around boys, and there was potential for the overnighter to end badly—and I sure as hell didn’t want Playboy and his posse to get involved.
    “Come on. I’ll buy the Milk Duds.”
    “You’re tempting me with the promise of a sugar buzz and a mouthful of cavities? Smooth. I’m a sucker for bad boys. Your bribe is accepted.”
    As Ryan drove to the theater, Dad’s ringtone erupted from