Chapter 138 Chapter 138 Turning 21
I turn, slowly, not really wanting to.
Ivan stands there—tall, undeniable, absolutely beautiful in that effortless, dangerous way that makes my chest tighten. Dimitri rests an arm casually around his brother’s shoulders. I take another hit from my joint, leaning my back against the wall, letting the smoke fill my lungs as I watch them without saying a word.
Dimitri’s eyes drop.
I catch it.
Then he looks back up at me, grinning. Something about him feels different—lighter, almost amused.
And then—
Like lightning.
Sergey cuts between them, breaking whatever silent tension had formed. He steps right into my space, his hand sliding along my lower back as he leans in, kissing both sides of my face.
“Where is your wife?” I whisper against his cheek.
“I got divorced,” he says easily. “My ex, her boyfriend, and their baby are back in New York.”
Of course they are.
I glance past him and spot Alek and Gemma at the nearest food truck. She catches my eye and winks.
Yes, I know.
He’s here for me.
But I’ve moved on.
Haven’t I?
Mason and Grant step into the growing circle around me, joining the others.
“Are you fucking getting high?” Grant asks, eyeing the joint in my hand.
I shrug, taking another drag.
Someone help me.
“It’s good to see you out,” Mason says, pulling me into a warm, steady hug. “Happy birthday.”
I lean back against the wall again as they all hover a few feet away—far enough to pretend it’s casual, close enough to feel suffocating. One by one they offer their birthday wishes. I flick a glance toward Gemma for rescue.
She just chuckles.
Great.
Then—
A life preserver.
“Elle!”
Mike.
He pushes through the group without hesitation and pulls me into a hug.
“Happy birthday! Sorry I’m late. Meeting with my dad on a Friday night,” he says.
He introduces himself, and I watch the shift happen—the moment the guys connect the dots about who his father is. Their expressions change instantly.
Mike looks completely out of place here. He’s not striking, not in the way the others are, but the way he carries himself—steady, confident—it speaks louder than looks ever could.
Sergey comments on his watch. Mason watches me, his eyes tracking every movement. When our gazes meet, he gives me a small, knowing grin.
Mike compliments Ivan on the club.
Ivan just nods.
Of course he does.
I spot Stanislav and Tiana across the way.
There’s my exit.
I pinch the joint out with my fingers, ignoring the brief sting. Ivan watches me and flashes that damn dimpled grin.
“Mike,” I say quickly, grabbing his hand, “I want to introduce you to my cousin.”
I pull him away before anyone can stop me.
The air feels lighter instantly, like I can finally breathe again. I can feel all their eyes on us as we walk off.
Stanislav starts laughing the second we reach him.
“Running away from the sad boy club?”
“Shut up,” I shoot back, but I’m smiling—genuinely this time. “This is Mike.”
They exchange greetings, polite and smooth. Mike, curious as ever, asks why Stanislav called them that.
Of course, my cousin tells him.
“They’re all her exes.”
I roll my eyes.
Not really.
I only count men I’ve actually dated. Not the ones I’ve slept with once or twice.
Not even Dimitri.
And we’ve… well.
A lot.
The memories hit me out of nowhere—sharp, vivid—Dimitri, Ivan, both of them, tangled up with me. Heat slides down my spine, a shiver following close behind.
Dimitri catches it.
Of course he does.
That grin again—like he knows exactly where my mind just went.
“Elle,” Mike says, pulling me back, “do you want food or a drink?”
“Yes. A drink. The first club.”
Anywhere but out there. Far away from all of them.
We walk back in and almost immediately run into Roman. I force the introductions, even manage a small curtsy, then keep moving—introducing Mike to Elena, Boriana, Gabby, and the rest of the Pavlovs. Sal gives me a knowing grin. Jax too—he tells me he wants to talk later.
Probably to lecture me.
Whatever.
Mike and I finally make it to the bar. We order two whiskeys. He sits beside me, slowly spinning the glass between his fingers before looking up at me.
“So… you date guys that are really good-looking,” he says carefully. “Why go out with me?”
I take a sip, letting the burn settle.
“You don’t think you can stand next to them?” I ask.
The alcohol and weed are starting to blur the edges of everything. It’s… nice. A break from the constant ache in my head.
“I can stand next to them,” he says. “I’ve got money. But this face…” He gestures vaguely to himself.
Something in me softens.
Or maybe loosens.
I lean toward him, sliding my hand under his tie. My fingers trace down his chest, feeling the muscle beneath the fabric, stopping at his belt. He swallows hard.
“The face isn’t everything,” I murmur.
I hope that didn’t come out wrong. That I didn't just hurt his feelings by admitting he is kind of ugly.
His eyes drop to my hand. “I don’t know if you’ll like the rest of me either.”
“I’m willing to find out,” I say, giving him a wink.
He laughs, and I don’t even recognize myself right now. The flirting, the ease—it feels foreign.
And wrong.
Like I’m cheating.
I have to remind myself—
Nick is gone.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask.
“I do,” he says, glancing toward the entrance, “but your posse just walked in. I feel like they’re going to take turns cutting in.”
I don’t look.
I don’t want to.
“Promise you won’t run off, even if they do,” I say, leaning in, brushing my lips against his. “I’m leaving with you tonight.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me there as he deepens the kiss. There’s something there—something warm—but it’s faint. Not enough.
I pull back, finishing my drink.
Mike takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.
His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close—flush against him. Close enough that I feel everything. He shifts slightly, letting me feel what’s between his legs.
There’s… a lot.
But something about it feels off.
“I’ll explain later,” he says with a grin, like he read my mind.
We move together with the music. He’s decent—better than I expected. But his hands…
They’re rough.
Too rough.
The way he grips me, fingers pressing in, holding tight—it reminds me of Alek. And I don’t know how I feel about that kind of sex anymore.
I’ve always thought you can tell everything about a man by the way he dances.
So far, I haven’t been wrong.
If they don’t dance—stay away.
Not that I’ve ever followed my own advice.
And then—
The first interruption.
Mike called it.
But it’s not who I expected.
It’s Grant.