Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King

Chapter 8

IVORY

Against every red flag raised in my brain, I’ve found myself sitting in the passenger side of a strange man’s black SUV with tinted windows.

It was a matter of personal interest.

Which was safer? Chancing my luck in the woods by myself?

I’ve hardly ever been outside a day in my life. The only nature I’ve ever experienced was walking to and from the dorms at cheer camp when I was sixteen. Even then, I felt like an alien that crash-landed on the wrong planet.

I fight my urge to cry as this strange man tries to untangle the mess of emotions that I’m so clearly projecting onto him. My friends have never been good people, and I’ve been ashamed to be associated with them on more than one occasion, but leaving me in the middle of nowhere in a tiny dress and heels is a new low.

I knew I was at the bottom of the food chain before, but now, I don’t think they have any respect for me at all.

“Why do you keep them around?” Maxim asks, keeping his eyes straight on the road ahead.

My response doesn’t come naturally. This is something I’ve always been afraid to ask myself, something I’ve shoved to the bottom of my psyche every time I’ve felt uncared for or taken for granted. “Um… I think it’s because I’ve always been kind of a homebody, and I hate being by myself all the time,” I reply. The words feel tepid in my mouth. I sound like such a sad little bitch, just like Chad said.

“Hmm.”

A knot forms in my stomach at his limited response. When I look at him, I can see that he’s very well-built physically. His muscles look more real than I’m used to seeing, like he earned them by winning fights or killing huge animals with his bare hands. The guys at my school have muscles, but they’re so ornamental. I’d never trust one of those guys to keep me safe.

I didn’t recognize the smell of the car’s interior at first, but after spending some time inside, I realize that the smokey scent is that of expensive Cuban cigars, not Parliaments. The smoke combined with the lingering bitterness of black coffee indicates sophistication rather than irresponsibility or recklessness like I’m used to.

At first, I thought he was closer to my age, but upon a closer look, I can see that he’s likely eight years older than me, maybe more. The guys at my school are so boyish, childish. They show off for each other and to the girls around them, claiming us prizes to be won for what they assume is a reward for their naturally superior qualities.

Maxim has this aura of confidence like he’s completely unbothered by what anyone else has to say. Even the way he sits in the driver’s seat seems more intentional.

I quickly grow distracted by him, by the idea of him. I don’t know him at all, but I feel like I’d like to. It dawns on me that he likely was present for the skinny dipping by the lake, and he could have seen me completely naked.

The weird black car …

My whole body starts to feel warm all over, and not just from the weed, alcohol, and pills.

Being a virgin makes my sexual urges so hard to navigate. Do I want to have sex with him? Do I just feel safe with him? Do I feel the opposite of safe, leading to the sexual urges? How does anybody deal with this all the time?

I pull my dress down a little past my thighs, almost as a means of subconsciously chastising myself for being so needy and sexually frustrated. Being a virgin has been more or less a choice, but sometimes I just don’t know what I want.

The guys at my school are so repulsive to me in almost every way. Seeing Maxim is like seeing a real man for the first time. I want him to pick me up and throw me across my bedroom into the wall furthest from my bed. I wonder if he’s ever done that before.

“What are you studying in school?” Maxim asks, startling me out of my trance.

“Anthropology,” I reply. “I really shouldn’t have gone to this party tonight, I have three papers due next week, and I’m only halfway done with one of them,” I continue, feeling the familiar pressure of guilt resting in my belly. Even thinking about next week makes me want to throw up. How could I be so irresponsible?

“What are your friends studying? They don’t seem nearly as engaged with their studies,” he asks, lighting another cigar and rolling down both windows. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

Am I supposed to say no?

I hate this game.

“Oh, it’s fine,” I reply. “They’re mostly studying political science. Courtney is studying to become a nurse, but I’m not sure if she’s going to make it. She’s too wrapped up in her own shit,” I continue, realizing I’m probably giving away way too much information about my friends to a total stranger.

He doesn’t seem particularly interested in them, though, which is something that secretly makes me feel validated somehow. For someone to finally not care about Courtney or Tommy or Peyton makes me feel seen, like I really exist instead of serving as a prop in the movie of somebody else’s life.

I settle further into my seat. I like it here, away from the noise and the voices of everyone at my university, the rich people always vying for attention. You’d think with all that money that they’d be calmer, less desperate, but they seem worse off than people with nothing at all.

But Maxim … he’s different.