Dmitry's Closet Nelson, S. (best reads TXT) 📖

He looked dead into her wide brown eyes, paralyzing her more.

While the shock was over, Royal still did not speak. Her mouth would not move. She only hoped that her eyes would speak for her.

The man stood stone faced for a moment then smiled at her nervousness. He instantly recognized her discomfort, sensed her attraction. Perfect, white pearly teeth were revealed under his shapely rose-color lips. A long dimple exploded in his left cheek and his eyes sparkled like diamonds. It only made Royal weaker, more lost in his spell.

“Is someone helping you?” he asked in a thick foreign accent. His cologne floated up to her nostrils, and she took in the scent of extremely expensive cologne.

“No,” she said, voice pitched high. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. No. No one is helping me.”

She opened her sweaty hand and showed him the mon-ey to validate her reason for intruding on him.

He made his way up the polished wooden steps past her. She looked up at him as he did so, still in wonder of his giant build.

“Do you want to pay me for music or for food cooking in kitchen, my dear?” His deep voice reverberated through-out the empty restaurant as he talked.

“Just the food,” Royal swallowed again.

He chuckled a little. “This is polite way to tell me not to quit day job, dah?”

Royal smiled. “I enjoyed it, actually.” Her eyes told him that she loved it.

“Er…enjoyed it? Well, good. Now, come with me, my little spy,” he said reading her.

She followed him obediently to the front of the restau-rant, where he pulled a single seat from a table near the bay windows.

“Anatoly, bring me a plate of duck you are cooking,” he ordered towards the kitchen door. He looked back over at Royal and motioned towards the seat. “Please, love, sit down. I have made you wait long enough.”

“Thank you,” she said sitting. His hospitality and warmness was most appreciated. It almost made her blush.

“You’re welcome.” He pushed her up to the table and bent down to her ear. “Do you like duck?” he asked, tickling her nose with his minty perfumed breath.

“I…I’ve never had it,” she answered, feeling slightly embarrassed and completely controlled by the situation.

“Never?” the strange man asked, amused. His eyebrows arched.

She nodded no.

“Well, you will try my duck today. It is best in all of Memphis, recipe straight from Russia.” He stood back up.

She nodded yes, frustrated at her sudden lapse in verbal communication. Struggling, she tried to make herself spit out her words and stop acting like a school girl.

“Thank you,” she said again, forcefully this time. “I’d like that very much.”

“It is my pleasure,” he said, bowing out like a trained waiter.

“One question though?” she asked before he could get away.

“Yes?” He stopped and looked over at her curiously.

“I only have ten dollars. How much does the Russian duck cost?” Her eyes were wide. Maybe the man had mistaken her second-hand business suit for something valuable? She was in no position to pay for an expensive dinner.

“It will cost you conversation with me.” He looked at her sweat-stained white oxford, run over pumps and exhausted state and felt instantly responsible for feeding the woman. It was the least that he could do.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me for just a minute.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Royal said, watching his long, muscular body disappear into the restaurant.

A duck recipe straight from Russia? So he was from Russia? She looked around the restaurant again. Yes, unmistakably Russian. So unmistakable, she found the whole setting to be slightly stereotypical; all that was missing was a framed photo of Putin and the national flag. She looked over in the far corner, saw both and giggled to herself.

The day had most certainly turned around. She was about to have free duck in a plush restaurant with a hot man out of the hot sun. And that was completely fine by her. She needed a break. She’s been job hunting all day. And if she heard, we’ll be contacting you, one more time, she would lose her mind. What they really meant was that the economy was in a complete downward spiral, and she had a degree in business and no real experience outside of working her butt off doing odd jobs to pay for school, so she would never hear from them again.

However, she wouldn’t focus on all of that now. This man had given her a millisecond break. She would just take it and forget for a while that her life truly sucked. Happily, she slipped her feet halfway out of her shoes, wiggled her toes and sighed. Ahh. Freedom at last.

Minutes later, the man whom Royal guessed was Anatoly came walking towards her lonely table with a two plates. The young dirty blonde moved quickly. His stocky frame was covered in tattoos, and he wore dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered by a white apron. His hooded eyes never looked up from the ground. He sat the food down and walked away. Then an even shorter redhead woman came out with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka, two red crystal glasses and a bottle of wine and set it on the table in the same manner. She also never spoke a word.

“I was hoping that you’d still be here,” the man said returning.

He pulled his seat away from the table and sat directly across from her. She watched him carefully while he inspected the presentation of his meal. His long, muscular arms rested beside him, reaching nearly the length of the table.

“Shall we toast?” he asked, picking up his glass once he was satisfied.

“Sure. What to?”

He thought for a minute then smiled. “To prosperous futures.”

“I like that.”

She toasted his glass and drank the potent contents. The burn rushed down her throat to her empty belly and caused a shiver through her body. Maybe it would do exactly what she wanted it to do - numb the awkward exhilaration of being across the table