Gold Digger by Aleksandr Voinov

lovers, as though none had left a mark.
    “Get my hopes up?”
    “Yeah. I’m not gay. I don’t want to build a habit here.”
    “Habits take at least two months to establish. You can’t change over a weekend.”
    Thank you, self-improvement library. “Well, then I should be safe.”
    “Definitely. I’ll pick you up in thirty.”
    “Okay, great, I’ll be there.”
    He mentally backtracked to Well, then I should be safe. Had that sounded too worried? He enjoyed spending time with Henri. Nothing to be concerned about.
    An email from his mother popped up on his screen. No doubt the chastising he’d been expecting for cutting off Anya’s ambitions.
    He opened it with dread tightening his throat, but it was just a pleasant, almost chatty email about her plans to extend a house (she was by now running a veritable real estate empire) and an offer to stay in Budapest for a few days with her.
    Had she caught wind of him visiting Vadim? Or maybe he was just completely paranoid by now. There was no reason or need to play the “who do you love more, Mommy or Daddy?” game of other divorced couples. Though he could never really be sure. Katya could be a manipulative matriarch in the best tradition of Catherine de Medici. Or she was really only asking about good real estate opportunities in Armenia, or maybe Georgia?
    If he did take the invitation, she’d still use the opportunity to twist him around and make him feel sorry for denying his sister’s request for help.
    You’d be quite sane and well-adjusted if your family had happened to somebody else, his last ex had told him. He normally didn’t run around telling people about them (if he’d wanted to, he’d handle it like an American and get a therapist), but things had progressed so far with her that he’d almost taken her along to family gatherings, and felt he needed to brief her on what she’d encounter there.
    But before that worst-case scenario had happened, she’d met a nice guy who had a boring nine-to-five and wanted family and was reliable and sweet and could actually share one of her five-year plans. He’d told her that as a Russian old enough to remember five-year planning and what it meant for people in reality, he wasn’t very well-suited for the “first career to mid-level, then a house and pension plan, then marry, then two children and a second car” spiel. And he couldn’t decide whether that was a fault or a strength.
    No such thing with Henri, though. No plans, no power games, nothing but an invitation to have some fun.
    Greek and casual, Henri had said, so he didn’t actually have to change, but he put on a tighter T-shirt, remembering Henri staring at his chest. Funny, he couldn’t decide how he felt about that, either. He just figured Henri’d like it; it wasn’t meant as a bastard move to show off or let the guy drool over him. Something would definitely happen, and he caught himself grinning, anticipation tightening his balls. As long as he was playing fair (and not raising expectations he couldn’t fulfill), there was no reason not to improvise as he went along.
    He grabbed a light windbreaker and headed downstairs without dwelling on those thoughts any further. Though he would have to talk to Ruslan at some point and tell him what they were most likely up against.
    When he came downstairs, Henri was already waiting. Ten minutes early.
    “Hey.” Henri smiled at him. He was dressed in a suit, which he likely believed flattered him the most, and Nikolai agreed. He moved in it as if he’d never worn anything else. Much more comfortable than Nikolai would ever feel.
    “Henri. You’re early.”
    “Well, traffic wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.” Henri touched him on the shoulder and Nikolai allowed it, the friendly contact of buddies totally unaware of any possibility they might look gay. Not that it mattered much in urban Canada.
    The silver rocket stood outside, and Nikolai folded himself into it, then relaxed in the leather