Page 21 of Deviant Need

Another buzz.

Mik:

I’m sorry for whatever I did

I grit my teeth. This is part of the plan. Distance. Space. Not answering every time he reaches out because he’s bored or lonely or wants me to come sit with him while he recovers from partying.

I swipe out of his message and open the app store, scanning for dating apps. The first one that pops up gets the download, and two minutes later I’m staring at a profile setup screen asking for a picture.

Lifting the phone, I take a quick selfie. The overhead light catches my hazel eyes and makes them look darker, almost brown. Decent enough. I upload it and keep going.

Then the questions start.

Interests? I type “programming” and move on.

Favorite food? I put “pelmeni.”

Relationship goals? How am I supposed to answer that?

Then it asks what sex positions I prefer, and I stare at the screen. What the fuck kind of question is that for a dating app? How am I supposed to know? I’ve never had sex. I click “skip” and keep scrolling.

Do you top or bottom? I blink at my phone. Is this normal? Are all dating apps like this? Another skip.

What’s your favorite kink? Oh my god. I’m deleting this.

But I don’t delete it. I just keep filling in whatever generic answers come to mind, half annoyed and half confused about why they need to know this much information. Finally I save the profile and toss my phone aside. Done. It’s not like I’m going to use this thing seriously anyway. This was a terrible idea.

“You look miserable.”

My head snaps up. Yulian stands in front of me, and I pull out my AirPods.

I study him for a second. His dark brown hair curls over his forehead instead of being slicked back the way he normally styles it, shaved short on the sides. Tattoos crawl up his neck and cover his hands, almost as many as Alexei has. The family motto is tattooed across the back of his left hand just above his knuckles. He’s dressed in a navy suit with a dark tie, and the family ring sits on his right index finger.

“Surprised to see you here. You normally don’t show up unless you have to.” He drops into the chair next to me.

Shrugging, I keep working on my laptop. The less I engage, the faster he’ll leave.

He reaches over and tries to ruffle my hair, but I smack his hand away. His phone pings with messages. He glances at it, then sets it face down on his thigh. The phone starts ringing, and he declines the call without looking.

“Girlfriend,” he says flatly.

I tilt my head at him. He hooks up with plenty of people but never commits to anyone, and I’ve never heard of him having an actual girlfriend. Plus, that’s not his regular phone. The one he keeps in his jacket pocket is sleeker, newer. This one looks older, like a burner.

Interesting. What are you hiding, Yulian?

I turn to face him fully, eyebrows pulling together. Playing curious gets people talking.

His hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t need to say anything. She’s just been bothering me. Can’t stand needy people.”

Liar. Something’s off, but I can’t place what it is. He’s being vague, deflecting in ways he usually doesn’t with me. I keep my expression neutral and go back to my laptop while he sits there shuffling through papers, his jaw tight.

“So, I know Mikhail stole that document back,” he says suddenly.

I raise my brow at him.

“I needed that for something. He ruined it now.” He rubs his temple and glares out the window. “Took me hours to get everything lined up and now I have to start over.”

What the fuck did he need it for anyway? The event prep was Mikhail’s responsibility, not his. And why does he care so much about one document? He looks tired, exhausted in a way that doesn’t fit. Yulian is never tired. He’s the wildest, most unpredictable out of all of us, makes Mikhail look slow by comparison with how hyperactive he is.