“You didn’t have to pick me up, I could have met you here,” Elena says, knocking on the door as I ruffle the top of my hair, adding some more volume, and fixing the eyelashes I have on, wondering if the glue’s finally going to fail me right at this very moment.

  While Elena and I used to go to Katie’s old place more than twice a month but not quite once a week, the new condo that she and Dean live in now’s new to the both of us. Katie’s been fussing about the decor, and about making it feel like home for at least six months, and we’ve finally been given the golden ticket to come over and have dinner.

  Of course it helps that Katie’s boyfriend, Dean, is a chef and makes the best kind of food in whatever cuisine you’re feeling at any given time. I think Katie DiNovro won the lottery with that guy, and he seems to love cooking for her, loves feeding her...in more ways than one, hah.

  The dogs are whimpering on the other side of the door, little barks of excitement that the both of us can hear in the hall, and I practically vibrate on the other side of the door, shaking with how much I need to see the pups, pet the pups, feed the pups.

  “All right, all right, boys, back up, back up. Best boys.” Katie’s voice floats through the door, and then the lock’s being turned and the door’s opening, and I have secured the bag of dog treats making sure all of the dogs’ attention will be on me, and only on me for the next little while.

  I need it, I need to look at good, kind animals that’ll look at me like they might think I’m the best person in the world after a hard day at work.

  There’s three of them: Pongo, Kal and Potter, and they look straight at me, knowing I’ve got the goods.

  “Here, kiddos,” I sing-song, moving forward and crouching down while opening my bag, the pups still in their seated positions, like sentinels, waiting for the okay to come and smother me with attention and devotion.

  “Such good puppies, the best puppies in the world,” I baby-talk to them, rifling the bag of treats in my purse, struggling to open the problematic plastic until the bag comes apart with a rattle, and I lose more than a few treats in the cavernous space of my purse.

  I dole out treats, one to each of them, when Katie lets them come towards me to accept food, and Elena’s saying something in the background, but I’m on cloud nine right now, high above every little worry and stress and the look on Jackie’s face when I told her she was already beautiful, curling into herself as if her heart was a black hole and she was collapsing in on herself.

  I stare into Pongo’s (the Dalmatian) warm brown eyes, getting a flick of his tongue on my nose for my trouble, making me laugh in delight. I place kisses on his white speckled coat, leaving behind some of my chocolate-brown lipstick, rubbing at his coat to make sure it doesn’t hurt his skin.

  I then get pummeled by the littlest of the trio, Potter, demanding attention by putting his front paws on my thigh, making his tiny frame taller in comparison to either Pongo and Kal. Ah, so cute!

  Elena’s talking above me to Dean, and my stomach gives another growl that has Potter looking down at my torso like he can hear it (of course he can hear it, he’s a pup) and then back up at my face, in a canine version of ‘what the heck was that?’.

  Potter’s tail moves a mile a minute, and then Dean’s voice starts to make sense once I stop talking to the dogs, and start paying attention to my surroundings now, smiling up at Katie in a hello.

  I mean, I know if I had dogs, I would take zero offense if people visiting my house were to say hello to the dogs first. I mean, I would love that, but Katie sometimes...I just don’t know with her. Even after all this time of being friends with her and caught between the two DiNovros that are polar opposites, sometimes I don’t know where I stand.

  “Okay, okay, boys,” Dean says, voice taking on an authoritative tone, his giant Viking ass is coming towards us, and it just makes him bigger, seeing him from this angle.

  “It’s like I don’t even feed you, I swear. Come on, come on. Sophie, please, they’re gonna expect it from you now every single time you walk through that door.”

  I grin, then get up and move to take off my boots, trying to toe them off without squatting back down again, the pain in my back flaring up when I move a little too much to the right, but Dean’s already there, holding onto my arm so I can hold myself steady and not faceplant before I’ve eaten Dean’s delicious food.

  I look over at a person I don’t know, my eyes riveted to his interesting face.

  It’s not going to be only the four of us here—there seems to be another guest.

  A guy I haven’t seen before. A guy I wished I’d seen before, oh my God.

  I get attraction, I do, and yeah, there’s times when some male clients come in and I have to put on my ‘professional’ face and tamp down on ogling because in the end we’re all just bodies—in all forms and sizes, and I shouldn’t prioritize one over the other, but this guy, this guy?

  Why is the sudden realization that I find this random stranger attractive like a punch to the gut, making me lose my breath?

  It could be because you’ve been on crappy dates, and maybe it’s because he hasn’t opened his mouth yet...

  It could be the way his hair is long on top, dirty blond, shaved all around in an undercut for the ages, and his eyes are the kind of blue that you can see and notice from across the room, too bright and icy.

  His nose is a little crooked, leaning on one side more than the other, as if he’s gotten punched there at least once. His close-lipped grin is a little cruel around the edges, the kind that you can’t tell if he’s laughing with you or at you, the kind where you don’t know where you stand with him.

  I reach blindly for Elena’s hand, feeling as if I’ve lost all the feeling in my feet, unsure if I’m standing or sitting or what the hell, but knowing I need Elena there to hold me up, like she’s done more often than I can say.

  I pull in a deep breath, walking forward without any real input from my brain, stilted walking like I’m a newly converted zombie still trying to figure out its reanimated limbs, reanimated gait.

  My hand shoots out ready for a handshake, again without any input from my brain, as if I’m watching myself in a darkened movie theater, throwing popcorn at the screen and cringing at myself in the scene.

  “Hi, I’m Sophie.”

  The guy smiles, and it takes away that cruel edge around his mouth and transforms it, erasing it altogether, the smile inviting you to spend all day with him and hopefully all night, the kind that makes my skin tingle and my breath catch in my throat.

  I watch him as he pulls out his hand from his pocket, connecting our hands in a solid handshake, making me jerk at the contact, electrified from head to toe.

  Oh, no. Not now.

  “Hi,” he says, voice melodic with some kind of accent that I can’t place, even living in a city like Montreal. “I’m Tommy, but everyone calls me Russia.”

  TWO

  I blink at him, at this stranger, while still holding onto his hand, not wanting to let go. I like the feel of it, the weight of it in my own grip.

  “Like...you’re named after the whole country?”

  Tommy (Russia) laughs, his head bowing back to glance up at the ceiling. Even the column of his throat is ridiculously attractive, all that perfect skin that could be tatted up, and would look beautiful in colorful geometric designs.

  My fingers itch to draw something out right here, right now.

  There’s an explosion of fireworks going off in my brain, bursting with colors and whizzing sounds all around as I keep looking at him.

  “Your nickname is based off an entire country? Is that allowed?” I ask, realizing too late how much I sound like an idiot.

  But honestly...Russia? Who gets a nickname like that?

  Is this some sort of willy joke that just went completely over my head? Are guys naming them after whole countries now? Is it supposed to be huge because Russia is the world’s largest land mass?

  I glance down at the crotch of his jeans, a fleeting movement of my eyes, but I’m pretty sure he catches me looking down and investigating, so there’s that, and I’ll probably be thinking about this moment, wanting to die of embarrassment, from now until I leave this poor planet behind.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “I’m from there,” he says, and I drop his hand like a hot potato, rubbing my palm against the thigh of my jeans, wishing I could go out on the balcony for fresh air, but I don’t want to seem rude.

  Sorry, I’m having some sort of allergic-type reaction to your hotness, and it makes me want to run away! Especially when you’re sort of looking at me like you’re interested back.

  Yeah, that’ll go over well.

  “Oh, cool, cool, cool.”

  It’s not cool, it’s definitely not cool enough to say it three times in a row. What the hell?

  I’m never tongue-tied, twisted up like this.

  He’s just attractive! I’ve found guys attractive before, there’s nothing to it! So why is my brain having an epic fart and refusing to engage and work at 100%?

  “When did you come to Canada?” I ask, and Katie snorts behind me like she knows how hard of a time I’m having and having a grand old time at my expense.

  “When I was twelve. Cool?” He grins at me, and there’s an explosion of butterflies in my belly, and that’s it, that’s it, I’m not doing this again, falling for good looks with nothing to back them up because I’m always being the idiot who wants more.

  Nope, this guy is probably Casual City, and I’m not looking for that right now. I’ve got shit to do and banging a hot guy on the side and then questioning what everything means after the fact does not sound like my idea of a good time.

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  I nod dumbly, then whirl around to Elena. “I forgot something in the car!” I practically yell, needing space, needing to get myself together, because yeah he’s hot, and it’s been forever, but I’m not going to be a slave to my ovaries, definitely not going to be a slave to my ovaries.

  Nope, nope, nope. Not me. Definitely not me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Elena says, champion friend that she is, hustling me out the door too quickly that we both realize I don’t have my boots on, and I’m staring down at my own feet like they’ve betrayed me.

  I press my back against the hallway wall, taking in deep, even and measured breaths, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my belly, appalled at myself that a single look from Russia (Jesus Christ, his name is Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!), has made my stupid knees go weak.

  This kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life—it only gets talked about with those dumb idiots who believe in love at first sight. As if. Yeah, right. In the words of Elena DiNovro, ‘no way, no how’.

  “I can’t go back in there,” I say, clutching at Elena’s shoulders, fingernails digging in. I shake my head. “It’s been a hell of a day, and I sounded so dumb, and he’s so hot, what the hell? Why is that allowed? I wasn’t mentally prepared for any of this!” I groan, dropping my hands from Elena’s shoulders and bending at the waist, because apparently the air down at this level is a bit better than the air when I’m completely vertical. I haven’t been a teenager in a long time, I’m not prone to these kinds of moments anymore.

  What the hell is this!?

  “Are you okay? You’re super flushed.” Elena’s voice sounds suspiciously like she’s laughing at me, but I’m not lifting my head to confirm. I need to keep breathing down here until I’m back to normal.

  “Yeah, yeah, my skin’s about to melt off. What about it?” I say, smacking my hands against my face, the temperature difference between my cold hands and face startling me, even if it feels amazing.

  “Are you flustered because of that guy...Russia? I can’t believe they call him Russia,” Elena says, and the surprise in her voice has me looking up at her. Elena’s shaking her head at the idea of calling Russia Russia.

  “But I guess it makes sense. It’d be like if we moved somewhere else and they’d call us Canada, or Maple Syrup, or something. I don’t know.” Elena shrugs, and I know she’s just babbling to try and calm me down, but it’s not working.

  It’s not working!

  “I’m...I’m having a crisis, here, Elena. You know me, right? You know who I am, how I am when it comes to guys. And yes, while I have dabbled out and about with many a date, I have never felt this kind of reaction to a guy I just met. I usually get like this after I’ve talked to them for at least an hour and figured out if the date in question is a jerk or not.”

  I shake my head from side to side.

  “What’s the matter with me? I want to marry him, and you know how I am about marriage! And I want to tattoo every single inch of his skin. He’d make the perfect canvas. Did you see him? Did you see how perfect he would look, even better than he is now? I’d pass out for sure,” I whisper-yell between gulping down breaths.

  I chuck off my coat, letting it hang down my arms while I start to fan myself rather ineffectually, feeling sticky and hot.

  “Am I dying?! Elena, am I dying!?”

  Elena DiNovro, best friend since 2011, is laughing at me in my most crucial time of need and I want to punch her, but I can’t go around hurting my hands like that when I need them to do my job.

  So maybe I’ll settle for kicking her hard or stomping hard on her foot, let her hobble around for a bit because I’m having a meltdown

  There’s no other reason for me to be acting like this, no reason at all.

  “Can you relax? You’re not dying, you’re just about ten years too late to the fangirling game. Jesus, I never thought I would see the day where Sophie Kincaid is losing it over a hot guy. Wow, only you. You’ve got all these feelings and you don’t know what to do with them, right?”

  I nod weakly because she’s making a lot of sense, either that or she’s psychic, and I think as her best friend, she would have told me if she was.

  “So your fandom isn’t the Habs, or some show, or soccer team or whatever, hell, even a celebrity would make sense right now. Nope, you had to go and make it complicated. Your fandom...” Elena says, knighting me from one shoulder, then pulling her arm up and over my head to land on my other shoulder with an invisible sword, and honestly, who died and made her queen of the land?

  “...Is now Russia, I don’t even know his last name, population: one Sophie Kincaid.”

  “Why are you grinning at me like that? What did I ever do to you, huh? Huh?” I slap at her placating there, there gesture on my shoulder when I really want to hit something, or hell, draw it out, anything to make me forget about this moment. I want to leave, really.

  I don’t want to face my weird reaction to the guy, having a meltdown outside like some dumb kid unable to be adult enough to wrangle her feelings, deaden the sharp brightness of them so that I can last through the night with my sanity intact.

  Maybe this time will be different, huh?

  I strangle that tiny, little beacon of hope. I don’t believe in any of this. There has to be something wrong with him, and he’ll end up disappointing me like all the crummy dates I’ve had in the past.

  I’ll get over this weird initial reaction.

  I pull in a deep breath through my nose, exhale through my mouth, square my shoulders and head back towards Katie’s front door, Elena blocking my way.

  I can turn off this reaction, I can. I do it all the time at work. Hot guys come in all the time for tattoos, and you don’t see me losing it all the freaking time like this. What makes Tommy so different? I’m not going home, though. I’m going to go straight inside and confront my fears in the form of a man nicknamed after a country. So he knows I find him ridiculously attractive. So what?

  Besides, I’m hungry, but I’m also the nervous kind of nauseous and I don’t know if I can eat.

  What a dilemma. “Nothing, Sophie, it’s just that you get it now. You totally get it about having these intense feelings for someone you never met before, and I’m going to sit here and watch it all with a big, fat grin on my face, waiting for the prime moment to say I told you so when the time comes.”

  I slap at her shoulder. “Rude. The rudest. Help me get back inside.” I hold up a finger. “Wait, if anyone asks, I’ll say I forgot my phone charger, and it ended up being in my coat pocket. No one has to know about this, okay? Okay, Elena?”

  Elena takes an extra second to nod slowly, grinning all the while, like she’s got me.

  And yup she does.

  I take a few deep breaths, the emotional whiplash from this afternoon with tattooing Jackie and now standing here like a horn dog from Horndog City is enough to give me a headache or make me doubt everything and everyone.

  Is this The Matrix? Is it glitching?

  Can someone fix it so I can go back to normal, please?

  We walk back into Katie’s apartment, Elena leading the way, because yeah, I need a few more seconds to compose myself in front of Russia (even his nickname is making me feel tingly, what the hell?) before I take off my coat completely, and Katie lets out a whistle.

  I am not embarrassed of my body, I am not.

  I love the way it moves and works, the way it keeps my brain and thoughts and feelings swimming around in my skull while the rest of me gets to move around. I like how it bends and twists when I need it to, and I love the way I’m able to make art with what I’ve been given.

  I have nothing to be ashamed of.

  But I still get shy.

  I’m as loud as can be in what I put on my body, both art and clothing, and sometimes that gives people the wrong impression. I’ve been working hard on it being a ‘them’ problem and not a ‘me’ problem.

  If it were just Elena, Katie and Dean, I wouldn’t mind so much wearing this blouse, showing off my artwork since Dean’s always curious about getting his next tattoo, Katie sighing good-naturedly (I think, it’s hard to tell sometimes), and he’s always got a million questions that I’m excited to answer.