Her Rustanov Bully: the (possibly romantic?) tale of how I pucked around and found out
Her Rustanov Bully: Chapter 13

He did not mean to rescue her.

Yom cursed himself even as he saved Lydia from having to follow through on Clara Quinn’s request.

The most perplexing thing was he couldn’t even remember deciding to help her out of her jam.

She’d frozen, then began to tremble—most likely with stage fright or some other particularly American mental distress. There were so many here in the States that Yom had eventually stopped trying to keep track by his sophomore year of university when even his outwardly affable captain Lars had confessed to being put on medication for something called “crippling performance anxiety.”

It didn’t matter why. Only that the next thing Yom knew, he was standing up and reading the passage himself.

Neither Lydia nor their teacher thanked him after he finished reciting. Professor Quinn returned to her lecture with a scowl, and Lydia appeared to be actively avoiding his eyes, as if he had embarrassed her with his assistance.

But he was the one who should be embarrassed. He shouldn’t have helped her—just like he shouldn’t have secretly threatened Gary, the hockey player who’d knocked the tray out of her hands that past Saturday.

Yom wanted to make her life on campus completely uncomfortable. He needed to make her pay for what she’d done.

But he also felt compelled to protect her.

As his teammates often yelled when they missed an easy shot: What the fuck?

How could both be true?

Yom’s insides twisted with disgust, and he spent the rest of the class hating himself. Almost as much as he hated her.

What felt like years later, Professor Quinn dismissed them with a stern reminder to be on time for the next seminar.

Lydia immediately pushed back her chair.

Yom figured she would run out of there like she’d run from the campus rec center after cleaning up the mess Gary had left in his wake.

The same as when she ran from your hotel room, a dark, bitter voice reminded him with a sneer.

Instead, she rushed to the front of the small classroom and stopped in front of their professor. “Ms. Quinn, I’m so sorry about today. Um, can we talk?”

“Yes, I believe we should,” Professor Quinn answered. “Young lady, it’s obvious that you signed up for this highly sought-after class because you believed it would be one of those fun courses you could just coast through.”

“No, that’s not it at all….” Lydia stopped.

Then glanced up at Yom, who hadn’t realized he was still lurking at the table—just like he hadn’t realized he was going to come to her rescue until he did.

“Is there something you wished to discuss with me as well, Mr. Rustanov?” Clara Quinn asked, pursing her lips.

Yom collected his backpack and headed for the door without answering her question. As his father would often say, Rustanovs do not ever explain themselves, but they always make themselves clear.

Da, that was what he needed to do with this unexpected turn in the Lydia situation. Make himself clear.

Gripping the straps of his backpack tight, Yom lingered outside the seminar’s classroom, a dark storm gathering over his head as he waited longer than expected for Lydia to finish her conversation with Clara Quinn.

By the time she emerged, the hallway had emptied, and the next classes had begun, including the Statistics course he needed to pass for his business degree.

When she walked out, she looked tired, and her expression became even more weary when she saw him leaning against the wall.

A wave of pity tried to wiggle into his chest, but Yom ruthlessly squashed it. “That is one-time thing I am doing for you,” he informed her. “It is changing nothing.”

Instead of answering, she walked past him like she hadn’t heard him.

She thought she could get away with ignoring him?

A mix of frustration and anger rose in his throat like sour milk as he chased her down.

“I still hate you.” He grabbed her arm to make her stop walking, to stop running from him. “You will still be made to pay for crossing me. This act of kindness does not mean I will let you off⁠—”

“How much?” Lydia asked, cutting him off without looking back.

“What?” Confusion made Yom drop his hand from her arm. “I am not understanding your question.”

“You don’t understand?” She turned to face him, and Yom nearly took a step back when he saw the misery in her pretty brown eyes replaced by a shining fury.

“How much do you want me to pay for crossing you?” she demanded with an ugly frown. “You humiliated me at that game. You’ve completely shredded the reputation I spent years building at this school. People are calling me Restraining Order like it’s my real name. And now, my hero, Clara Quinn, is ‘considering’ whether I can stay in her class after today’s performance. So, here I am, asking you, how much? How much is enough for you?”

Another unwanted pang of sympathy threatened to erupt, but Yom forced it down. “You are choosing to engage me in battle, and now you are upset because you are having to pay costs of your ill-considered actions.”

“No, I’m upset because I needed this class, you freaking sociopath!” Tears welled in Lydia’s eyes. “I needed this class to prove to myself that I’d finally overcome this glitch in my brain. Three and a half years I spent!”

She splayed a hand over the chest of her overbright Gemidgee Animal Shelter hoodie. “Nine regular semesters and three summer semesters of killing myself to do what comes easy to most folks—of persevering past the feeling of being too stupid to be here. And all of it comes burning down because I pissed off one guy! I can’t study. I can’t go anywhere on campus without one of your crazy-ass stans saying something nasty to me or straight-up attacking me. My best friend has been crying all weekend after she got dumped because of something I did. And, unlike you, I’m not a sociopath, so yes, I’m upset because my stupid actions have cost me everything. You’re right. Is that payment enough?”

“I…” Yom frowned, not sure how to answer. He was the stronger party here. That much was evident. But somehow, she kept managing to throw him off-kilter.

“No?” Lydia guessed before he could come up with anything. “Me feeling incredibly stupid for making the biggest mistake of my life with you in Berlin isn’t enough? Then what will it take?”

She spread her arms wide. “Do you want a public apology? Cool! Let me know where to shout at the top of my lungs how sorry I am for tricking you. Do you need to fuck me to get over this? Fine! I’ll leave here with you now. Just tell me what price it will take to make you leave me alone, and I will pay it.”

Yom’s heart clenched with an emotion he couldn’t name. Worse, his cock hardened on a wicked pulse of want.

He shoved aside that maddening hunger, certain she wasn’t seriously offering him her body. How many nights had he already wasted replaying the feel of it beneath his hands, cursing himself for desiring her, wishing she hadn’t been a liar? Wishing she hadn’t run.

He gritted his teeth, forcing those memories back into the dark corner of his mind, where they belonged.

This situation was spiraling—dangerous for him.

Tears, he had been expecting. He would have simply laughed if she’d resorted to calling him names like so many Americans did when they got upset.

But he didn’t know what to do with her angry questions or the feelings roiling in his chest.

“Ms. Carrington! Mr. Rustanov! What are you doing out here?” a voice demanded behind him.

He turned to replace Professor Quinn now standing outside the seminar’s classroom, regarding them with a furious look.

“I do not know what this drama is all about, but I assure you, the hallway of an institution of education is no place for you to play it out.”

Rustanovs didn’t apologize, but Lydia immediately lowered her head to say, “I’m sorry, Ms. Quinn. This is all my fault.”

“Is it?” She narrowed her eyes at Yom while responding to Lydia. “While I’m a huge believer in personal responsibility, I’m beginning to suspect you’re not the true culprit in this case.”

“No, I am… I’m the one who had no business taking your class in the first place.” Lydia let out an audible breath, then sucked it in again. “And there’s no need to waste any more time wondering if you should give me another chance to prove myself. I’ll drop the class this week so that someone more deserving can have my spot.”

Instead of staying to fight, she was giving up her spot in the seminar. Because of him? Yom should have been elated. His plan to destroy her senior year was already off to a definitive start.

But the ice around his heart cracked with an ugly, dark feeling.

An uncharacteristic softness entered Professor Quinn’s expression, and she opened her mouth to say something else.

But before she could, Lydia squeaked out, “Okay, thank you. Bye!” then awkwardly pushed past Yom to head for the exit doors.

Leaving Yom alone to do what Rustanovs never did: explain himself to the teacher glaring up at him.