Her Rustanov Bully: the (possibly romantic?) tale of how I pucked around and found out
Her Rustanov Bully: Chapter 42

Yom didn’t miss any more practices before spring break, but only because I used what I privately referred to as “my Tasha Power Dynamic” to make sure we both made it to classes, volunteer shifts, and the boatload of extra practices Yom had incurred for skipping out on his team before the Big Ten tournament began.

So, I wasn’t shocked when Yom told me he wouldn’t be able to make it down to Minneapolis for my birthday party.

But I was disappointed—and super-reluctant to go.

If I thought Dad would think less of Yom after he’d—oh, you know, nearly beat his biological son to death at his own birthday party, I was sorely mistaken. Instead, my parents quietly sent Paul to some emotional wellness rehab program in California. Then they started putting on a weirdly dutiful act, calling me on FaceTime, sometimes twice a week, asking how I was doing and even sounding interested when I answered.

However, my father never failed to ask after Yom before hanging up. They were even making tentative plans to meet us in Chicago, where the USCA championship would take place if the Yolks made it to the final four—which both Yom and my father seemed supremely confident they would.

“You’re the only reason my parents are even throwing me this party,” I pointed out to Yom when he told me he wouldn’t be attending.

Yom managed to “convince” me to go anyway, with a lot of heavily accented cajoling and some very filthy kisses.

And the night before my birthday found Yom driving me to Gemidgee’s private airfield to meet Trish and Merry—whose excitement to ride in one of the Rustanovs’ planes had also helped make Yom’s case.

My shockingly sweet boyfriend even had a thoughtful surprise for me before we reached the airport.

“I ordered special celebration meal for you and your friends to eat on plane,” he informed me as he stopped in the main part of town at my favorite Chinese restaurant—also the only Chinese restaurant in Gemidgee, but potato po-tah-to.

“Oh my God, thank you!” I said, touching a hand to my heart—before adding, “Did you get dumplings, too? They’re Trish’s favorite.”

A confused look. Then: “But it is your birthday dinner.”

Yom was amazing at accommodating my ADHD and dyslexia, but he was still figuring out the “making other people happy makes me happy” aspect of my personality.

“I’ll come with you,” I offered. “I’m sure it won’t be any trouble to add dumplings to the order….”

I scrambled out before Yom could open the door for me, as he always insisted on doing. Maybe that was why he took my hand with a slightly disapproving look. These days, we rarely held hands when we walked—Yom preferred to keep me close, with an arm draped over my shoulders.

“I wish for everyone to know we are official couple now,” he’d explained the Thursday we came back to school, in a way that would have killed me with cuteness—if I wasn’t still so sore from every obscene thing he’d done to me in that hotel room for several days.

But we held hands as we walked into the restaurant, and as it turned out, Yom totally got me.

The dumplings were just a ruse. The second we stepped inside, a huge group yelled, “Surprise!” — including my dad and mom.

A rush of warmth hit me, melting my heart. I couldn’t believe Yom had gone to such lengths for me.

“You came up here to Gemidgee!” I said, hugging my parents first and foremost.

My mom hadn’t set foot on campus since driving me here before my first year so she could personally introduce me to the Tri-Kappa president. And my dad had only come up once after his library naming ceremony—to close the deal on the Weiss Fox factory. Though, to be fair, he’d invited me to a celebratory dinner with Lukas Brandt, the then spanking-brand-new CEO of Weiss Fox. I think because Lukas was closer to my age than his.

But here they both were, together, along with Trish, Rina, Merry, Val, her husband, and just about every fellow student who’d taken a class with me and was still around for spring break.

“How long did this take you to plan?” I asked Rina, who’d spent most of the night near the door, pretending not to be working security, with her arm slung around Trish’s waist.

Yes, my best friend, who was both way more persistent and confident than me, had worn Rina down with what she’d called “happening to be everywhere she was all the time and, like, shoving my tits all the way up in her face.”

And it was my best friend who answered before Rina could.

“Actually, Yom hired me to plan everything, girl,” she bragged. “You have no idea how hard it was not to tell you.”

“Mr. Rustanov would have gone bigger, but Trish insisted that this was about as big as you could handle.” The normally all-business Rina gave Trish a fond look. “She paid attention to every detail—down to telling you he didn’t get her favorite dumplings. You have a very special best friend.”

Rina was right, and so was Trish. This was just the right amount of party for me to feel at ease. And I loved the pride shining in Rina’s eyes as she finished telling me exactly how Trish had pulled it off.

Yom, for his part, not only did a good job delegating Trish to oversee my surprise party but also letting me enjoy it.

He posted up with his team captain and my dad in the far corner of the restaurant. And though I could feel his gaze hungrily tracking me wherever I went, he held back while I hung out with my friends.

Or, at least, I thought he was hanging out with my father.

“What were you and Dad talking about all night?” I asked Yom later that evening as he drove me back to the lake house—along with the suitcase I’d packed, thinking he was really abandoning me to go to Minneapolis alone.

“We are working on final deal points for my Minnesota Raptors contract,” he answered, turning onto the access road that led to the lake house.

“Wait… what?”

“Do not become upset, zayka,” Yom commanded in that weary way he used whenever he knew I wouldn’t agree with something he’d done for me. The tone had become increasingly familiar over the past two weeks. “I am liking this plan for us since night you introduce me to your father. Also, he is right about money and drama being much better if I am signing with Raptors.”

“I mean, maybe,” I answered as we pulled into the lake house’s long driveway. “But what if you and me don’t work out? This is a huge commitment you’re making for a girl you’ve only been officially dating for a few weeks.”

Yom killed the engine. “Girl I am dating for a few weeks in real life.”

“What?”

He turned in his seat to regard me with a somber expression. “I am only dating you short time in real life. In my head, we are together much longer than this. From very first moment I see you.”

“You mean three months ago when we met in Berlin after I fell into your lap?” I asked with a laugh, unbuckling my seatbelt.

But Yom’s expression remained completely serious. “Lydia, I am maybe loving you from first moment I see you walk into library while I am studying for Statistics.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So… after Berlin?”

Yom heaved a heavy sigh. “Zayka, you are my heart. But sometimes I am feeling that you are purposefully being confused about my answers.” He took my hand in his. “Nyet, I am of course meaning I see you in library before Berlin.”

“Wait, I didn’t think you knew I was alive before Berlin.”

“Then you are thinking wrong. I am liking you, imagining us in love relationship, since our first year of university,” he answered with a casual shrug, as if me getting the entire timeline of our relationship wrong was no big deal. Just a simple case of mistaken dates—by, like, three years.

My heart stuttered. “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, at least approach me before Berlin?”

“I am holding myself back until after the USCA Championship,” he answered. “You are supposed to be my reward for winning the final game.”

“Really? Your reward?” I had to resist the urge to glance around. Had I, in fact, fallen into a josei anime? Was there, like, a chibi version of me losing her shit right above my head? “So, no matter what, we were going to meet this March anyway?”

“Perhaps this April,” he admitted with a sheepish wince. “You are making me feel too shy to talk to you before. And maybe it is taking courage I do not have yet to approach you. Also… I am not knowing your name. In my head, I called you Library Girl.”

My stomach fluttered. “I kind of like that,” I said, grinning. “Could we…?”

“No, zayka.” Yom’s voice became stern. “You are my bunny now—not girlfriend only in imagination.”

His refusal to switch up pet names brought me back to my original suspicion. “You, Yom Rustanov, were too shy to talk to me, Lydia Carrington, a girl whose name someone with your resources could’ve easily found out?”

“This is valid question,” he said, almost to himself. “Why am I acting like scaredy-ass punk, as your lesbian friend, Trish, would call it, for three years when I am always knowing what I want?”

He considered his past behavior with a thoughtful frown. “I am having very serious hockey career to consider. Maybe I am knowing from start that when you and I are finally happening, I will not be able to think on anything else but you. Maybe I am already knowing how dangerous it will be if I let myself approach you. That you will become more than distraction. But obsession.”

He said this all with such a casual tone—almost scientific. I found myself frowning back at him.

“What?” he asked into my uneasy silence.

“I’m just…” I swallowed, trying to gather my thoughts. “Scared, I guess.”

He didn’t look surprised in the least. “Because I am so very giant red flag?”

I almost laughed. Almost. “No, because I’m not sure it’s me you’re obsessed with or this idea you created of me before we even met. I’m not sure how I could live up to this ideal you have in your head.”

He stared at me, then nodded. “It is okay.”

I peered over at him. “Is it?”

“Da, we are, as you say, very short time together. When we are long time together, you will see clearly.”

Why did it always feel like we didn’t have a language barrier until we got into these emotional conversations?

I found myself asking for clarification for the third time in our driveway exchange. “See what clearly?”

“How easy it is to love you,” he answered solemnly. “You. Real, true you is very much better than Library Girl. I could not imagine for myself love like you, zayka. Not in a thousand years.”

No, Yom’s English wasn’t the best. But in that moment, his communication skills were way, way better than mine. He’d stated something I couldn’t have coherently explained myself.

The guy in front of me was so much better than Yum Rustanov. Better than the hockey god on that billboard. The reality of Yom as a boyfriend was beyond anything I could have imagined.

“Ya lyublyu tebya, Tyoma,” I whispered in Russian, using the diminutive form of his name. Then I repeated in English, “I love you so much.”

A brilliant smile spread across Yom’s face. “You are speaking to me in my language!”

I rolled my eyes at myself. “With a ton of pronunciation help from Rina. She said my accent needs some work, though.”

But Yom just kept grinning at me. “It is not my birthday, but you have given me the best gift.”

“There you go again.” I climbed over the center console to where he sat in the driver’s seat. “Using English better than I ever could.”

Luckily, Yom was so tall that there was plenty of room between him and the steering wheel for me to settle into his lap. “That’s why you’re the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“No, you are best gift I am ever receiving, zayka,” he said, lifting me off his lap slightly.

I thought so he could unzip his pants, but then he grabbed the multi-tool he kept in the middle compartment.

And with a somewhat violent seam-ripping sound, the faux leather leggings I’d bought from an online ad were split open at the crotch.

“I have one more gift for you tonight, zayka.” Now Yom unzipped his pants and pushed my panties aside. “It is time to introduce you to car sex.”

Yes, I’d only known Yom a short time. But he was turning out to be my first everything.

My first sex—of, like, every single kind.

My first love.

And the first decision I’d ever made in my insecure life that I was totally sure I’d gotten right.