“T’ll be right back, kotyonok.” His dark gaze drifted down my body, caressing and setting fire to every curve encased by thin yellow fabric. “Wait in the car. You’re not wearing a coat.” He walked toward the theater doors, the red-vested attendant following behind like a lapdog. Ronan stood out in the crowd, not only because people parted like the Red Sea to allow him by, but because of the smooth and powerful way he walked, as if he owned the pavement beneath his feet. The sight of his dark silhouette among falling flurries sent something dense and languid to every nerve beneath my skin, like the steady beep of a heart on life support. Feeling unsteady, I turned to Albert, who actually rolled his eyes at me. Clearly, I wasn’t very secretive about checking out his boss. My cheeks were flushed from the cold, but my blood burned hot, so I leaned against the car beside him. My arm brushed his, and he eyed me like I’d just challenged him to a spitting contest. I raised a brow. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me.” “He told you to get in the car.” “He’s awful bossy, isn’t he?” He didn’t confirm nor deny, just stared forward and blew out a breath of smoke. “Serious question,” I said direly, “and answer carefully, because this is the deciding factor in whether you and I can be pals.” After a heavy pause to make sure he knew the gravity of the matter, I asked, “Team Duckie or Blane?” His narrowed eyes came to me. “I do not speak whatever language that was.” I smiled. “Pop culture? Eighties films are back, you know.” He looked like he was suffering from a headache, and I couldn’t hold in the small laugh. After a moment, I asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?” “Nyet.” “Considering your outstanding use of language, I don’t see how that’s possible.” He didn’t respond, standing at his incredible height. He had to be pushing six foot eight. I’d felt obscenely tall my entire life, and it was nice to be the shortest one in the group for a change.