We're in the Endgame Now | Endgame [2]

Chapter 1

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  "Are you going to just stand there and watch?"

  Irina smiled as she inched closer, "Supervisor, remember?"

  "Uh-huh," Yelena kept her back to the other woman, "and you find this funny?"

  "Yelena Belova .  .  ." Irina came to the wooden fence, " .  .  . the pig-farmer." Alexei —the pig— oinked then nibbled the toe of Yelena's boot.

  "Aye, aye, no." Lane aggressively shook her foot, "Go. Go back." Irina placed her arms over the top railing that came to her chest. "Stupid pigs. This is the last time they go off and do things." Irina could only chuckle. "Now what is so funny?"

  Irina's chuckle grew into pure laughter and enjoyment from Yelena's annoyance, "You. Pouting. 'Throwing a fit', as Melina says." Yelena scoffed as she approached the fence. "Oh, and for the record, you are not coming into bed smelling like Lina's pigs —again."

  "What?! Come on, I showered! I'm not the reason they smell like this," Lane defended.

  "Do you know how many times I had to wash those sheets while you and Melina were in Italy? I'm a hundred percent positive you did that as a 'going away' gift. Real hilarious."

  "I showered and you know it."

  "Not after your little nap, before, knucklehead."

  Yelena smirked, "Are you going to skip—"

  "Don't share our intimate moments with the pigs. Melina will not like that." Irina lowered her voice, "Their poor little porcine ears."

  Lane pecked Irene's lips, "Dork."

  The dark-haired woman hummed, "Hm. You taste like how they smell."

"Well," Yelena kissed her lips again, Irina almost immediately pulling away while protesting a 'Yelena!', before the blonde-haired woman did, "you don't."

  Irina smacked her chest, still smiling, "Dush (shower). Dinner's almost ready." She turned to walk back to the main house on the Saint Petersburg homestead, and stopped briefly to meet Yelena's mischievous gaze. Irina's cheeks flared up as her body flushed, "Food, Lane. Get your head out of the gutter."

"I promise to shower!" Lane hollered, and the younger woman only laughed loudly as she shook her head and trekked to the house.

"Irina . . . I'm sorry. Yelena is gone."

  The phone fell from her grasp to the sidewalk, the screen spider-webbing as it cracked. Irina's heart stopped. The growing chaos around her blurred and slowed as her heart broke in two —she felt nauseous.

Salty tears welled up in her deep brown eyes behind her black-framed, Ray-Ban Clubmaster glasses. Leaving the phone on the sidewalk, Irina sprinted as fast she could to her new, temporary home. She placed her hand on an older woman's shoulder, to squeeze between her and a car that'd been t-boned over the curb and into some of the sidewalk. As soon as her hand left the woman's padded, yet thin shoulder, she disappeared.