Chapter 3: The First Touch
Their fingers brushed as she reached for his phone—just a glancing touch, but it sent a current up Alexey’s arm, sharp and unexpected. Before he could second-guess himself, his hand closed around hers, halting her movement. Her skin was warm, her fingers surprisingly strong beneath his.
Jess blinked, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. “Bold,” she murmured, but she didn’t pull away.
The city stretched behind her, a blur of neon and distant headlights. The rooftop air was cool, but Alexey felt heat prickling under his collar. He swallowed. “I don’t want to miss my chance,” he admitted, the words rough with an honesty that surprised even him.
Her smile widened, pleased. “Good answer.” She twisted her wrist just enough to lace her fingers through his, squeezing lightly. “But before I give you my number, there’s something you should know.”
Alexey tilted his head.
Jess exhaled through her nose, amusement and something sharper flickering in her expression. “Nancy told you, right? About the hardware?” She didn’t look away, watching him carefully.
He could lie. Pretend he didn’t know. But the vodka and the way her fingers still tangled with his made evasion impossible. “She mentioned.”
Jess’s grip tightened imperceptibly. “And?”
Alexey met her gaze, unflinching. “And nothing.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “I like talking to you. I like the way you laugh. That’s what matters.” He shrugged, feeling foolish but refusing to back down. “The rest… it doesn’t change anything.”
For a heartbeat, Jess just stared at him. Then she laughed, low and delighted. “Jesus. You’re either the smoothest liar I’ve ever met or the most dangerously sincere.” She tugged his hand, pulling him a half-step closer. The scent of her perfume—something warm and spiced—wrapped around him. “Guess I’ll find out which.”
She released his hand only to pluck the phone from his grip. Her fingers flew across the screen, adding her contact with a quick tap. When she handed it back, her thumb brushed his knuckle, deliberate. “There. Now you have no excuse not to text me.”
Alexey glanced at the screen. Beneath her name, she’d added a single emoji: a grinning devil. He huffed a laugh. “Noted.”
Jess leaned back against the railing, the city lights haloing her silhouette. “So. When are you taking me out, Alexey Korkov?”
The question shouldn’t have sent his pulse racing. But it did. “Whenever you’re free.”
She hummed, considering. “Friday. There’s a place in Little Tokyo—tiny, no sign, just a red lantern out front. Best ramen you’ll ever have.”
He nodded. “Friday.”
Jess pushed off the railing, stepping into his space again. Close enough that if he inhaled deeply, his chest would brush hers. “Good.” Her fingers toyed with the lapel of his jacket, a fleeting touch that burned through the fabric. “Don’t be late.”
Then she was walking away, her hips swaying just enough to hold his gaze until she disappeared into the elevator.
Alexey exhaled, long and slow.
His phone buzzed.
**Unknown Number:** (attached: a photo of the red lantern she’d mentioned, its glow cutting through the dark street like a promise)
**Unknown Number:** So you don’t get lost.
He smiled.
**Alexey:** I’ll find it.
Her reply was instant.
**Jess:** You better.
The screen went dark.
Somewhere below, the city hummed, restless. Alexey pocketed his phone and headed for the stairs.
Friday couldn’t come fast enough.
The following two days unfolded in a series of digital pings and glowing screens that made the sterile silence of his apartment feel alive for the first time. His phone, once a tool for work emails and weather updates, became a portal to her world.
Jess: (attached: a meme of a philosophical goat wearing glasses) Reminded me of a friend.
Alexey chuckled, the sound echoing in his quiet kitchen.
Alexey: His posture is not as good as my friend’s. But the intellect seems comparable.
Her reply was a string of laughing emojis. She sent a selfie later, taken in her studio, a smudge of charcoal on her cheek and her hair tied up in a messy but charming knot. The background was a chaos of sketches and screens, a glimpse into the creative storm that was her normal.
Jess: Client wants a logo that “screams luxury but whispers affordability.” I might jump out the window.
Alexey: Do not jump. The thermal paste debate was last week. I cannot handle another tragedy.
He sent her a photo of his own attempt at borscht, the vibrant crimson soup in a stark white bowl.
Jess: Okay, that actually looks incredible. I’m reconsidering my life choices. All I have is leftover Thai.
The easy rhythm of it, the sharing of mundane details, felt profoundly intimate. He found himself smiling at his phone on the train, earning curious glances from other commuters. The city outside his window seemed brighter, charged with a new kind of potential.
Then, on Friday just past noon, his phone buzzed with a succession of rapid-fire alerts. He was at his desk, deep in a schematic, and the sound jolted him back to reality.
The first photo loaded. Jess stood before a full-length mirror: draped over her shoulders is an unzipped black leather jacket, its glossy surface catching the light with a rebellious sheen, revealing a snug dark-blue dress that hugs her curves like a second skin, its fabric shimmering subtly and parting at a daring side slit for a hint of allure on her thighs, emphasising the powerful, toned muscle beneath. The neckline plunged, showcasing the generous swell of her breasts, and the hem stopped high. Her feet are encased in sleek black leather ankle boots with towering heels that exude confident elegance.
His breath hitched.
Another image appeared. This one was a black, high-waisted skirt that hugged her hips and a crimson silk blouse, unbuttoned just enough to be a promise. The fabric strained subtly across her bust, and the way she stood, one hand on her hip, screamed confident ownership of her own body.
A third showed tight, dark jeans and a simple black top, but the focus was entirely on how the denim sculpted her legs and the delectable curve of her backside.
Jess: Help a girl out? 😉 Which one says ‘I’m fun but I might ruin your life’ in a good way?
Alexey’s mouth went dry. He stared at the images, at the bold, unapologetic display of her form. The engineer in him wanted to analyze the drape of the fabric, the play of light and shadow. The man just felt a hot, sharp pull of desire low in his gut. He especially loved the ones that showcased her strong thighs and the magnificent swell of her bust.
He typed, deleted, and typed again, his fingers clumsy.
Alexey: The blue dress is… a statement. A very good statement.
Jess: Oh? What kind of statement?
He could almost hear her teasing purr through the screen.
Alexey: The kind that makes it very hard to think about thermal paste.
Her reply was instantaneous.
Jess: 😈 Perfect. I’ll take your expert opinion under consideration. See you at 8, engineer. Don’t be late.
Alexey set his phone down, the ghost of her images burned onto his retina. The schematics on his monitor were now incomprehensible lines. All he could see was the dark blue dress and the confident challenge in her eyes. The wait until eight o’clock suddenly felt like an unbearable eternity.