It’s cold in Moscow.

It’s 3:15 p.m. in the afternoon and it’s chilly. But Natalia can barely keep up with the sweat rolling down her temples and bubbling on her tee. Every time she wipes it up, another bead rolls down the opposite temple, she’s chasing sweat and honestly, it’s working her up.

Natalia’s hot, hungry, thirsty, and just want to jump into her hot tub a few feet away and never come back up. Just let me peel off my clothes, my skin because God, I’m feeling sweaty today.

Where the hell is Vladimir?

Natalia finished rollerblading on the coldest day of the year. Her repair man, Vladimir had pestered her about coming over early, and Natalia realized why. It was Valentine’s Day. Vladimir called her saying he was helping out his father at his shop for a few hours and would be by.

When Vladimir’s blades skidded to a stop outside Natalia’s back gate, she looked up from reading the latest issue of Art World, grinned and jumped up from her lounge chair to unlock the gate and embrace him.

Young Vladimir was so strong and he knew it. Natalia loved it when he cracked her back whenever she said she had an ache. It hurt but felt so good and she often wanted another before he left to go home.

Natalia grunted into his ear, causing him to laugh. He kissed her on the cheek as he pressed down on her lower back.

“Stop it. You know what that does to me?”

Vladimir did it again and then went lower to her buttocks. His dimpled cheeks reddened and Natalia looked up at him.

“Come inside before we get in trouble. We have work to do,” Natalia said.

Vladimir giggled as he came in.

“Just got back from helping Nana. Man, it’s freaking cold out,” Vladimir said.

“You ain’t lying.”

Vladimir took out some packets of folded sandpaper from his back pockets.

“How can I help you this afternoon again, Gaspazah?” Vladimir said chuckling and remembering the first time he met Natalia when he was hired to do some work at her house. Every time Natalia brought it up, he’d tell her, “Just wait,” “Everything will be fine.” That phrase kept Natalia up at night.

Occasionally, Vladimir teased her by saying, “If I sand it down for you, you’re going to drool over me while I do all the work. It won’t help my concentration, Natalia.”

“Well, that’s why I brought you in?” Natalia replied.

“For my looks or craft?”

“Both.”

Natalia closed the gate and Vladimir walked inside to get them some Coronas before he started working. This time he remembered to bring the limes, as she always fussed about drinking it straight.

Natalia’s sweating and bent over the picnic table, her biceps are killing her, and she’s rubbing sandpaper back and forth on a part that just won’t smoothen. Vladimir said, “Keep working on it,” as he’d left the backyard, barely sweating. But he’d smelled like a brute and Natalia was glad he had left her alone for a bit. She didn’t know how much more she could take of his body odor sabotaging her.

“No more limes,” Vladimir said coming back with a smirk, Natalia saw the bowl he was holding behind his back.

“You little shit,” She crossed her arms, and Vladimir giggled. He put the bowl on the table and set the bottles down, loosened his grip before plucking one from the bunch and pulling out a switchblade.

Vladimir knew how to cut them just right. His bartending days during his Starving Artist Period had served him well, and he knew how to angle the tip of the lime and wedge it in, pushing it in with just enough force that it doesn’t bunch up at the opening and go nowhere. He warned Natalia endlessly about the bad burns from the sun if she doesn’t wash her hands when the lime squirts up on her, but she’s never seen him wash his own.

The lime popped into the bottle with a fizzle. Natalia watched the juice mingling with the beer and it looked wavy, delicious. Vladimir stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked the juice off looking at Natalia’s face.

“Thanks,” she said.

Natalia waited for him to load a lime into his bottle. She watched him repeat the whole process, his fingers lingered in his mouth a little bit longer and Natalia watched until they clinked bottles.

Vladimir’s arms were crossed watching Natalia chug it down, she didn’t care she’ll probably be drunk in minutes because it was cold. She needed something to heat her up.

“If you don’t slow down, you’re going to throw up,” Vladimir said when Natalia kept drinking. She wanted to say something about the vein that was popping in Vladimir’s neck while he was working. It’s still there, resting wrapped around a tendon. He does it when he’s excited Natalie noticed.

Natalia popped another bottle off her lips when she put down her bottle with a third of the beer remaining. Vladimir whistled and shook his head.

“You’re looking really sweaty in the cold,” he said.

“Well, you forgot that our ancestors were tucked away in the mountains high up. We didn’t have this climate change bullshit the Americans keep talking about,” Natalia said swirling her beer around and watching the lime bob up and down.

Vladimir chuckled and smacked her hard on the right flank before he put his drink down on the seat of the table. He picked the sandpaper back up. The jolt of electricity that struck through Natalia’s core when his big, calloused hand touched her jean shorts was galvanizing.

“You want this finished by before six, right? I’ve got a Valentine’s date! And I need to shower,” Vladimir said like he was the one in control, not looking up at Natalia.

But he’s only in control on the outside. Natalia had Vladimir in check since the first time he started working at her home. Natalia was divorced with no children and the house she received in alimony was always in need of repairs.

Vladimir tried to fuck Natalia the first time he worked at her home, but she rejected his advance. Soon, it became a game between them, how much Vladimir could get away with, teasing Natalia, before she would either give in a little or yell at him to fuck off and slam the door in his face.