"Not since we've been out here," I reply.
"Katya?" Riley questions with a small smile.
"No," I respond emphatically. "Pretty sure I won't."
"I kinda liked her," Carson says. "She made life … interesting."
I smile, and Riley laughs. He's too polite to say what Riley or I might: that she was the frustrating combination of an ambush and a puppy rolled into one.
"Will be good to be back tomorrow for a few days," Riley says. "I need some real fucking food."
I agree silently. I finish up, eat what I'm willing to, and lie down to stare at the ceiling. There's a good chance I won't sleep more than an hour, and if I do, I'll dream about the night I woke up with night terrors and Katya was there.
It's been three weeks, and I can't stop thinking about her. I'd like to say my thoughts are positive, but a lot of them really aren't. I swing between thinking she really was a superficial bitch and knowing that I had just begun to scratch the surface of something incredible.
Not that it matters. With Petr out of the picture, the chances of us meeting up again are completely gone. I don't even have her email address and am pretty sure she'd delete anything I sent her, even if I did.
Why the hell does that make me want to email her even more?
"Sir, you going to Petr's Christmas party?" Carson asks me.
Then there's that. The holidays are four months away. Petr already invited us back to Massachusetts. I guess his family gives some sort of insane party over the holidays. Riley even found it on gossip websites as being an exclusive event apparently everyone in New England tries to get an invite to. Celebrities, supermodels, socialites and other people of that caliber attend the three-day event.
I can't understand that kind of wealth, and I'm not at all impressed by people who are famous for being rich or on TV. It's one more reason to keep my distance from Katya, a reminder we're nothing alike. I grew up on the streets of Chicago before joining the Corps. I'm good with my money, more so because I don't spend shit when I'm deployed. I paid for what little I own, mainly my truck, in cash.
But I'll never be anything close to what the Khavalov's are in terms of money, and it's not like I have family Stateside I visit on leave. Going all the way home for a party seems stupid.
Unless I'd see Katya.
All the more reason to avoid it.
"Probably not," I reply. "I usually stay behind so you guys can take a break."