Vadim You-you will?
Vadim
"You-you will?"
The guy blinks fast a few times, staring at me with a slightly open mouth, sounding about as surprised as I am.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Oh my gosh, thank you so much." He moves forward as if he's going to hug me but stops himself at the last minute, settling for an awkward tap on my shoulder instead.
He then quickly pulls his arm back and drags a hand through his dirty-blond hair as he starts pacing.
"Okay, this is good. This is very good. Gimme a sec.
I just need to figure out some logistics. "
While he continues muttering to himself, the two women who stumbled down the hallway reemerge from the ladies room looking a lot less cheerful. One of them has turned ghost-white and has the back of her hand covering her mouth. The other woman offers an apologetic smile as she walks past.
"I'm taking her home," she says to me.
"Good idea."
The guy with the green-flecked brown eyes plants himself in front of me.
"Okay. I've come up with a plan. This is what we're going to do.
You're going to go outside and wait five minutes.
I'll tell my parents you were at a work thing, which explains why you're wearing this.
" He waves his hand up and down in front of me.
"In the meantime, I'll field any of their, by which I mean Mom's, questions about us, okay? "
I nod in agreement even though it sounds like a terrible idea. I've known this guy for all of thirty seconds, and he already strikes me as being a terrible liar.
But whatever. They're his parents.
"Okay, um…" He's pulling a funny face, gesturing wildly in front of my face.
"What is it?" I say just to make him stop.
He does. "We need to do something about your hair."
I dropped four hundred bucks on this cut last month. "What’s wrong with my hair?"
His eyes widen when he realizes he may have said the wrong thing. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. It's great hair. Amazing hair. The type of hair you notice from across a crowded bar and think, man, I'd love to run my hands through that."
"Come again?"
"Shit, nothing. Just…great hair. Trust me.
You've got nothing to worry about on that front.
It's just, my parents have only ever met two guys I've dated, and they didn't have hair like you.
Or worn clothes this nice. Or had a job.
Or rent money. Or believed in showering every day.
You smell amazing, by the way." He offers a lopsided grin.
I take a moment to properly study him.
He's got an open face, defined cheekbones, and a smooth, strong jaw.
Thick, dark lashes frame warm, hazel eyes.
There's a natural charm to him. A chaotic kind of charm.
His build is lean and athletic, veins tracing along his biceps, and in his vintage olive polo and slightly baggy jeans, he looks like he belongs on a college campus.
I roll my shoulders back. "What do you want me to do about my hair?"
He scrunches his nose as he stares up at it. "Can you, like, run a hand through it and mess it up a bit?"
How did I go from putting the fear of god into some dumb fucker in an alleyway to…this?
Then again, what else would I be doing on a Friday night? It's not like I have much of a life outside of working at the casino and hitting the gym. Which suits me just fine, for the record.
"Fine." I drag my fingers along my hairline, pushing them back through the strands. "Like this?"
He scrunches his nose, pursing his lips, then shakes his head. "You've barely touched it. Mind if I try?"
My whole body stiffens.
I never let anyone get close to me, and now I've got a complete stranger wanting to touch me.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry. That's too much. Your hair is fine just as it is. Really." He takes a step back. "You're doing me a huge favor."
"Yeah. I am."
The air has changed, and not in a good way.
He's rattled.
If I wanted to call this whole thing off, now's my chance. He looks nervous and in way over his head, like the idea and the reality of what he's planning have collided, and he's getting cold feet.
But he wants to do this for his mother, and god knows I would have done anything for mine before she got taken from us by those skurwysyny. Sons of bitches, every last one of them.
"Here." I close the small distance between us and lower my head. "Go ahead."
"Oh my god, you're the best."
A second later, his fingers land in my hair, scraping softly against my scalp. I close my eyes. Everything goes quiet. Instead of making me tense up, it feels…oddly relaxing.
"There. All done."
I open my eyes and straighten to see him nodding at me. Well, at whatever he's done to my hair. "Are you ready to do this?"
"I am."
The real question is, is he?
"Great. I'll see you in five."
He turns to leave.
"Wait."
He spins back around. "Yeah?"
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Nuh-uh, mister. Payment is at the end when I walk you out. Otherwise you could just skip out on me."
I prop my hands on my hips. "This is a bespoke eight-thousand-dollar Armani jacket. I don't give a shit about the money."
"Oh." He stills, his eyes remaining on me though. "Then what am I forgetting?"
"How about exchanging names?"
He smacks the side of his face. "Ohmygod!
I can't believe I missed that. Good catch.
I'm Preston. Preston Miller. Not revealing my middle name because we haven't been dating long enough for me to have gotten blackout drunk and spilled that to you, which, for the record, is the only way that would ever happen. "
The corner of my mouth lifts. "Fair enough."
"And you? Your name? First and last will do."
"Vadim Piotrowski."
I search for any sign of recognition on his face. Most people know my family’s name before they know me.
The only change I notice in Preston is that his sandy brows have dipped slightly.
"Pyo—Piotr—Pee-ah…"
I repeat my surname, slower this time. "Pyoh-trov-ski."
"Pee-oh-trov-ski?" His inflection goes up on the last syllable, like he's checking to see if he said it right.
Not perfect but, "Better."
"You know what, I'll let you handle your name."
He doesn't know who I am. I almost grin, catch myself, then shut it down fast with a nod. "Sounds good."