I want Vik full-time, instead of whichever hours he decides he can spare me, and that would mean changing the terms of our deal.
So I’m not really in a dating mood tonight.
I’m still in my yoga pants and an old Cornell T-shirt with no bra when there’s a knock on the door followed by a text on my phone.
VIK: Open the door
I shouldn’t, but I do. Vik’s lounging against the frame, phone in one hand and a candy box tied up with a ridiculous pink-and-white bow in the other. He hands me the box and then gently nudges me out of his way. Of course I cave, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s brought me my favorite sea salt caramels.
Vik tugs on the hem of my shirt. “Exactly where is Mr. Tinder taking you tonight?”
I shrug. “Dinner on the Strip.”
To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention to the details. Vik holds out his hand.
“Phone.”
I hand it over and he looks up the texts I’ve exchanged with James the Lawyer. He grins at me. “You need a wardrobe change.”
“You don’t think this is dinner material?” I smooth a hand down my pants. I’m definitely not rocking a cocktail dress at the moment, and I do want to send the right message.
Vik smacks me gently on the butt. “Come on.”
He heads for my bedroom, and I trail after him. It feels sort of weird, since we’re not about to have sex, but if anyone knows what guys like, it’s Vik. After all, he’s dated pretty much everyone with a vagina in the greater Las Vegas area. When I catch up with him, he’s already rummaging through my dresser drawers. Things have gotten far sexier—and skimpier—in those drawers since Vik and I hooked up. Case in point? The pale green thong Vik’s currently admiring. That barely-there scrap of lace made a big impact on my credit card statement last month. It’s too bad Victoria’s Secret doesn’t offer a travel points card because I’d have racked up enough to fly to Bora Bora and back by now.
It’s weird to think that we could have had our last booty call. That if tonight works out, I won’t be sleeping with Vik ever again. I don’t believe in cheating and an open relationship isn’t for me, and I suspect that Vik has the same set of no-cheating rules. For all that he’s a lawless biker who probably commits felonies with casual nonchalance, he’s got a streak of honor wider than the Grand Canyon.
He tosses the green thong onto my bed, and then rifles through my closet with the expertise of a Nordstrom personal shopper. Of course, watching his big hands move over my clothes just makes me want to suggest that we ax date night and strip instead. We could get naked, watch Sharknado movies together and take turns getting each other off. Or maybe whoever comes last gets to pick the next movie. That seems fair.
“Hey.” He snaps his fingers gently. “We gotta get you dressed before Prince Charming shows up.”
“You’re really okay with this?” I automatically take the dress he hands me. It’s an LBD—little black dress—and there’s definitely no room in this Kate Spade number for a bra. The silky material hugs my hips but the top blouses gently, hiding all sorts of sins. There are worse choices.
Vik tugs on the satin ribbon that ties around my neck, checking out my tag. “You and Kate should get married.”
We tease back and forth, him making fun of my obsession with Kate Spade, me pointing out that there are more sartorial choices in this world than black T-shirts and jeans. It’s fun. It’s familiar—and I keep expecting him to go, to leave before my date arrives, but he shows no signs of departing. I’m trying to figure out how to give him the boot when there’s a knock on the door.
“Showtime.” Vik rubs his hands together as he bounces toward the door.
“Hey,” I hiss, grabbing the hem of his T-shirt. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting the door.” He flashes me an innocent smile. “You should thank me for being so helpful.”
“I think you’re leaving,” I say firmly. No point in beating around the bush—subtlety is wasted on Vik.
“So I’m headed in the right direction.” His grin widens.
I elbow him out of the way and make it to the door first. I don’t need tonight’s date scared off before we even make it to the lobby. Vik grunts but lets me open the door.
The guy on the other side looks exactly like his Tinder picture. His navy blue suit is expensive but not flashy, as are the Ferragamo loafers. He’s skipped the tie but gone for a dress shirt open at the throat. The whole effect is very similar to one of those gorgeous, slick Christmas presents you pay to have gift wrapped at Macy’s.
“Hi. Harper, I assume?” He leans in and brushes a quick kiss over my cheek rather than sticking out his hand. Jeez. He’d better hope he has the right girl. I can’t help but notice that we’re the same height. In fact, with my heels I might have an inch on him.
“Nice to meet you, James.” I beam determinedly at him and nod like a bobblehead as I step backward so he can come in. Bar meetings are less awkward and I make a mental note for next time. The odds of my finding Mr. Right on my first date are low, so I should learn from tonight’s mistakes so I can get it right next time. Kill me.
Vik materializes behind my shoulder. He doesn’t even try to be sneaky about it—he just stomps right up. James looks slightly concerned.
“Is this your brother?”
Vik snorts. “I’m her best friend.”
Huh. That doesn’t sound half as crazy as it should.
James looks a little uncertain but game. “Okay, then.”
Vik leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and pretty
