by Jen Davis
“Are you sure? You’ll lose everything.” He nodded at the pot.
“I’m cooked anyway.”
Vladimir picked out his wager from the pile, slid around the counter, and slipped the paper into my back pocket. “I’ll share the winnings with you, angel.” He kissed my cheek.
“Well, that figures.” I threw back my vodka.
The guys laughed. I think we could all agree that Vladimir winning was the best possible outcome. He removed the sweat-stained visor from my head and tossed it on the counter.
“Now, to collect my prize.” He left the thousands of dollars in cash on the table and went straight for my wagers. He flattened out my truth or dare paper and stroked it like a fine fur. He didn’t open up the secret wager; rather, he slid it in his shirt pocket and patted it as if I had handed over an Imperial Faberge egg.
My belly fluttered. It wasn’t butterflies per se, more like the sensation of bats thunking around in an empty bucket.
Boris went to the bar and came back with a new bottle to refresh our drinks.
“Truth or dare?” the boss asked.
“Should we eat dinner first?” I touched Vladimir’s arm. “You must be starving. I don’t want to make you wait.”
He twisted his lips.
Oh, oops. That came out a bit skanky. How many shots had I downed? The vodka or maybe the music had me a little frisky. I covered my mouth and giggled.
He enjoyed my loose and playful alcohol-induced demeanor. “Truth or dare?”
Say truth, say truth, say truth, say truth, say truth—
“Dare.”
Judging by their incredulous reactions, Dad was right. I belonged in a mental hospital. I bet Vladimir expected the wrong answer from his naughty, self-destructive little plaything. Boris shook his head and mumbled to the boss in Russian.
I downed my third or fourth or whatever shot of vodka and jammed my pointer finger into Boris’s chest. “Zip it. You stay out of this. Vladimir won.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interfering, lapsha.”
I tapped my hand on my leg in time to a hip-hop song. The thought of what he was going to make me do was exciting. If I survived the next few weeks, I was certain I would be strapped down and locked in a padded room.
The boss downed his drink and licked his lips. “Dance.”
“What do you mean? That’s not a dare.”
Boris refilled our glasses.
“You’ve been swaying your body to the music since I got home. That’s what you like to do with your friends, right?”
“Da.”
He picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “I’m your friend. Dance with me.”
I shot a stupefied look at Boris and then back at the boss. “That’s it? Crank up the jams.” I was fully expecting something like naked cartwheels or a striptease, but even though Vladimir was of questionable character, he was a gentleman. Well, at least when he was relatively sober, and that battleship was about to sink. Maybe I was giving him too much credit. He still had the other wager to cash in, whatever the hell a winged heart with forever scribbled across it meant.
Vodka flowed like the river Styx in that house. Alcohol and music helped ease my tension and loosen up my body. I was sure these two fine gents already knew that. I would have to keep my mojo in check. I was rather notorious for my dirty dancing. Of course, after my Friday night blitz, they knew that, too.
I scrolled through my music. “Old school, country, pop, classic, oldies, Euro, grunge, garage band, disco, hip-hop, R&B, or Broadway show tunes?”
He tapped his fingers on the counter as he thought it over. “A love song.”
I scanned my play list. “R&B it is.”
The boss whisked me away to the other room, but before I left the kitchen, I latched on to the doorframe and gave Boris a warning. “Dad will release the bloodhounds if I’m not home by ten o’clock. He has me on a short leash these days.”
He checked his watch and nodded.
Vladimir had on a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a rich paisley tie. I couldn’t figure out why he was chasing me. He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he have to turn me to the Dark Side?
He squeezed my hand and twirled me around to face him. I caught him checking me out and covered my mouth to hide my embarrassment. Unashamed I’d busted him, he lifted his shoulders. “I’m just a man, Carter.”
I cracked up. Part of me was ready to stop resisting. In Moonstruck, Ronny had to convince Loretta to sleep with him by carrying her to the bedroom and ravaging her body. It was sexy.
Vladimir is the hottest guy I have ever been in the same room with. Maybe I should give in. Wait. That’s the devil talking. Was he on Vladimir’s payroll? Where did Sophia fly off to? God must have fired her for doing a shitty job.
As the guitar intro played through the sound system, the boss hooked his arm around my waist and rested his hand on the small of my back. He led me to our makeshift dance floor in front of the glass doors that led to the back patio. He spun me around, held up my right hand, and placed his other hand on my hip. He was so much taller than me, my head was level with his chest.
I settled in and inhaled his cologne like a junky huffing on a crack pipe. My brain knew he was bad for me, but my body couldn’t resist him. We swayed to the rhythm of the sexy R&B song I had selected. By the time the chorus played, his neck was sweaty. I ran my finger around his collar and fingered the tight little curls I had admired for so long.
My body trembled, but not from fear. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my body into his. His erection poked against my belly as we rocked to the beat. My cheeks warmed, and I tried to blink away my embarrassment, but my body ached for him. I rubbed against him to encourage his arousal, and Vladimir loosened my ponytail and ran his fingers through my hair. I slid off his suit jacket, flung it on the floor, and wrapped my arms around his luscious body.
Sophia and the devil were officially at war.
Vladimir moaned a deep, primal sigh as I ran my hands across his backside. He kissed me so hard and deep, I thought the weight of our entangled bodies would drop us through the floor. He led us to the couch and lowered my body on top of his. I loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and admired star tats on his shoulders and a bounty of religious icons inked on his chest and all the way down his tight abs. The devil above his pecs kept his eye on me the whole time I sexed up his host. Did he have an angel?
“Say something sexy in Russian, boss.” I lined up our bodies and grooved my chest against his decorative torso. I moved my hips and moaned as his hands cruised around downtown. I slipped my hand inside his pants and ran my fingers along his length. I wanted him. I wanted it.
“I’m ready for you, boss. Take me to your bedroom.” I nibbled on his ear. “Or we can go to your office.” I traced one of the star tattoos on his shoulder with my fingernail.
“Vladimir.” Boris towered over us. “Boss.”
I stopped ravaging Vladimir and looked up to my keeper. “It’s okay. I want to.”
The boss reprimanded Boris in Russian.
He argued.
Vladimir patted my cheek. “My apologies, angel. Boris is going to take you home now.”
“Why?”
“Your papa is here to see me. It’s urgent.”
Oh, shit. If he knew what I was up to—drinking, gambling, and stripping the suit off his boss—he would sprout dragon wings, fly over the castle, and burn the devil’s den to the ground, with me in it.
Chapter 42
Party Foul
Boris drove me home, and I finger-combed my hair and tied it back into a spare ponytail holder I kept in my bag. He sent me into Starbucks to get a Frap to sober me up before he dropped me off. Dad wouldn’t be home—he had urgent business to discuss with Vladimir—but Karen probably had orders to give me a visual frisking when I walked in the door.
I slurped my drink, but otherwise the car was quiet.
“Want to listen to some music
?” Boris asked.
Slowly, I turned my head and shot him the evil eye.
“My bad,” he said.
“Do you know what my dad wanted? It’s about me, isn’t it?”
He tipped his head.
“What’s going to happen now? Things have gone too far.”
He didn’t answer.
I felt sick. “Pull over.”
He did. I got out of the car, dropped to my knees, and party fouled in the parking lot of a Burger King. I misfired and got it all over my shirtsleeve. I dragged my body to the curb and sat on the edge of the parking lot between the snow-covered landscape and the icy blacktop. Boris got out of the car and blanketed me with his long gray shadow.
“I can’t cruise through the front door of my house reeking of vodka, Vladimir’s after-shave, and vomit.”
Boris drove us to a shady motel and got a room. “Clean up and I will get you some fresh clothes. We still have time to make your curfew.”
It was the fastest power shower of my life. When Boris returned, he tossed me a long-sleeved pink t-shirt, a pair of sweats, and a toothbrush. I closed the bathroom door, changed, brushed, and came out ready to dash back home.
Boris sat on the edge of the bed. “I have spoken to the boss.”
“And?”
“Your papa went to the tennis club this evening. Your lies have caught up with you.”
***
When Boris dropped me off, Dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but the house was illuminated in full interrogation mode.
Karen met me in the foyer. “Are you all right, Carter?”
I acted surprised. “Of course. What’s up?” My tone sounded a tad chirpy.
“Where have you been? Why is your hair wet?”
Lifting my wet ponytail I answered, “At Kiki’s. Is it a crime to take a shower after a workout? We did, like, an hour and a half of Zumba.”
“Heads up, Carter. Your father called Kiki’s dad, and he knows their family is still in Florida.”
Shit. My dad’s headlights flashed on the wall of the living room when the Camry turned into the driveway.
“Your father is worried sick about you. You have some explaining to do.”
I sat on the couch with my head down, elbows on knees, and hands folded in the parental smack-down ready position. When the front door opened, it occurred to me Dad might not be okay—like Coach. He stepped into the living room looking messed up, not in a bloody or beaten kind of way, more like deflated.
“I went to Vladimir’s house. He explained everything. Did that bastard hurt you?” Dad was so stressed, his right eye was twitching.
Say what? I blinked in confusion. “No, no. Of course not.”
Karen put her hand on my dad’s back and stared at him like he had ceremonial war paint smeared on his face.
Dad clutched my shoulders, and eyed me in strict parental mode. “I know you’ve been lying to me about your whereabouts the last few weeks, but after speaking with Vladimir, I understand why.”
I fluttered my eyes in mock confusion. “Why did you speak to Mr. Ivanov about me?”
“Rick?” Karen said.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen. I need a beer.”
Dad popped a cold one and sat next to me at the table. In case there were any more concerns about the eating disorder scenario, I munched on a big slice of cold cheese pizza and chugged a Gatorade. I was hungry and needed to eat anyway to soak up all the vodka still swimming through my bloodstream. Karen fingered the heart-shaped Mom pendant on her necklace, anxious to find out how bad her hot-tempered husband had messed up.
“Seeing you come home from Vladimir’s over Christmas in your fragile condition, I had this crazy idea he had hurt you in some way.”
Karen gasped.
I covered my mouth to keep from spewing all over his face. I swallowed my drink. “Are you joking?”
He lowered his head, took a deep breath, and raised his hands. “I know, I know. Vladimir had the same reaction. I’m lucky he didn’t fire me or kick my ass or something.”
I felt bad for lying to him. He’d just won the Best Dad in the World Award in my eyes. Confronting Vladimir took guts. He laid his job and his personal safety on the line for me. Not to mention, his instincts were dead on. Way to go, Dad. I’m sorry you got saddled with such a horrible daughter.
Karen put her hand on his back while he collected himself. “Vladimir didn’t want to betray your confidence,” he went on, “but under the circumstances of me accusing him of, well, you know—”
“Oh, Rick.”
He sipped his beer. “He told me why you were such an emotional wreck and why you’ve been lying to us.”
“Dad—”
“Enough. I know all about your older boyfriend. I know you’ve been pretending to be at work all the time because you want to be with him and you didn’t think I would approve.”
“Dad—”
He held up his hand. “I also know that fucking European meathead was pressuring you to take your relationship to the next level, and your refusal caused a big argument right before Christmas. Vladimir said it broke his heart to see you so upset. He wanted to hunt down that loser himself and teach him a lesson.”
European meathead—Leonardo. “He told you that?” I covered my mouth with my hands.
“And Vladimir said you were afraid to come to me because you thought I’d be mad, so you sought his guidance. He said if I’d been a better father, then maybe you would’ve confided in me about your guy troubles rather than him.”
My heart was officially broken. “Oh, Dad. It’s not your fault.”
Dad leaned over and hugged me so tight I felt like I might crack. Karen got up to get a box of tissues. “I’m sorry I work all the time. My family needs me and I’m not here.”
“No, no. It’s my fault. I’m the one who lied. You’re the best dad ever.” My words came out a little slurry.
Dad pulled back. “Where were you tonight, Carter?”
Oh, shit. “I…I was at, ummm—”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Dad, just—”
“You were with that asshole again, weren’t you?” Dad stood up and dragged his hand through his hair.
“Just to give him his stuff back, I swear.”
“Why’s your hair wet? Did you sleep with him?” His chest heaved, his face burned red.
“Rick, calm down.” Karen stood next to him and put her arm around his waist.
“No. He smokes.” I lifted my lanyard and shook it at him. “I have a key to Kiki’s house. I went there to take a shower so I wouldn’t stink when I got home.”
Dad took a deep breath and held out his hands, trying to calm himself down. “Let me be clear, Carter. One, you are not to see him again. Two, if you lie to me again, you won’t leave this house outside of school. Three—” He hesitated, overcome with a rush of sadness.
“I get it, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. It kills me to see men staring at your body, objectifying you—”
“Dad, please.”
“Let him finish,” Karen said.
“Men will take advantage of your youth and vulnerability.” Dad put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Don’t let them, sweetheart. Save yourself for someone special who deserves your love and affection.”
Tears dripped down my cheeks. Dad reeled me in for a hug. Karen joined in and rocked us side to side, kicking the parental awkwardness up a couple notches.
“You and Ryan are just friends?” Dad asked.
“Yeah.”
When our Blended Family Love Fest subsided, I ran upstairs and locked myself in my bedroom. I removed Vladimir’s wager from my pocket and unfolded it. The note said:
Anything for you, angel.
I wondered how he would react when he saw my winged forever heart. I clutched the note and pressed it against my chest with one hand, and placed the other on my belly to settle the bats.<
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Chapter 43
Weasel
After the vodka stopped talking the next day—and my hormones stopped raging—I had to figure out how to smooth over the fact I had straddled Vladimir and enthusiastically grinded my body all over him. Not to mention, I shoved my hand down his pants and touched it.
God, please tell me I didn’t suggest we go to his office instead of the bedroom. Wasn’t I the one who came up with the Purity Plan?
When I got into the car with Boris, he glared at me. “Everything okay at home?”
I nodded.
“Your papa is a brave man.”
I nodded again.
“I see your friend came back from Florida today. You’re spending the night with her?”
“Yep.”
He relaxed his shoulders. “We’re not going back to the house.”
“Why? Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise. Text your friend and tell her you’re not coming.”
“Is this a sex thing?” I blurted out.
“What do you think, party girl?”
“No. Stop the car. Let me out, or I’ll jump.”
Boris clamped onto my arm and jammed his thumb into my bicep to get me under control. “You want to go to war with me again?”
“Please stop. No more bruises,” I whimpered.
Surprised by the desperation in my voice, he loosened his grip. “Enough with your bullshit. Take a sip of vodka and turn on the radio. You’ll be right back where you left off.”
I took a deep breath to calm myself down. “Last night was a mistake.”
“No more mulligans.”
“You poured me, like, four shots.”
“No one made you drink.”
I dropped my head in my hands and let the consequence of my actions settle in. “Are you going to kill me?”
Boris glared at me like he was offended by the notion. “Why would I do that?”
I ticked off my fingers as I listed my offenses. “Because you’re sick of dealing with me. I can’t do anything right. I make you mad every single day. I don’t listen. I tease boys. My singing in the car is insanely annoying. I can’t handle my alcohol. I get green tennis ball fuzz all over your seats. I come crawling to you every time I’m in trouble—which is a lot. Haven’t I burned through my nine lives yet?”