The bedrooms aren’t much better. Vivi’s room is bright because I spent some money on a bedding set from Target and she sleeps on the bed I actually grew up with as a child. There are a ton of drawings on her walls too. She’s like Vic in that respect. She likes to draw and color.
But my bedroom is… sad. One dorm-room bed, size double. Plus one dorm-room dresser and one dorm-room desk. I didn’t buy new bedding for myself. I just used the stuff I kept from the farm. I couldn’t keep much when we moved out because I didn’t have anywhere to store it. So almost everything I took with me is still packed in boxes which are stacked in the eat-in kitchen. That’s one nice thing about this apartment, the big kitchen. Without that, I’d have nothing left of my childhood. It would be like my parents never existed.
And yes, all this is part of the reason I’m nervous about Vic coming over. But the main reason isn’t the way it looks.
It’s the way it feels.
It’s not home. Nothing about this place says home. And with Vivi gone, it’s even colder than usual. Maybe Vic’s family mansion is mostly a falling-down eyesore, but it’s got history. Everything about that place says home. You can smell it, you can feel it, you can taste it.
This place here smells like… temporary.
But it’s all I have at the moment. And I will make do. I straighten everything up, do the dishes that had collected in the sink over the past few days, and light a few candles in an attempt to create some atmosphere.
I change my clothes sixteen thousand times.
A midnight visit implies pretty much one thing. We’re going to have sex tonight. This is why he’s coming. And I’m one hundred percent on board with that. I’ve been tingling all day in anticipation of his arrival. Maybe I was OK with toys and fingers all these years because I didn’t have time to think about sex—and, let’s be honest, there were no Vic Vaughns in my life to tempt me.
I was a pretty sexual person as a teenager. I was possibly even a little promiscuous. In fact, this is how I got pregnant, right? I walked into my art TA’s office to turn in a sketchbook, met a hot biker, and a couple hours later we were fucking like animals.
So, yeah. Now that the drought is over, the dam is about to break.
I don’t really wear pajamas, but a booty call comes with clothing expectations. It needs to be one of two things—super fucking sexy so that there is no need to take the clothes off, or super easy to remove. Since I do not own anything so beautiful I would want to have sex in it, I opt for an oversized white t-shirt and pink cotton panties.
I briefly consider leaving the panties off, but that sends slut signals and while I don’t mind sending the slut signals at the appropriate time and place, the only thing this look has going for it is the implied girl-next-door thing, so I rein it in and keep them on.
Then I wait for him, eagerly peeking through the industrial-grade blackout curtains that cover my small front window, trying my best to see the parking lot.
So I’m looking in the totally wrong direction when his shadowed form suddenly appears in the entrance to my tiny front patio.
He knocks and I go to the door, pulling it open. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He looks down at me, taking in my bare legs. And when he looks up at me and grins, I almost stop breathing.
Vicious Vaughn is the man everyone warns you about.
He’s the man you’re never supposed to date.
He’s also the man no girl in her right mind would say no to.
I open the door wide and he steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“I was watching the parking lot. But you appeared out of nowhere.”
“Oh, I walked over,” he says. “Came through the back and cut through a couple yards to get here. Didn’t want to wake your neighbors with the bike. Plus, we can ride into work together tomorrow in the truck. Didn’t want to miss out on that.”
“Oh.” I’m a little breathless at this revelation.
He looks around my apartment. “This is nice.”
“Liar,” I say. “It’s terrible. I hate this place. I mean, I’m eternally grateful that I have it…” He’s still grinning at me. “Otherwise I’d be homeless. But beyond grateful, I have no real attachment to anything in this apartment.”
He turns me towards him and puts his hands on my hips, his body pressing against mine. And then, in an instant, I give absolutely no fucks about this apartment at all.
Vic is the only thing on my mind.
My fingertips slide up his tattooed arms. He’s all muscle and I get a little lost in the patterns of ink on his skin. But when my hands finally reach his shoulders I look up into his eyes and get a little lost in those too.