Most girls would have walked away just then. But I knew Vicious had to make up for being vulnerable at The Met, when he admitted to feeling weak. When he admitted defeat.
“With that kind of attitude, sober me wouldn’t give you the time of the day either.” I checked out the food menu and, naturally, craved every single dish. My mouth watered even though I hardly knew what half the items were. They sounded sophisticated. A mix of Asian and Mediterranean. I didn’t care what they meant, I just wanted them all in my belly.
When I lifted my head from the menu to ask him what he wanted, I found him looking at me oddly again. He’s been doing that throughout our time at the museum, but I hadn’t wanted to ruin our fun day out and ask why then.
“What?” I finally asked.
“Third base is oral, right?”
I rolled my eyes. Just when I was about to answer, the waitress approached our table. She was the mother of all hipsters, with hair like mine and enough facial piercings to pass as a human sieve. She opened her mouth to greet us, but Vicious cut her off.
“Everything.” He threw the menus her way, looking back at me, but still talking to her. “Just bring everything. Cocktails. Food. Whatever. Everything. Now go.”
My instinctive response was to get up and leave before anyone concluded that I was down with this kind of rude behavior. I was wiggling my butt toward the edge of my seat when he jerked me into his body, hard.
“What the heck?” I scowled at him.
“You never answered me.” He looked down at me, businesslike. “What does third base include? Stretching your pussy with my tongue and getting my dick sucked?”
Good. Lord.
I couldn’t believe I used to have a serious crush on this man. And I definitely couldn’t believe I’d worried about sleeping with him without having my heart broken. This was going to be easy.
“Vic,” I gritted. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what third base is.”
“I prefer football terminology, seeing as I’m more familiar with the game. Which is why I know I’m definitely going to score tonight.”
“Smooth.” My face remained unsmiling.
“And thick,” he added. “With a slight tilt to the right.”
I was about to get up again, but then the waitress approached us with about ten glasses on her tray. Instead of leaving, I tossed down two cocktails like they were shots and swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I wasn’t exactly keeping it classy, but then my boss was probing me about oral sex. Lines were being blurred, and they were becoming blurrier with every ounce of alcohol entering my blood stream.
Vicious took a sip of a beer. Slowly. Completely in control. The hunter was always more calculated and in charge. And then there was me, flailing around like the helpless prey.
“Why have you never pursued a career as a painter?” he asked.
It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Some of the food he ordered had arrived, and I picked at it with my fork, trying a little of everything.
“I have, and I’ve worked with other artists too. Interned at a gallery here in Manhattan after I graduated. Then Rosie moved in and got sick, so she couldn’t hold on to a steady part-time job. Why did you become a lawyer?”
“I like arguing with people.”
I laughed at that. I had to agree. “But you chose mergers and acquisitions, hardly a fast-paced, dramatic way to practice that skill,” I argued.
He picked an olive and brought it to my lips. “Open,” he said darkly.
I did.
“Now swallow.”
I smiled with the olive between my teeth, daring him. He dipped down and kissed me hard, shoving the olive into my mouth with his tongue. It was either choke or swallow. I chose swallow.
He pulled back from me, but his gaze remained on my lips. “Now that’s good practice. As for law, I have no desire to cover up for other people’s fuck-ups. I’d much rather see how my clients double and triple their investments…and mine. People don’t pay me because of my law-school pedigree. I went to a shit college in LA and graduated with people who went to work doing house closings and chasing ambulances. People pay me to make money, and I make a ton of it.”
“What’s your fascination with money? You have so much.”
He leaned forward, picking up a lock of my lavender hair. “Money is like pussy, sweetheart. You can’t ever get enough.”
“Yeah, and it’s made you so happy. You realize you sound like a walking, talking cliché?”
His eyes sparked with something devilish. “I am happy. I’ve never been happier. It’s seven o’clock, so Rosie should be long gone by now. Let’s go before I take you up on that offer about third base right here on the table.”
“I have one more place I want to stop first,” I said.
“Fucking Christ,” he gritted. “How about you keep your side of the deal, Miss LeBlanc?”
“I will. Eventually. Patience is a virtue.”
“Patience can go fuck itself. Wherever we’re stopping, it better be comfortable, because I’m tasting you there.”
ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT was getting into bed with her. I didn’t want to talk to her about life. I didn’t want to get to know her better. Already, I was breaking approximately five thousand different rules by spending the day with her. Every minute spent outside of bed was risky. But it seemed like the more I acted like a blunt, disgusting pig, the more she asked about my profession, my hobbies, my preferences.
People had never given a shit about those things. Ever. Her interest in me didn’t make me feel good. It made me feel weird.
We were headed to Broadway next. I prayed she didn’t really plan for us to go see a play. I had nothing against Broadway shows, but when one was standing in the way of me and her long-awaited pussy, I was just about willing to burn the whole fucking street down. I’d already started doing the math in my head. Calculating the sentence for setting an occupied building on fire. Arson, possibly attempted murder. Those were heavy felonies. What was I looking at here? Hard time. Fifteen years, minimum. Different states varied, but New York was hard on its criminals.
Fifteen years.
Still fucking worth it.
“Vicious!” Emilia snapped me out of my reverie. I walked faster than her even though I had no idea where we were going. I just knew I wanted to get it over with.
“What?” I hissed.
“Did you listen to anything I just said to you?”
Of course not.
“Absolutely.”
“Really?” She stopped in her tracks, folding her arms across her chest. “What did I say? Where are we going next?”
It was already past six o’clock and tomorrow was the last day of work before Christmas. I wasn’t in the mood for quizzes.
I looked above her head at the flashing neon sign for a tattoo parlor and blinked once. “You want to get a tattoo,” I said flatly.
By the surprised look on her face, I knew I got it right.
“Of what?” she insisted.
“Of…” I gave myself some time to think about it, even though I didn’t need any. I knew her. Better than most people, actually. “A cherry blossom tree.”
“Screw you.”