I can’t help but smile when I turn to her again as I pull my uniform over my head.
“It’s not like that. He’s just being nice.” I get a whiff of fried onion rings from the diner. It’s probably in my hair too.
“Nice. Mm-hmm. Thought you said you spent the night at Nina’s.”
“Think I have time for a quick shower?”
“I can go keep him company if you like.” She winks.
“Don’t you dare.” I hurry into our shared bathroom and push the curtain back to start the water. It always takes a few minutes to warm up.
“Tell me,” she says, perching on the closed toilet seat as I rummage in my drawer for a razor.
“He just helped me last night. Nina had gotten me a little something special for my birthday, but well, it didn’t go as planned.”
Watching her face when I say it, I see it change as she grows more serious, and I instantly regret having told her that part.
“Kat—”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now. “Everything turned out fine.”
Stripping off my underwear, I step under the warm flow. I’m quick, shampooing once and working conditioner into my hair before shaving my legs. I didn’t have time to shower before my shift at the diner, and between last night’s escapades and today’s various food smells, I stink.
Rachel pushes the curtain open just enough to peer inside.
“Hey, this is serious. You have to be careful. You can’t just buy something at a nightclub and expect to get what you think you’re paying for. There are really bad people out there, Kat, and they will take advantage of you when you aren’t in control of yourself.”
“I know. It was stupid, but it turned out fine.” Rachel is a recovering addict and doesn’t have much patience for anything like this. “I didn’t even like it if it makes any difference,” I try, rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, forgetting to comb it out first in my hurry.
“Do you remember everything, then? The whole night?”
I shake my head even though I know I should lie and tell her I do.
She hands me a towel, and I wrap it around myself. She takes my hands, and I look at her.
“Be careful, Kat. It’s not just the drugs. I mean, you don’t even know this guy. Do you even know what happened after you passed out?”
I pull away. “Look, if he’d done anything, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t bother to drive all the way over here to bring me my scarf. And besides, I’d know if something like that happened.”
“Not necessarily.” She leans against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. She looks so much older than twenty-five, and although I don’t know her whole story, I know enough.
I turn my attention to the meager offerings in my closet and decide on a pair of jeans and a tight black long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Kat—”
“I’m not planning on doing it again, Rach. I promise.” I hug her.
“Good. Because you got lucky once. That doesn’t tend to repeat.” She walks away, and I hate feeling as though I’ve disappointed her.
I run a wide-tooth comb through my hair, wincing when it catches on the tangles. I don’t have time to dry it, so I squeeze as much moisture out of it as possible and tie it into a high ponytail, leaving a strand out on the right side of my face. He’s already seen my arm. I don’t need him to see the gash on my temple too.
After I apply mascara and lip gloss, I rummage through my jackets for a leather one. Well, it’s pleather, but at least nothing had to die for it. Not that I’m vegan. I just don’t have money to spend on luxuries.
I sit on the edge of the bed and consider the boots I wore last night. They’re lying discarded in a corner of the room, but I can’t imagine squeezing my feet into those after a nine-hour shift at the diner, so I reach for my worn and very comfortable Chucks and slide them on.
One final glance in the mirror and I wonder if he’s expecting me to look like I did last night. I don’t. I never look that way, actually.
I remember what he said about my hair. I don’t remember all the details, but some things I don’t think I’ll ever forget. At least I hope not to. He asked me why I dyed it when my natural color was so pretty. I’m a redhead, that golden-red that looks more girl-next-door than anything else. It’s the same color as my mom’s had been. But unlike her, I don’t have too many freckles. Just three tiny ones scaling my right cheekbone in a neat little row and one on the very tip of my nose.
“You look great,” Rachel says, coming back into the room.
I smile.
“Here.” She holds out a small canister of what I know is pepper spray. “In case.”
I sigh. Sometimes she’s too much. “I don’t need that, Rachel. I’ll be fine.”
“Just take it. It’ll make me feel better.”
I’ve been renting my room from Rachel for just under a year, and in all that time, I’ve never seen her go out on a date or bring anyone home.
“Fine.” I take the canister. “But I won’t need it.”
“I hope you don’t.”
“See you.”
I tuck the pepper spray into my purse, do a quick count of my cash—tips from today—and tuck my phone into my pocket. Picking up the scarf Lev returned, I head through the apartment to the front door and realize I’m nervous. I haven’t been nervous, not like this, not that good kind of nervous, in a very long time.
I open the door and step out into the early evening. The fall air is crisp. He’s watching the sunset, and I take a moment too. It’s beautiful.
Lev stands up. He looks me over, and I’m hyper-aware of how I look. And of how I don’t look like I did last night.
“I didn’t want to leave you sitting here while I dried my hair or put on makeup.”
He cocks his head to the side and steps a little closer than what most people would consider comfortable. I smell him when he does that. Take in the scent of aftershave and remember how I’d liked his smell last night, too.
Tonight, though, it makes my mouth water.
“I like this better,” he says.
I feel my face heat and bring my attention to wrapping my scarf around my neck.
“It’s not cold enough for that, is it?” he asks.
I shrug a shoulder. “I just like to have it.”
“Come on,” he says, one big hand moving to my lower back as he guides me to his Audi. He even opens my door and waits for me to get in before walking around to the driver’s side.
I take it all in. The sporty car, his leather jacket, his hair which he absently pushes off his face even though it falls right back down. I like it like that. He looks like a badass but cute too. And sexy.
It smells like him in here. Woodsy and clean and very masculine. The car itself is impeccably clean. I think if he saw my room, he’d flip.
“What do you feel like eating?” he asks as soon as he closes his door.
This is strange. We’re going on a date. “Um, I don’t mind. Italian? But anything’s fine.”
He nods and starts the car. “I know a place.”
I look at him, wondering how he knows a place in my neighborhood, and then I wonder what he’s waiting for. When he leans over me and he’s so close, I think he’s going to kiss me. I lick my lips, staring into his chocolate eyes, but nothing happens. Well, a corner of his mouth curves upward into a one-sided grin, and his eyes narrow a little as though he knows just what I’m thinking. I wonder how old he is. How experienced. If he works at the club, he must meet girls all the time. He must take girls upstairs all the time.