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“Johanna is such a bitch,” I mutter.
“She’s been handled. And the video will be taken down shortly.”
I peek between my fingers. “How?”
“My family is well-acquainted with some eastern European hacker groups. They can make it disappear.”
“How much is it going to cost me?”
He grins, but it’s different from the one he shared with the older woman. It’s that unhinged grin taking me back to the house of mirrors.
I gulp.
“I’ll think of something,” he says, his eyes roaming over my body. “But I’ll definitely make you work for it.”
“Wow, you’re such a gentleman.” I roll my eyes. “I thought you didn’t want an easy lay?”
“Maybe I just want to get to know you.”
I fold my arms and sit back in my seat. “Isn’t that why you followed me outside the school? You saw the video and decided to come get a piece of Willow the Nympho.”
He rakes his lip between his teeth. “That’s an interesting nickname. Where did that come from?”
“The kids at my last school gave it to me.”
“Your school in Conroe?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you look into me?”
He remains still, like a chiseled statue of Adonis. “Everyone knows you’re from Texas. It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Sounds like bullshit if you ask me.”
He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “The things I really want to know about you won’t be found in a background check.”
My instinct is to lean away from his intense aura, but his magnetic gaze keeps me still. We sit like this for a long while, studying each other and gleaning secrets in silence.
The old woman returns with a big basket filled to the brim with golden bread rolls. She sets it in the middle of the table, along with two plates piled with rolled silverware. A wooden china hutch sits against the wall behind Alek, where the woman grabs a large bottle of vodka and two small shot glasses, each with delicate floral patterns etched in the crystal.
She pours the vodka for us before disappearing into the back once again.
“Isn’t it a little early to start drinking?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
He lifts his glass toward me. “It’s never too early for vodka. Na zdorovie.”
Alek knocks it back in one gulp before slamming it down on the table. He pours himself another. “Drink. You look like you could use it.”
With a sigh, I lift my glass in the air. Alek clinks his against mine before downing it in one gulp. I do the same, and the alcohol burns my throat on the way down, making my eyes water.
“Wow, that’s strong,” I say in a choked voice.
When I set it down, Alek fills our glasses again.
“Are these bread rolls?” I ask, plucking one from the basket. They’re heavier than I expected, but the dough is soft.
“Piroshki,” he answers. “Hand pies with filling. Eat.”
“Why?”
