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Wait, did that sound too husky? Because I really like the sound of his name on my lips. No more boss squared or the Impaler business for me. I’m calling him Vlad every chance I get.
Another smile curves his lips. “But no diminutives, okay?”
I blink at him. “Isn’t Vlad already a diminutive form of Vladimir?”
He looks impressed. “I’d call it the short form, but that’s pretty good for a non-Russian.”
A warm glow spreads through me at his praise. “I picked up a few things in Brooklyn College. A high percentage of the computer science students shared your background. One guy called me Fan’ka, so I looked into this.”
A dark gleam appears in his eyes—that or my imagination is running wild. “Fan’ka sounds like something you’d call a naughty child. The affectionate version would be Fannychka.”
Fannychka. I like it. Fannychka Pack doesn’t sound like a waist bag anymore.
Nor does Fanny Chortsky for that matter.
He narrows his eyes. “That mischievous smile… If you were thinking about calling me something like Vovochka, don’t. It happens to be a character that’s the butt of a lot of Russian jokes.”
Huh. I had no intention of doing so, but that’s interesting. And thank God he’s not an actual vampire and can’t read minds. “Deal,” I say. “But you have to tell me one of those jokes.”
He frowns. “They don’t translate well.”
“That’s fine. I still want to hear one.”
“Okay. Bear in mind that Vovochka is usually a misbehaving child. Think Dennis the Menace. Also, Russian humor can get pretty dark.”
“Now I really want to hear one.” I pick up my wine glass.
“Here goes: One sunny Sunday morning, Vovochka runs to his mother: ‘Mom, hurry, Dad hung himself in the living room!’ The mother nearly has a heart attack as she rushes to the living room—just to find it empty. ‘April Fools’, Mom!’ Vovochka says. ‘Dad’s hanging in the bathroom.’”
I nearly choke on my wine.
Vlad’s phone dings with a text.
He glances down, then looks at me apologetically. “The limo is outside. I have to go soon. Are you coming?”
I wipe under my nose and sneak a peek—no wine. “Is it far?”
“No, just a short drive away.”
I’m about to ask more, but he loads a heaping portion of nuggets onto my plate. “Let’s finish this quick. We don’t have much time.”
We attack the food as if we were in a hot-dog-eating contest, which doesn’t prevent me from having a couple of foodgasms. Sadly, his phone begins beeping all too soon, so we leave some delicious stuff uneaten and get up.
He leaves a fortune in cash on the table and leads me to the car. As he opens the door for me, I catch a glimpse of Britney across the street. She’s standing there, staring at us.
Stalker much?
Ignoring her, I climb in and sit next to where he left his laptop in hopes that he’ll sit next to me.
I’m a Machiavellian genius.
Vlad takes a seat right next to me, and his lapis lazuli eyes meet mine.
My breath catches in my throat at the dark heat in his gaze. The air in the car suddenly feels charged with so much electricity I all but smell ozone.
His eyes fall to my lips, and as if pulled by a magnet, he slowly leans toward me.
Holy Kobe Cow.
