Page 20 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

Kev: Friday nights are now officially date nights. Have a good day, queen.

Oooh, that man. My insides tingle. My heart does a happy dash like an untamed horse, and my thighs squeeze shut as I recall last night. He wants to do it again. On a regular basis.

That’s not okay. Not what I want.

I will tell him no.

Like a good girl.

But I’m a bad girl.

Marina: That sounds nice. Have a good weekend, knight.

Chapter Seven

“You need to put a twenty in my account.”

I look at my phone as I finish tossing the sheets into the dryer. My brother is trying to strong arm me for cash when he’s got sports scholarship money? “Ffff.” I let out a disbelieving sound. “What for, Calvin?”

“Because even though Mom and Dad are out watching Carter swim his ass off, they still wanted to call up and check on you and see how you were settling in. Mom was afraid you’d be moping around all alone.” Carter’s voice sounds like a mournful basset hound.

“And you earned my money, how?”

“By telling Mom I had just talked to you and that you were fine, hanging out with your new colleagues, and going to do some Labor Day weekend shit.”

“Hmmm.” If Mom had called me last night, that would have totally killed the mood. And if Marina and I just happen to bump into each other in town or at the gym and end up back here tonight... “Ten. No more. I have rent to make and groceries to buy... and date nights to pay for.” Yes. I go there. I can’t resist bragging, and I don’t know who else to brag to. “But if you tell Mom I met someone already, I will tell her that you took both Shannelle Rashad and Serena Hammond to the prom—and managed to trick both of them into thinking they were your only date.” I glare at Calvin in my mind’s eye. “Who taught you to treat women like that, asshat?”

“Hey, hey! Why did this become a lecture aboutmydating history?You’rethe one out there breaking records—well, boring old man records.”

“I haven’t hit send yet. Want me to drop it to a buck fifty?”

“No, O generous and mature one.”

“That’s better.”

“What’s it like in banjo country?”

“God, our school system is failing. I’m not in banjo country, I’m in plaid and sweater territory, where the women are fine and the air is crisp.”

Cal snorts. “She must be something.”

I sigh—and decide that I’d better keep my descriptions wholesome. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous, and she can cook.”

“Damn. Check, check.”

“Exactly. And she’s smart and funny. She speaks like ten languages. Even Finnish. Like, what they speak in Finland.” I wince, realizing I sound stupid. Or maybe lovestruck. Tongue-tied.

“You sound like you’ve got it bad. How many dates have you been on?”

I tell the truth, with the Responsible Kev spin. “Well, we met at the gym and did swimming and the sauna—”

“Oooh. Sexy.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, although I privately agree. “Then we had a surf and turf dinner. Um. We had a breakfast date today. She cooked for me one night, and I cooked for her this morning.”

“Damn, man. You must’ve seen her every day since you met her! You haven’t been there that long!”

“You’re right.” Technically, he is. “I really... I don’t know. There’s something about her. She’s exotic while being down to earth, y’know? Being with her is so simple. So easy.” Again, mentally I have to pump the brakes.

---