The VIP (18+ Only) [COMPLETED] [Winner of a Wattys 2014 Instant Addiction Award]

1: In Which She Gets the Low-Down on a Hook-Up

1: In Which She Gets the Low-Down on a Hook-Up

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“So,” Evan Winters began as he helped me out his car, “are you going to invite me in for coffee?”

It was nearing midnight and, to be honest, I was glad that our Friday night “date” was finally, finally over. My lowly apartment building had never looked so inviting.

“Coffee?” I arched a brow. “Unless you're masochistic or planning on pulling an all-nighter for some reason, coffee is the last thing you should be drinking at this hour.”

Bright light was spilling across the complex’s parking lot, which was how I was able to see the absolutely comical look of bewilderment on Evan’s pretty-boy face.

“Um, then how about tea?” he amended, latching on to my arm and tugging me toward the lobby of the building.

I jerked away from him, forgoing niceties. “I hate tea. Look, Evan –”

“Juice, then? Soda? Water?”

“I know that coffee is code for sex, so cut the crap.” I sighed resignedly before pulling out the big guns. “You're a nice guy so I’ll be honest here. I don’t know what Savita’s told you but…my ex runs with the Russian mob. He thinks he still has some kind of warped claim to me which is why the last guy who took me out…” Trailing off, I made a show of looking justifiably traumatised. “Well, let’s just say the poor man blinks once for yes and twice for no these days.”

Evan adjusted his collar, puppy-dog eyes wide. “I, uh, see. Well, I’ll be on my way and I, um, hope you have a nice life. I mean, night. ’Bye, Ophelia.”

Scrambling back to his Mercedes, he tripped and fell, cursing audibly.

“Are you OK?” I called out, stifling a laugh.

“I’m fine!” he yelled back, getting to his feet and diving back into the confines of his car. Seconds later, tyres screeched as he got the hell out of Dodge.

“Pussy,” I muttered, turning on my heel and striding into the building.

They usually were. It didn’t matter if it was the Russian mob, the Italian mafia or a Mexican cartel – the end result of my story time was the same: My dates running faster than Usain Bolt on steroids from my imaginary dangerous ex.

My phone rang once I was ensconced in the elevator. I considered ignoring it until it became crystal clear that Savita was not going to give up.

“If it isn’t Miss Matchmaker herself,” I chirped.

“Did you tell Evan the mob story?” Savita exclaimed in my ear. “The poor guy just threatened to kill me. At midnight, no less! How’d you make someone as unassuming as Evan turn menacing?”

“It’s not my fault he’s a gullible idiot. Sadly, all the guys you try to hook me up with barely have two brain cells to rub together.”

“All the men I send your way are intelligent, make good money and are fairly good-looking,” Sav countered, heaving a sigh. “Don’t you want to be happy, O?”

I felt a momentary flash of anger and quickly quelled it. Sav Patel was my best and most trusted friend in the world. We’d known each other since we were six but now that we were twenty-four, I sometimes wondered what my life would’ve been like without her meddling in my private affairs. Like my love life, for example. Married to her high school sweetheart and an old friend of ours, Ryan Michaels, Sav had taken it upon herself to hook me up with the entire population of bachelors in Florida.