Vicky.

Such an ordinary name for a woman who looks anything but ordinary. The day’s been hot and dry, perfect for a date. For the first time in my life, I actually put some thought into the way I dress for a woman and give myself the obligatory once-over in the mirror.

My eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep and the drinks I had last night. My hair is still wet from the shower, the dark curls falling deep into my face.

I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I look like a celebrity. I have even had random people on the street approach me for an autograph, mistaking me for a famous actor whose name I couldn’t be bothered to remember. Honestly, I don’t see the resemblance to any celebrity, but if people claim so, then who knows? Maybe we’re related. I wouldn’t be surprised, considering that I’ve never known my birth parents.

Absentmindedly, I brush my fingers through my hair, wondering whether to cut it. Women dig the two or three extra inches in all instances. They like my dark brown eyes and haunted look. They say they love my cocky smile, but underneath it, I can be serious as fuck.

Planning. Scheming. That’s what I’m good at.

Getting Vicky into my bed is my newest goal.

The plan is to do it in an old-fashioned way—have dinner, get her invested in me.

The more I think about it, the more I want her to be the last one in my 365-day, non-stop sex calendar. Cash was right to demand that I sleep with her. Get her out of my system.

She knows that fucking your roommate is not allowed, so that might make the task at hand harder, but not impossible.

The faint sound of a door opening and closing echoes. I turn around just in time to see her entering the living room, her hand clutching my phone like it’s a rare commodity.

“As good as new.” Smiling, she hands it to me. “I even gave it a good scrub.”

“There was no need. Believe it or not, I’m pretty meticulous when it comes to hygiene. I clean up after I finish everything. My brother calls it OCD.”

Her groomed eyebrows shoot up as she asks in surprise, “OCD?”

“Yes. Even addicts suffer from it.”

“I thought you weren’t an addict.”

The fact that she seems to have warmed up to me a little bit, and no longer looks like she wants to rip my head off, doesn’t escape me.

“I’m not.” I point at the phone in her open hand. “Why don’t you keep it for now?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words. I turn back to the mirror hanging on the wall and regard her through my reflection. “Do you think I should cut my hair?”

“You’re vain, aren’t you?” She laughs, the sound both innocent and sexy as hell.

“Why? Because you always seem to find me standing in front of a mirror?”

“I know, right?” She laughs again and takes a step toward me.

The ice queen is melting.

I chuckle, inwardly pleased with the progress a little gesture has made. “Since I’ve got all the time in the world, I thought I could take a little more care of myself.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking care of yourself. Just be careful that you don’t fall in love with your image or the mirror might end up glued to your chest.” Her smile widens and there’s a sparkle in her eyes.

She isn’t just snarky; she also has a sense of humor. I find that I like that about her.

“I don’t think I can,” I say honestly.

“What?”

“Fall in love.”

“Why’s that? Are you incapable of loving or—”

“No. I mean, I don’t think I could fall in love with myself. You see, I like it soft and warm, with a little moisture in all the right places.”

The double entendre is obvious.

She stares at me, and then she throws her head back and laughs. “Do women fall for your kind of crap?”

“Always.” Her laugh is so infectious, I can’t help but join in. “So, what do you think? Cutting or not cutting?”

“Let me see.” She takes another step forward and stretches out her hand, her fingers lingering inches from my face. “May I?”

I nod my head to signal my agreement.

She shifts behind me, her fingers raking through my hair, gingerly at first, then with more determination, each stroke sending electricity through me. And fuck, I can feel myself hardening again. She takes another step, this time to the left, to inspect the side. Standing so close, I catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s rather heavy for a woman her size, but it’s decadent and sexy, as if the vulnerability she displays is nothing but a disguise.

It’s the kind of fragrance I want to linger on my pillows.

“When I was younger, I used to cut my father’s hair,” she says. “He always used to say that I was better than any hairstylist he’s ever met. Back then, he was the best hairdresser in Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville? Is that where you are from?”

“No.” She lets her hand drop, making me miss her touch instantly. “I’m from Portland.”

She steps back and I turn to regard her. Her face is drawn in thought. “I think shorter would look good on you.”

“How short are we talking about?”

“Buddhist style.”

I frown until I catch the hint of a grin and the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You’re messing with me,” I state the obvious.

“Wait here.” In the mirror, I see her heading out. A few seconds later, she returns holding a pair of scissors. “Who’s joking now?”

“You want to cut my hair?” I ask, surprised. “Now?”

“Yeah, now. What are you afraid of, big boy? That I might ruin your look?”

“I’m not worried. But we have a date.”

Her expression hardens. “You said dinner.”

Fuck!

I could slap myself for making such a rookie mistake.

“I meant dinner. Obviously, we’re not allowed to have dates.” I let my gaze brush over her. She’s wearing jeans and a shirt that look like they’ve been through the laundry a few times too many. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

“I didn’t think you were being serious about having dinner,” she says. “This is my lounge wear.”

“My phone doesn’t come for free.” I take in her confusion. She’s torn about this. If I don’t play my cards right, I’ll lose her.

“Where do you want to go anyway? There’s nothing around here.”

“I’m not spilling my secrets to everyone.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why do I have the feeling it involves breaking the rules?”

“Probably, but definitely not more than you using my phone.” I wink, expecting a laugh, but she doesn’t seem to acknowledge my attempt at breaking through the sudden tension.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Vicky says.

I throw up my hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Forget about it. But it’s the last time I let you use my phone.”

She keeps silent for a few seconds, but her thoughts are written on her face. This phone is probably like a lifeboat to her; it keeps her glued to the asshole she’s in love with, robbing her of any chance of seeing him for what he is.

I’ve barely finished drawing my conclusion when she places her hand on my shoulder. Before I can figure out what the fuck she’s doing now, she’s pushed up on her toes, her lips coming dangerously close to my ear as she whispers, “Relax, I never said no. Only that I’m not sure it’s a good idea, not with this haircut of yours. I’m not leaving with someone looking so—”

Frowning, she waves her hand in my face, looking for the right word.

Fuck it!

My hair’s like my dick—it’s perfect. No woman’s ever found anything to fault.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

“It’s not about what’s wrong with it,” Vicky says slowly. “It’s more the fact that you need it. New phase. New look. That’s what my dad used to say whenever people were having a hard time. He said going for a new haircut and reinventing yourself helps to shed old behavior and make room for the new. Now, sit down. You’ll like it.”

“As long as you don’t leave me bald,” I mumble.

She lets out a laugh. “You can’t reject the possible.”

“Yeah, I might go bald. At sixty. I’ll probably even rock it.”

“Vain. That’s what you are.” She rolls her eyes and motions for me to sit on the sofa. I do as she instructs and realize that I enjoy our banter way more than I should.

“Wait,” I say as the scissors come dangerously close to my face. “What cut are you going to give me?”

“Where’s your trust?” She smiles sweetly and lifts the scissors. “Any last wishes? You know, once it’s gone, it’ll take weeks to grow back.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but relaxation is the last thing on my mind. Her hands are soft, her expert fingers determined as she rakes them through my hair. I can’t help but wonder how they’d feel on my dick.

“Just don’t make me regret it,” I say.