I especially hated shopping in Vegas, where I felt like I was the only one with no money. It was a little bit like walking through the hallways at my school. I kept my eyes firmly planted on the ground as I passed from store to store, and when I was forced to look at someone, my eyes shot daggers at them. What are you looking at? I wanted to say about a thousand times.

I approached buying something nice the same way I approached buying anything: by getting it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

I walked into a shop that had some fancy-looking clothes and pawed through the racks at breakneck speed. There had to be something there.

That something turned out to be a pair of black, flowy silk pants and a shimmery silver top that only skimmed the waist of the pants, so that a strip of bare skin showed when I moved. The cloth felt like water on my skin when I tried it on. An hour later I had it hanging in my room while I showered and blew my hair dry, using a rolling brush to give it waves.

Chris knocked on my door at exactly seven. Just like him to be so punctual it was obnoxious. Instead of answering the door, I simply stepped out and let the door shut behind me. I didn’t know why I was being so territorial about my space—it wasn’t like he was begging to get into my room.

Maybe you’re afraid you’ll beg him.

No. Our relationship wasn’t like that.

Yes, but not because you don’t want it to be. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Chris was wearing a navy blue suit that hugged his biceps and quads. His striped shirt underneath was unbuttoned at the top, and he had a silver chain draped around his neck. He smelled like money. His shoes shone like mirrors.

He grinned. “You actually followed orders for once.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “If I’d known they were orders, I wouldn’t have.”

“You look amazing, by the way.”

“Whatever.” I started to walk down the hall. He didn’t follow me.

“What the hell is that, Nikki?” Exasperation.

I turned and looked down at myself, brushing off my shirt, my pants, looking for missed tags. “What?”

He pointed at the Chucks on my feet. “Really?”

“You can’t see them,” I said. Truth. The pants grazed the ground when I walked. For all anyone knew, I was wearing diamonds on my feet.

“Then how did I see them?”

Good point. “They’re black, anyway,” I said. “And they’re comfortable. And I saved you some money. You should be happy I’m so low maintenance. Can we go now?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just stood there with a cocky half grin on his cocky face.