Page 11 of The Don's Virgin Obsession

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“You shaved a few years off,” I said. “That counts.”

She leaned back in her seat, more relaxed now. The alcohol had settled into her body. Her voice had dropped a little. Movements slower. More comfortable.

I hopped on the freeway, and my mind moved.

My thirty-sixth birthday was around the corner.

Too much built. Too much established. Too much power in every part of my life that actually mattered.

And still…

I was driving through the city with a woman I didn’t care about, knowing exactly how the night was going to end before it even got there.

I exhaled, watching the smoke disappear into the dark.

My interview with Alana wasn’t supposed to be a joke.

That was the problem.

I meant everything I said.

I just hadn’t moved on it yet.

I made a right, heading into Studio City, California… Near Universal Studios.

By the time we pulled into my building, she was fully leaning into the night. Smiling too easily. Talking softer. Eyes heavier.

I parked, got out, and came around to open her door again.

She stepped out, adjusting herself, looking around like she was taking everything in.

I walked her inside without saying much.

Inside my condo, Camille kicked off her heels and started talking before the door fully closed.

Every sentence coated in liquor and effort.

I poured a drink I didn’t want and set it on the counter.

She walked past me, running her hand along the back of the couch.

“You have a really nice place,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She stepped closer.

“We should shower,” she said. “Together. before we… you know.”

I looked at her for a second.

Then smirked.

“I don’t show my body on the first date.”

She blinked like she didn’t find humor in it.

I nodded toward the hallway.

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