Page 6 of The Don's Virgin Obsession
“You always this quiet?” she asked, lifting her glass.
“When I’m listening.”
She laughed. “That sounds sarcastic.”
“It usually is.”
She smiled at that one. Women liked short answers. It gave them room to project whatever fantasy they needed. I let her have it.
She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward. “So, what made you pick me?”
I picked up my water and looked at her over the rim. “You answered your messages on time for once.”
“So punctuality got me in the door?”
“It got you a seat in a nice restaurant.”
She took another drink. Her third. Maybe fourth. I had stopped counting once I realized she was trying to keep pace with whatever version of me she had made up before she got here.
“You know,” she said, lowering her voice, “I almost didn’t come. Everybody online is talking about these wife auditions like you really out here interviewing women.”
I looked at her. “Oh, you saw that?”
“Yeah, I saw it. So you were joking, right?”
I let a few seconds pass before I answered. “About which part?”
I watched her face as she tried to find the safest response. It was one of my favorite parts of talking to women. Nothumiliating them. Just letting silence do what it always did. Pull the truth out by the ankle.
She laughed again, softer this time. “I mean, the auditions part.”
“Applications are already rolling in.”
“Oh, my God.” She covered her mouth. “You are not serious.”
“I’m grown, miss lady. I own too much to keep playing in women’s faces and letting them play in mine. Sounds serious to me.”
She touched her hair. “So what are you looking for then?”
I reached for my glass and looked past her shoulder.
That was when I saw Sade.
I had known she was here before I ever sat down. Her reservation hit the board an hour earlier. Bennett. Two guests. Booth seating. I always knew when she was on that damn dating site. My cousin owned it. I paid her to break the rules.
She was seated three sections over, facing the room. Long brown hair curled. Posture straight. Black dress, simple, lying on her curvy body, expensive diamonds. She wasn’t trying to be seen. That was part of what made men keep seeing her anyway.
The man across from her was talking too much. I even caught her secretly yawn, trying to act like the nigga wasn’t boring.
I looked back at Camille.
“What I’m looking for,” I said, “usually minds her business.”
She laughed too loudly. “So not me?”
I gave her a dry look. “You said it.”
She hit my arm lightly, playing cute, and I let my eyes drift back toward Sade for half a second.
