Page 8 of The Don's Virgin Obsession
Across the room, Sade had picked up her menu again, but she wasn’t reading it. Her attention drifted every now and then, not toward me exactly, but enough.
Enough to know she had noticed me and did not care to show it.
That part was familiar too.
Seven years earlier, she had been drunker than I had ever seen her, sitting inside my homeboy’s birthday section in a downtown club, laughing with her friends. It was so packed, women were overlapping men, sitting on laps, and she had her thick ass thigh pressed against me. I had moved in close enough to smell the mint on her breath and tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to glare at me.
I whispered to her. Not disrespectful. Just low. Just enough to make her blink and laugh in my face like I knew she would do.
“I heard you are the girl who is still holding on to her v-card. I’ll marry you.”
She laughed. “Stop it. I don’t even know you.”
“Nah, you stop it. I’ll pay millions for it right now.”
“I’m not a hooker,” she had said, smiling like I was stupid. “And I’m not pressed for money.”
Then she got up with her friends when one of them said, “Let’s go dance,” before I could answer.
She didn’t remember that night.
I knew she didn’t.
But I did.
And every now and then, my mind went back to it and laughed on its own.
Camille reached for her glass again.
I checked the time.
Still early.
Still enough night left to make a bad decision and hate myself for it later.
“You want another?” I asked.
She nodded toward the restroom. “I’m gonna freshen up first.”
“Take your time.”
She stood, smoothing down her dress. “Don’t disappear on me.”
“I can’t … you’ll expose me.”
She laughed as she walked off.
I watched her walk away, then looked back toward Sade.
Her date was mid-sentence, leaning in with both forearms on the table, too eager, too pleased with himself. I could tell just by his face that he thought the night was going well.
I picked up the bouquet I had bought for Camille. White roses. Safe choice. I pulled one from the middle, then slid my business card from the money clip in my pocket.
By the time I reached Sade’s table, she had already looked up.
I stopped beside them, not close enough to crowd her, close enough to interrupt the air around the booth.
“Evening,” I said politely.
