Page 39 of The Don's Virgin Obsession
He nodded once, not dragging it out, not making it weird. “A’ight… I can respect that.”
That’s what I liked about him. He didn’t press.
I set the champagne down and walked over to the table. “You did all this?”
“I said I was pulling up on you. I meant that.”
I sat down, smoothing my dress before picking up my fork. “You consistent. I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t play about what I say,” he replied, taking his seat across from me.
We started eating, talking about regular things at first. His day. My meeting. He listened when I spoke, not interrupting, not trying to outtalk me.
“Tell me something about you that I should respect,” he said after a moment, cutting into his steak like he meant the question.
I looked at him, thinking for a second.
“That I’m a virgin.”
He choked on his drink with a low laugh, shaking his head. “What?”
“I said I’m a virgin,” I repeated it without changing my tone.
He leaned back in his chair, studying me now. “Wow… I wasn’t expecting that. So is it a religious thing? You waiting till marriage?”
“Maybe,” I said, smirking slightly. “But if I’m being honest… my mother always centered men. So do most of my friends. I watched that my whole life. It made me not even want to bother. I don’t like how that ends.”
He nodded, taking that in. “That’s fair.”
He paused for a second. “So you don’t get urges? You don’t handle that?”
I snickered, shaking my head. “I handle my business when I need to.”
“I can respect it,” he said. “I won’t cross boundaries. Your presence is good enough.”
I smiled at that. “Thank you.”
We kept talking, finishing our food without any weird energy. It was easy. Comfortable. No pressure behind it.
When we stood up, he grabbed his jacket and looked at me with a small smile.
“You still think we ain’t a good match?” he asked.
I walked him toward the door, thinking about it for a second before answering.
“We mesh well outside of those fancy restaurants,” I said. “Call me.”
He smiled, pulling me into a quick hug. “I will.”
He left just like that. No dragging it out. No extra.
Once he was gone, I stood there for a second, looking at the table, then over at the flowers sitting on my desk next to the ones Vaughn gave me.
I walked over and touched one of the roses, not thinking too deep, just noticing the difference.
His were simple.
Vaughn’s were… not.
