Page 12 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

I closed her door, walked around, and got in.

The first thing I did was check my gun. Same spot. Same position. I adjusted it once, then leaned back and lit my blunt.

She kept glossing her lips, pressing them together.

In my head, I laughed.

Them thick ass lips gon' be on my dick in thirty minutes.

I shook my head once, low, amused with myself more than anything.

The engine came alive when I started it.

I pulled off smoothly, reached over, and turned the music on. The old school group Portrait came through the speakers, clean. “Here We Go Again” was the song.

I drove with one hand, smoking, letting the city open up in front of me.

I glanced over at her.

She was moving her head slightly, catching the rhythm, trying not to sing.

I smirked.

“I see you,” I said. “Go ahead. Show your real age, Miss Thirty-Eight.”

She burst out laughing.

“Okay, you got me,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s my song.”

“Yeah,” I said, taking another pull. “And I don’t like liars.”

She looked at me, still smiling. “I didn’t lie.”

“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.