“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.
