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“I’m not.”
“Then you don’t need the clause.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.
“You know what?” She scribbles across the contract. “Now I’m making it extra clear.”
“Underline it.”
She does.
Twice.
I laugh.
Her eyes widen. “Holy shit.”
“What?”
“You laughed.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I didn’t know you could.”
“I didn’t know you were a virgin.”
Every bit of amusement leaves her face.
Bullseye.
“What?”
I sit back. “You heard me.”
“I am not a virgin.” She spits.
I only shrug.
“I’m not.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“You just accused me of being a virgin.”
“Didn’t accuse you. Not a crime.”
“How would you even know?”
Because I know women well enough to recognize the difference between coy and nervous.
Because Lila can joke about marriage in front of a hundred people, but one direct mention of sex turns her throat pink.
Because she looked at my mouth like it might be the first dangerous thing she’s ever wanted to touch.
