Things clicked with us. We played a ‘what if’ scenario out, deciding after a few drinks to pretend she had no responsibilities, no crushing need to please her family, only the need to make herself happy, and we talked all night about the things she’d do, the life she’d have if she had nothing but her own happiness to worry about.
She was a virgin. She kept her virginity that night, but we made one another come. And the intimacy involved in that felt like a gift that she gave to me - her first orgasm. Not just with another person. Period. She was so innocent and sweet that she admitted in the dark, after I made her come with my fingers and she cried into my mouth that she’d never even made herself come. She got close once and stopped, feeling guilty about it. The way she was raised, she thought it was wrong to not save all of it for marriage.
She clumsily jacked me off until I came on my stomach and then cried in my arms telling me how beautiful it was, how she’d never felt closer to another person.
I was sure she’d want our thing to continue. Sure we’d figure it out somehow.
She then dodged me and flew home, quitting her job and leaving my team in the lurch as well as quitting me.
I was ready to fly there and confront her about being entitled to her own happiness, ready to talk to her parents about how I could not only provide for her but for them too - but I canceled my plane ticket when I got the ‘sorry’ email.
A fucking email.
Cowardly.
It stung.
It stung because it was obvious I was her walk on her version of the wild side.
But I saw her with me. I dug the idea of a partner in life being someone who gave a shit enough to work overseas and send all her money home to her family. I wanted a girl who felt strongly enough about virtue to make it count.
It’s not that I need to marry a virgin, it’s that I dug the potential idea of it that night with her curled up to me, being sweet and shy and trusting.
She was smart, attractive, witty, demure, a little nerdy, and a math junkie and chess player like I am. Making her purr like a kitten for me knowing she’d done it for nobody else meant something.
Fuck it. Her loss. I have no shortage of women that want to spend time with me, even to get serious with me. It’s just that I’m particular about who I spend my time with.
I’ve been on a couple dates the last few months since she’s been gone, even fucked a couple women, but it was all empty to me.
Aiden raises his hands defensively. “Fine, I won’t tell you.”
Our father joins us, looking frazzled.
Aiden rears back. “You pull an all-nighter?”
Dad shakes his head. “No, why?”
“No reason,” Aiden mutters, stuffing food into his mouth and giving me a look.
Dad looks rough.
“Sorry I’m late, boys.” Dad sits and beckons the waitress over with a finger crook that she’ll probably take as chauvinistic or at least elitist – and she’d be right about the second.
My father is a good man, but he’s a workaholic who lives by the creed of time is money and he’s not exactly the sensitive type. He’s used to ushering orders and having people follow them. If he’d gotten a dollop of guacamole on his plate that he specifically asked them not to include, he’d have not only sent it back but given the server a speech that would include some adage like, “If you’re gonna be a shoemaker, be the best damn shoemaker in town.”
She rushes over and takes his order. Then without thanking her, he immediately launches into telling us more about what he wants. That’s why we’re here. He called this lunch, but then fifteen minutes after we’re here, Aiden sends him a text to ask if he’s running late and he replies that he’s on his way.
We don’t bother to point out it’s obvious Dad forgot. He didn’t tell his assistant about the lunch or she’d have made sure he came.
His memory has been off lately. Not only has he endured a lot with fighting Cancer, but his life has also been upended since he and our mother split. He tries to hide it, is shit at it, but we don’t bother to point it out. He doesn’t need that.
We’re trying to be there for him where work is concerned.
As for family otherwise, Adele hosts a bi-weekly family dinner and Dad usually comes.
“Austin,” Dad pipes up, “I need you to spend a couple months in our New York office. I want you canning Bassell as soon as we’re back from Aiden’s wedding. Guy’s a bonehead, his numbers are down, and I got a call yesterday from Blake leading me to believe Bassell’s aligning with Franklin. He’s either feeding them information for kickbacks or getting ready to jump ship. He has a non-compete clause, right Aid?”