His Nasty Virgin

Her dark black hair was up in a sensible bun, baby hairs loose near the nape of her neck. A practical leather messenger bag was slung over her shoulder. She was facing away, so I couldn’t get the whole picture, but I figured she must have been at least in her mid-thirties.

Was the poor woman lost or something?

I heard her voice before I ever saw her face.

“Please?” she asked, desperation in her voice. “I just need to borrow your phone for two seconds to check on my friend. I swear I’m not going to run off with it or anything.” Light. Soft. Angelic.

She made my ex-wife sound like an out-of-tune tuba in comparison.

I’d never heard someone speak with such effortless eloquence before. She wasn’t shy, just soft-spoken. I gravitated toward her without realizing it. I wondered if she was as beautiful as she sounded.

A man sidled up to her by the bar, one elbow resting on the edge of the counter. A real slimeball of a character. He was decked out in black, greasy hair styled with way too much gel. “Hey, little lady,” he greeted. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“No, thank you. I’m just looking to borrow a phone.”

“You can borrow my phone if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Sure. In exchange for your number.”

The woman stepped back. “On second thought, I think I’ll manage.”

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.” The slimeball put a hand on her hip and attempted to pull her close. She shoved him hard. “Piss off!”

He grabbed her wrist. “How’d you know I like ’em feisty?”

My nostrils flared. I had no idea who this woman was, but I knew I needed to step in.

I closed the distance between us in four long strides, inserting myself between the creep and the woman in question. He looked none too pleased, but I wasn’t worried. I had years of de-escalation training under my belt; one of the many perks of being the owner of a personal security firm.

Even if this did escalate to a fight, I could take him. My years serving in the Army taught me how to handle myself in combat. I wouldn’t break a sweat over something as measly as a fistfight in a bar. Hell, we weren’t even in the same weight class. The guy would be an idiot if he thought he could take me.

“What gives, bro?” he sneered. “Can’t you see I was talking to her?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Last time I checked, bro, no still means no.”

He got right up in my face, puffing his chest out in a laughable attempt to intimidate me. “We gonna have a problem, old man?”

I mirrored his stance, looking down my nose at him. “I don’t know. Are we?”

He tried to stare me down, but I didn’t budge. Just as I expected, he was the first to relent.

“Fucking whatever,” he grumbled, turning away. He slunk off, tail between his legs.

Only once I was certain the coast was clear, I turned to the woman. “Are you okay, miss-”

I stopped when I locked eyes with her dazzling green gaze. Her eyes were like two brilliant emeralds staring up at me. She had a button nose and soft, full lips. Now that I was up close and personal, I could see that she was dressed far more modestly than I first realized, with her high-collared, loose-fitting blouse.

There was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

A flash of recognition washed over her face. “Mr.

White?”

I frowned. “Have we met?”

Her cheeks turned bright pink. “Oh, I’m Vivian Jones. We met that one time for Christmas dinner. I’m Wally’s girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend. We broke up about a week ago.”

I blinked. There was so much to unpack here and so little time to react.

Vivian Jones. My son’s ex-girlfriend. My son’s super gorgeous ex-girlfriend with the voice of an angel who was nearly half my age. Dear God, I needed to say something and say something fast or it’d look like I was having a stroke.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” I muttered dumbly. And then, under my breath, “Wally never tells me anything.”

“It’s okay. We, uh… parted on good terms. We decided we’re better as friends.”

“I see.” I swallowed, unsure why I was suddenly so stiff. “I’m glad to hear it. Very… mature of you two.”

“Thanks. And for -you know- that.” She gestured vaguely at the air around her, referring to the slimeball from before.

“Asshole was lucky I have self-control.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have said anything if you wanted to deck him, either.”

A chuckle escaped my throat. “What are you even doing in a place like this?”

Vivian sighed. “I was supposed to meet a friend here. Drinks after work, you know? She told me to come early so I could save us some good seats, but it’s been-” she checked her watch “-Jesus, over an hour. My phone died, so I was trying to use the bar phone, but the bartender’s too busy.”

“You can use mine if you want.” I handed her my cell. “You don’t even have to give me your number.”

The corners of her mouth tugged up into a smile. “You heard that, huh?”

“Lamest fucking pickup line ever.”

“I know, right?”

“Whatever happened to originality?”

“You’ve got me,” she said, punching in her friend’s number. She held my cell to her ear and waited, only to pull back after a few seconds with a disappointed look. “Weird.

She normally always answers.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Vivian clicked her tongue, handing my phone back. “I might just go home. This isn’t my scene. Mind if I make one more call to get a cab?”

An odd sense of protectiveness churned in the pit of my stomach. It was late and raining. We weren’t exactly in an unsafe part of town, but Chicago was a big place with its fair share of unsavory people. The creep from before was a perfect example. I didn’t like the thought of Vivian waiting out by the curb for a ride from some stranger.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’ll give you a lift,” I offered.

Her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s not an inconvenience.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Thank you, Mr. White.”

“Please. Just call me Jesse.”