The Billionaire Game 3(38)

I nod towards her torn panties, lying in the center of the alley.

“Sorry about that.”

Her eyes narrow into cat-like slits of the brightest blue.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” And then she slinks away, before I can even ask for her number as a courtesy. Not that I do second dates— if that is, in fact, what we just had.

“My kind of girl,” I think, “if I had a kind.”