The teenager met my eyes.
Popped a bubble.
Beep.
Gianna hadn’t said a word to me since we left the parking garage. She couldn’t have made it clearer that the idea of being stuck with me horrified her—she’d had a full-blown panic attack, for fuck’s sake.
I would have found the will to hold myself back if I knew how she’d react. Watching tears fill her eyes was like a stab and a twist to the chest. I didn’t fucking like it.
Gianna wasn’t in the passenger seat when I headed outside—she was across the street, handing money to a homeless man who looked like he’d just been released from the state penitentiary.
Panic bled into my veins. All I could think about was if she’d walked up to me when I was a teen living on the streets. I would have taken advantage of it so fast.
“Gianna,” I snapped.
She tossed me a look over her shoulder.
“Car. Now.”
Her gaze flared with annoyance.
The rain had stopped, but her dress hadn’t dried enough to be decent. Thankfully, she’d had enough sense to put my jacket on and button it before getting out of the car, unlike earlier at the club. I was still agitated about that little scene, aggravated she’d so visibly regretted sleeping with me, and frustrated I couldn’t take her home and fuck her again and again, until she was so thoroughly out of my system I’d forget her goddamn name.
She said some parting word to the man—probably about what an asshole I was—and then drifted back to me.
“He was hungry,” she explained when she reached me.
“He’s heading toward the liquor store as we speak,” I said dryly.
“So, what if he is? Everybody needs something to get them through life.”
“Right. Must have forgotten I was talking to Miss Blow International.”
She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the passenger seat. When I sat beside her, I said, “You’re going to tell me why you used a few weeks ago eventually.”
The slightest amount of tension rolled through her, but she tried to mask it by looking at her nails. “Please hold your breath.”
My curiosity grew tenfold. It was inevitable now that I’d find out.
She looked at the pill I’d handed to her in reluctance. “The last time I took one of these it screwed up my cycle for two months.”
The thought that she’d had to take one before sent a bite of jealousy through me.
“Then don’t take it.”
She scoffed. “I’m not shipping my child to Russia every summer, Allister.”
She wouldn’t be sending him or her anywhere. She’d be in my home, in my bed. I’d give her anything she wanted—anything but my past and some silly notion of love. Although, I didn’t believe she’d be searching for the latter. She’d been burned enough. I hated any man who’d broken her heart, but in the end, they’d made it easy for me. I couldn’t give that to her, and neither would she expect it from me.
“I live in Seattle, Gianna, not Russia.”
She raised a brow. “Seattle is home now, is it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re returning soon, then?” There was relief in her voice, and I goddamn hated it.
“A few weeks.”