Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He doesn’t chase after me. I run hard, gasping for air, and I have to admit I’m pretty darn fast. I ran track in high school and I guess some of that stuck. His proposal rings through my head, and no matter how fast I go, I can’t really get it to shut up. I want to marry you. Who the hell does that? It’s not like he owes me anything. The guy’s a freaking mobster, for Pete’s sake, and he’s trying to step up and do the right thing? I don’t need him to marry me out of some misguided attempt at chivalry or whatever the hell he’s thinking. I don’t want him, period.
I barely make the bus. I’m sucking down air and the driver looks annoyed, but Martha made him wait. I swipe my card and collapse into a seat next to her, feeling like I might throw up a little. It smells like spoiled lunch and urine, and Martha’s giving me a sly look.
“What were you two lovers quarreling about?” she asks.
I give her a sharp look. “He proposed. I told him no.”
“Really?” She frowns then bursts out laughing. “No, you’re joking, and it’s not funny. Well, it’s a little funny. I’d probably say yes if he asked me to marry him, and I don’t even know the guy. I’d walk down the aisle just for the wedding night.”
“You’re sick.” But she’s not wrong, it’d be one hell of a night, knowing Saul.
“I told you, hon, I’m desperate, and the old dudes aren’t satisfying me anymore.”
I shake my head and look out the window, only half listening as she talks about her kids. Martha gets off before I do and waves goodbye, and for the last few minutes of my ride home, I’m off in space thinking about Saul.
He wasn’t joking. The bastard was serious. I could see it in his eyes—there was no humor, no hesitation, just a statement of fact.
He wants to marry me.
He wants to be in the baby’s life.
But I don’t even know what I want. How the hell can he be so sure?
It’s too much. Saul’s a total stranger. He could be a serial killer for all I know. Maybe I got lucky that night and fucked my way to survival. Or maybe he’s some cold-blooded hitman, and if I don’t give him what he wants, he’ll tie me up and throw me in a damp basement until I get Stockholm syndrome. God, I bet Martha would freaking love that.
I don’t want Saul. He’s complicated, and I can’t do complicated right now. I have Nana and Jason to worry about on top of making enough money to pay rent and bills. It’s possible that Saul’s being serious, and he might even be a decent guy, but I’m not ready to let him into my life right now.
Except when I get off the bus, it looks like I have no choice.
Because he’s standing next to his Lexus in the parking lot of my building with his trunk popped open.
“You have to be kidding me,” I whisper to myself as I charge to the front door with my head down. I can’t believe he followed me here, and actually, how the hell does he know where I live? “Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t—”
“I brought you groceries,” he says once I get near.
That brings me to a stop.
Sure enough, the trunk is full of bags from Whole Foods. I stare, a deep frown on my face. I didn’t expect groceries. Our cupboards are pretty pathetic at the moment—dented cans from Aldi, halfway expired lunch meat from the butcher that thinks I’m cute a few blocks over, bread I’m pretty sure is going moldy in the next day or so. Jason never complains, and Nana mostly smokes and eats toast, but it would be really good to have actual food in the house.
“I’m never going to marry you.” I stare at him, unable and unwilling to let this drop. But the food is tempting, mostly because it would be good for Jason. Not because I want anything to do with this guy. “And you have to stop following me.”
“Consider the groceries an act of good will. You’re pregnant with my child, and I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
Well, shit. That’s sort of sweet? In a psychotic and creepy kind of way. “No, thank you,” I say, even though I keep looking at the bags.
“You’re being stubborn.”
“You assaulted me outside of my work, didn’t offer me a ride—”
“Would you have accepted?”
“No,” I say from between my teeth. “That’s not the point.”
“Take the groceries. I’ll bring them up for you.”
“I’m not going to marry you, Saul. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
“I’m offering you groceries. I’d also happily stay the night if you like. I won’t even ask for an orgasm in exchange. It’ll be all about you.”