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I smile for a second, remembering the easy banter with him last time. If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall for that again. “It was a good night, right?” I don’t know why I need to ask him that, as if it matters, but it’s like if I got pregnant then at least I need to know we got one really good night from it.
“It was extremely good,” he agrees, leaning on his own elbows. We’re staring straight ahead, looking at each other in the faded mirror behind the bar. “Until you stole my watch.”
“That was in the morning, so the night was still fantastic.”
“Great point.”
“Does it help if I said that watch saved my life? It’ll cover rent for a few months and it bought some medicine for my brother.”
“Actually, it does help.” His head tilts to the side. “You take care of a brother?”
“Jason. He’s twenty, five years younger than me. He’s got epilepsy, and it just so happens that the most expensive pill is the only one that controls his seizures. Oh, and we don’t have insurance. Lucky us.”
“Lucky you,” he murmurs and I can see the wheels turning in his head.
Which is my cue. I really don’t want this guy to realize how pathetic and poor I am. I’m just another trashy Irish girl getting pregnant young. I’m a freaking cliché at this point, but there’s nothing else I can do about it. I finish the club soda and turn away from him.
“Well, I did what I came here to do, and now you know,” I tell him. “Good luck with your life and all that.”
“Wait.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not telling you my pathetic story to get sympathy or anything. You don’t have to worry about what I do with the baby. Either way, it’s not your problem.”
“Did you fuck yourself?” he grumbles at me and catches my arm before I can walk past him.
“A little,” I say, mostly just to see if I can surprise him into letting me go. “Remember that?”
But it only makes his eyes harden. “I remember every little detail of that night. Every time you moaned. Every time you came. Every time I came. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
A thrill rushes into my core. Fuck, this guy is freaking intense. He’s staring at me like he’s going to rip off my clothes and fuck me to pieces right here in the bar. I bet he could make me shatter while the table of middle-aged drunk guys watches. Which is a pretty fucked-up thought.
“I’m just saying, it doesn’t matter, okay? I don’t want to get involved.”
“It’s too late. You’re pregnant with my baby, which means you’re mine.”
Those words. You’re mine. He freaking means them, the psychopath. And suddenly, the excitement turns to fear.
“No, Saul. I only came to tell you out of guilt and I guess as a courtesy. But I’m not yours.”
“Let me take care of you.” The words come out in a rush. “I can help you. I can make sure the baby gets everything she needs. You stole my watch to pay rent and buy medicine. You need help, Molly. Let me help you.”
The offer is so tempting it’s painful. He’s probably rich enough that I could cut back my waitressing hours to something approaching reasonable. We might not have to stress about money every single day. I could stop wondering if I’ll have to choose between food or epilepsy medicine for Jason one day.
But those words still freak me out.
You’re mine.
I don’t want to be his. I don’t want to be anyone’s. I only came here out of some stupid misguided sense of duty or whatever. I figured I owed it to him at the very least.
I never expected this.
“I don’t want that.” I yank my arm and manage to break free. He moves to stand, but multiple people are staring now. “I’m sorry. Coming here was a mistake.”
“Molly—”
“Just forget I mentioned anything, okay? Just forget about it.”
I turn away, heart racing. He says my name again but I don’t respond. I hurry to the door, feeling sick like I did that first morning a few weeks back. Rolling out of bed to my alarm, slamming it off, then the sudden rush of bile?—
