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“I want to be in the baby’s life.”
That gets my attention. I stare at him, not sure what the hell to make of it. Why would a mafia guy want anything to do with some random girl and her random baby? Guys like him are supposed to run screaming when their one-night stand shows up claiming to be pregnant. I’d be nothing but a burden—so why would he want anything to do with me?
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I manage to mutter at him, feeling a mix of panic and anger. “You don’t even know me.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but I do remember that night we had. I remember the sex. I remember how fun it was to be with you. I’m not saying we’d have any of that again, but I am saying that maybe we can take a piece of it and parent this kid together. I want to be in the baby’s life, Molly.”
I look down at the ground and shake my head. I can’t meet his gaze right now—it’s very hard to think when he’s looking at me like that. “I don’t know. It’s a lot and I just?—”
“You don’t understand.” He leans closer. I stare at his lips and my mouth waters. I remember what that tongue can do. I remember his fingers sunk between my legs. I haven’t forgotten a thing from that night either—frankly, I’ve relived it more than a few times in the intervening weeks while attempting to simulate his incredible touch with my vibrator to varying levels of success.
“Explain it to me then.”
“I want to marry you,” he says, and it’s like my whole world goes blank.
Chapter 9
Molly
Now I get why they call it a bombshell. It’s because my entire world explodes. Everything breaks, and all I can hear is rushing wind in my ears. I blink rapidly, shaking my head, feeling dizzy?—
But no, that’s not wind.
That’s the bus.
“I can’t,” I say, ripping my arm from him. He stares and for a second, I think he might try to grab me again. But I turn away and start running. This is my usual response to difficult problems made physically manifest. Running is the purest form of avoidance. “I’m sorry, Saul, but there’s no way I’m ever going to marry you!”
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.
