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She immediately turns and sprints for the exit.
8
PASHA
I can count on zero fingers how often in my life I’ve chased down a woman.
First time for everything, I suppose.
Maybe that’s why I feel a rush of adrenaline instead of irritation as I rush after Daphne, not giving a fuck who I bump into or offend on my way.
I finally catch her elbow through the double doors. “Stop.”
She turns, flustered and out of breath. “I-I have t-to go, sorry! I have to—” Her voice dies when she tries to tear out of my grasp and her bag slips off her shoulder and upends. We both reach for it at the same time and the jostling knocks a smaller bag out of it.
“Here, let me get that?—”
“No!”
I bend down to pick up the baggie, intending to just give it back to her. But when I see what it’s holding, I freeze.
I look at it.
At her.
At it.
At her.
Say something. You need to say something.
But what the fuck am I supposed to say?
“Congratulations”?
“Who’s the father”?
“Are we having a boy or girl”?
Oh, fucking hell.
The valet pulls my car up right behind where Daphne is standing, staring at me with utter terror in her eyes. That bothers me. She shouldn’t be afraid of me. What kind of man does she think I am?
The kind who just stares at her without saying a single word while holding her pee stick like a fucking creep—that’s what kind of man she thinks I am.
But there aren’t words for this situation. None that I can think of right now, at least. So I do the next most rational thing…
And shove her in the back of my car.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t utter a single protest. I expect her to shout or even scream at me to let her go, but instead, she just sits there and waits for me to grab my keys from the valet and slide into the driver’s seat. She doesn’t look at me, but she doesn’t try to get out, either.
I should say something. Instead, I pull us out of the parking lot and start driving.
To where? Fuck if I know.
“Did you eat?” I finally ask.
Daphne stares at the dashboard. “I had a salad.”
