“They do have a lot of babies though,” Kira adds.
“I am not married. Or religious. And this is my first baby. I am simply just not interested. Sorry, ladies. My bar hopping days are in my past.”
A mom with four kids in tow walks in. It’s our cue to get back to work, and for the Party Bus to leave without me.
Honestly, I don’t hate going out. Even if I can’t have a drink, chilling at a bar—even a rundown one—is a nice way to melt away the stresses of the week. Or in my case, my life.
But it’s Friday. And that means one thing.
Eliza will be out with some girls she met at the Salon. Gianni has plans with some of the other mechanics at the shop. And Bella, despite insisting she is friendless and her life ended back in New York, is going to the mall and then the movies. If I had to guess, not alone. And that meansIwill be alone.
The very idea of it sounds glorious.
I stop at the grocery store and grab a few things to make a spicy curry stir fry. Now that the morning sickness has fully run its course, I have food cravings. The spicier the better.
After I get home, I toss it all in a pan until my whole house smells like an Indian restaurant. Then I change into sweats and nestle on the couch with my plate in one hand and the remote in the other.
But as I doomscroll through Hulu’s never-ending library, I find my mind drifting away. Far away. Sixish states away, to be exact.
This happens a lot on nights like this. During the chaos of the week, between work and hanging out with my siblings and taking care of things around the house, I don’t have time for thoughts like these. They’re intrusive. Nagging. Tempting. Like nicotine to a lifetime smoker.
I take a deep breath and let it out, then turn off the TV.
The thing about…him… is that from the first time I saw him, the first he looked at me, I’ve been hooked. There’s something about those steely blue eyes, that sharp clean shaven jawline. That scowl. It’s hypnotizing. Addictive. Possessive.
I close my eyes, unable to keep myself from falling back into the memory. Unable to tune out his voice. His words. His demands.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You.”
“Who are you loyal to?”
“You.”
“Whoownsyou?”
“You do, Mr. Rozanov.”
“Good girl.”
I gasp, my eyes fluttering open and I realize I might have to change my pants. Hell, I might have to shampoo the couch.
I want to shake it away. I need to. So I get up, finish my food as I walk, and rinse my bowl in the sink. Then I brace my hands on the counter while slowly, my eyes drag over to my laptop sitting on the desk in the corner.
I shouldn’t. I can’t.
I need to.
Just. One. Peek.
Before I can talk some sense into myself, I grab my laptop and open it. Then I look around and decide to take it to my bedroom.
I sit cross-legged on the bed and open my laptop again. My fingers hover over the keys for a moment and then, one letter at a time, I type in the web address. The one I used when I worked forhimto log into the system. Both systems.
Surely, my username is no longer valid. After all, I don’t work for him anymore. And even if it still exists, my password is most likely expired. When I type it, it will most likely kick me off and that will be that. I will have done nothing wrong and no one will be the wiser. Maybe just typing it in will be enough to get it out of my system. And then I can go back to the couch and enjoy my quiet evening alone and?—
The login works.
