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I snort. “What gave it away?”
His eyes snap back to mine. For a second, he looks like he has about a hundred questions fighting to get out at once, but then his attention drifts over me again, and his upper lip curls.
“You’re seriously wearing a crop top right now?”
Aaand there he is. What a judgmental asshole.
I glance down, mostly because the question is so fucking stupid. I mean, duh? Nothing about the outfit has mysteriously changed since I checked it thirty seconds ago.
“Obviously?” I look back at him. “It’s cute, right?”
He gestures to me with a wrinkle of his nose. “Your stomach is hanging out.”
Irritation crawls up the back of my neck. I know this routine. He used to do it to me all the time when we were together. He’d start with my clothes, or my tattoos, or how loud I was being, then keep picking until I was so over dealing with him, I’d just give in to whatever he wanted.
It’s a miracle my self-confidence didn’t take more of a hit, but he did his own kind of damage regardless.
I used to endure it for some reason I can’t fathom. But now I’m mostly wondering how the hell I ever had the patience to deal with this mediocre man with way too much audacity.
“That’s generally what happens when the shirt stops above it.”
Ellie coughs out a laugh around her straw beside me.
Grant’s mouth tightens, and I watch him realize his little comment didn’t land the way he expected.
Good. Fuck him.
My feet still hurt, I’m even more hungry now, and he’s blocking the way to the pretzel of my dreams. Time to peace the hell out.
I turn toward Ellie. “Come on. I want food.”
I barely get one step before Grant’s fingers close around my upper arm. They dig into my skin, and he’s being rough enough that it hurts.
Plus the sudden grip jerks me to a stop, and I stumble. A hot flash of anger shoots through me because if I’d fallen, it could’ve hurt the baby.
I turn on him, but Ellie is faster.
She smacks his hand hard enough that he lets go immediately, her matcha sloshing over the rim of the cup and splattering onto the pavement.
“Touch her again and I’ll empty an entire can of pepper spray into your face,” she says, getting up in his face and daring him to try.
Grant stares at the red mark spreading across his hand. “Jesus Christ, Ellie.”
She shifts closer to me, putting herself half a step between us. “Try me.”
A couple of women browsing the wallet booth have gone quiet and are openly watching now. Grant notices them too, and some of the fight goes out of his posture.
“I was trying to talk to her,” he says, lowering his voice.
“Then use your mouth. You can do that without touching, asshole.”
My arm stings where his fingers dug in, and I rub the spot as I step around Ellie. As much as I appreciate her being ready to commit aggravated assault on my behalf, I’d rather get whatever the hell Grant wants over with so I can leave.
“What do you want?”
His attention drops to my stomach again.
This time, he doesn’t make another shitty comment about my clothes. His forehead smooths out, and his eyes stay fixed on my bump for a few seconds too long.
