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CHAPTER 33

“Won’t your baby’s mom care?”

“In,” he ordered me, shoving the car door open.

I didn’t need telling twice. I threw myself into the car and he slammed the door. He ran around the front, shoving a photographer out of the way, and got in the driver side. He reved the engine in seconds, but it didn’t drown out their shouted questions.

He pulled away from the diner. “We’ll have to go to my house. Your car will have to stay there. I’ll get you a rental.”

“No point,” I muttered, sliding down in my seat. “They’ll probably know my name, address, and fucking bra size by morning.”

He didn’t respond because he knew it was the truth. They’ll run the pictures and try to get as much information about the blonde girl with the scandal-surrounded singer. That was all that would matter to them.

Who am I? And am I his baby’s mom?

I brought my legs up and sunk my fingers into my hair, dropping my forehead to my knees. I knew this was a bad idea. I fucking told him so, and he didn’t listen to me.

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