Snark didn’t say much once I got inside.
When he didn’t take me to my apartment or to the diner, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To see your boyfriend.”
I groaned. “Jake is not my boyfriend, and we’re not pregn—”
“Kian Maston.” He leveled me with a frown. “And I hope you’re not pregnant because you already have a nightmare on your hands. A kid would make it ten times worse.”
“Good.” Not good, I meant. “And I’m not. I’m not pregnant, that is.”
“I wasn’t saying you were.”
“I know. The guys back there—” I shut up. Snark didn’t give a damn about my work issues. “Did you say we’re going to see Kian?”
“Yep, and don’t even think about lying to me. I know you’ve seen him a few times, and you’ve been in contact over the phone.”
“It wasn’t like that, and he’s gone. It doesn’t matter anyway.
