I sighed. “No. That’s not necessary. I’ll straighten this out and come back.”
Naomi flashed a sympathetic smile. “Okay. Sorry, it didn’t work out, Gia.”
“Me, too.”
I walked out of there so fast. Feeling defeated, I decided to just go straight home and open a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
My plan was thwarted when my car struggled to start. I kept turning the ignition, and it just wouldn’t budge.
Banging my hands repeatedly against the steering wheel, I yelled, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re gonna pick this moment to crap out on me? Thanks a lot you, you piece of shit!”
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
My shoulders were rising and falling. Finally, I leaned my head against the steering wheel and just breathed, immediately feeling sad for being too hard on my car. That was an odd thing to be sad about, but nevertheless, I was. It was old and probably needed to just die, but I kept insisting it live, expecting it to perform as it used to. That was an unreal expectation. Who was the bad one in this equation? Me. I was. I cried thinking about that—about life and death. The death of things. The death of people. The death of relationships. Yes, my current sensitivity was probably the direct result of pregnancy hormones, coupled with the humiliation of my credit card problem, but still.
Taking one last deep breath, I exited the car and gently closed the door. Two minutes ago, I might have slammed it shut, but my sudden kinship with my broken-down vehicle meant that I had to be compassionate.
I patted the hood. “Sorry.”
It was tempting to call Rush, but I stopped myself. It was imperative that I got used to doing things for myself and for my baby. That didn’t include jumping to call Rush the second something went wrong.
So I began the long trek home by foot. Thankfully, the weather wasn’t too hot, or else I would’ve worried about overheating in my condition. But it was just perfect, cool with a slight breeze.
An hour later, I was still walking, the bottoms of my feet sore and tired. Even my Tieks flats, which were super comfortable, couldn’t protect me from succumbing to the harsh pavement.
At one point, a vague sense that someone was following me registered.
When I looked to my side, Rush’s Mustang was slowly moving alongside me, just like he used to do in the early days of driving me home from The Heights.
He rolled down the window. “Why are you walking along this road, Gia?”
I was still moving as I answered him, “My car broke down.”
He nudged his head. “Get in.”
Picking up my pace a little, I walked backwards and said, “I don’t want to, Rush. I’m trying to handle things as I would if I were living alone in the City, and you wouldn’t be around to pick me up. So I’d like to walk.”
“Gia…”
“Yeah?”
“Get the fuck in the car.”
Well, I suppose I could blame my feet. They were practically crying for me to stop. Okay, I did really want to get in.
I shrugged and opened his passenger side door.
“Thanks,” I said.
He placed his hand on my knee. “You crazy girl. You should’ve called me.” My body immediately reacted to his touch. God, his hand felt good. Move it just a little to the right.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said.
“You should know that’s not a good enough excuse and that I would drop everything to pick you up.”
“I know you would. But that wasn’t the point.”
“The point was stupid.”
I didn’t want to argue with him. “Okay. Well, thank you for the ride.”
He glanced over at me and lifted his brow. “Where were you coming from?”
“I was trying on clothes at the maternity store.”
“Just trying them on?”
“Yes. I didn’t buy anything.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t want to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t lie. “My card was declined.”
His expression dampened. “I see.”
I sighed. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, I’m mad that you didn’t invite me to come watch you try them on, to be honest.” He flashed me a sexy smirk. One little look from Rush always went straight between my legs.
I turned my body toward him and lowered my voice. “You know, I was thinking of you when I was in the dressing room.”
He smiled mischievously. “Oh, now this is a story I want to hear.”
“I was thinking about how good you always make me feel about my body. The only reason I feel sexy right now is because of you. When I look at myself, I hear your voice telling me how hot I am.”
“I don’t do it to make you feel good. I do it because I genuinely love your body. If it makes you feel good, though, then that’s an added benefit.” He exhaled, his voice sounding needy. “So tell me about this trying on stuff. Were your tits bare?”