Page 55 of Dirty Shots

Chapter Seventeen

Eric

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Eric stood in the middleof the restaurant, frozen in the fallout of the fight between Anya and her father. He gaped after them. Even though she’d told him her father was a strict Christian, he’d never imagined it would be so bad. His nose still hurt. How many times would he get punched in the face over Anya?

A waiter arrived with a silver tray with all of their meals balanced on the shiny surface. Everyone in the room had restarted their conversations, trying to pretend they hadn’t all enjoyed the drama over dinner.

“I think you’d better take those back to the kitchen,” he told the waiter.

The young man hesitated, but a stare from Eric sent him spinning on his heels, taking the meals with him.

Eric picked up his glass of champagne and drank it in one, the bubbles burning the back of his nose. He placed the empty glass down on the table, hard enough to risk it breaking.

He needed to go after Anya.

Briefly, he considered switching Anya’s father’s money for his own credit card, and returning the cash to the older man later, but anyone who upset Anya that much deserved to waste a few hundred dollars.

Leaving her father’s money on the table, he picked up his jacket and walked from the restaurant, trying to ignore all the prying eyes. He hoped no paparazzi had been present for the fight, or at least none who recognized him, or he’d find the argument displayed all over the local papers the next day.

Eric stepped out into the evening air and ignored the valet. He’d have to come back for his car later. Anya would be on foot. Her petite stature compared to his long legs meant he shouldn’t struggle to catch her.

He headed in the direction of her college campus, assuming she’d go back to her room. Farther down the street ahead, he spotted her slight figure, her shoulders stooped, her head hung down. His heart clenched at the sight of her, so forlorn, and then sparked with anger at her father. How could a man cause such sorrow in his own daughter?

“Anya!” he called. “Wait.”

But she didn’t stop, only hurried her pace.

Eric broke into a run, his long stride carrying him swiftly along the street, quickly closing the gap between them.

He reached her, caught her by the shoulder, and pulled her back around. “Anya, please wait.”

Her eyes were rimmed red, her skin blotchy. But no fresh tears ran from her eyes. “Please, Eric. Just give me some space, okay? I’ve got a lot to think about.”

“Can’t you think about it at my place?” He didn’t like the pleading tone to his voice.

She shook her head. “You’re too involved in all of this. You’re a huge distraction.” She gave a little smile. “A great distraction, but one nonetheless. This isn’t against you, Eric. I don’t blame you for my father. I knew how he was going to react. I just kidded myself for a while that things might go differently.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry he hit you.”

Eric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I seem to be getting you into trouble more than you deserve.”

He didn’t tell her that he’d thought the same thing only a few minutes ago. “You’re worth it.”

She looked at him. “Am I, Eric? Am I really?”

“Yes, of course you are. At least come back to the restaurant and let me drive you home.”

A shiver ran through her; he noted her shoulders trembling. “I don’t want to go back to that restaurant. Ever.”

“Okay. I understand.” He spotted the familiar yellow light in the distance, and he stepped out into the road with his arm held out. “I’m paying for your cab, then.”

“Eric, I can get my own cab.”

“Please, Anya. Just do as I ask this once.”

Her shoulders slumped. The cab pulled up alongside the curb and Eric opened the back door for her. Without further argument, she climbed into the back seat. Eric handed the driver a couple of twenties and gave him the address.

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