Dmitry
Good grief.
That’s the only thing I feel. Not anger. Maybe a flicker of jealousy. But mostly a low, almost embarrassing sense of pity for Gianna’s little poster boyfriend.
The boy looks like he might piss himself just from standing in front of me. Not like last night, when he’s bold enough to try and take Gianna home.
I take the liberty of looking him up. Kevin Stuart Greyheart. Old money, newer arrogance. Rich, pretty, and constantly paraded around as one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.
Still doesn’t come close to me.
“Cat got your tongue?” I say.
My voice stays level, polite enough to pass, but there’s no effort to make it friendly.
Kevin drags his gaze over me, slow and obvious, sizing me up like a vegan stuck in a steakhouse.
Then he laughs.
Actually laughs.
I
