“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “The baby is kicking, and my back—”
He cut me off with a flat, exhausted stare.
“Then sleep somewhere else.”
Before I could answer, he reached toward the counter, grabbed my car keys, and threw them onto the blanket.
“You’ve got reclining seats.”
I stared at him.
“Ryan… I’m eight months pregnant.”
“So?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I pay the rent. I need sleep because I work. You’re on maternity leave. Sleeping in the car for a few weeks won’t kill you.”
There it was.
I pay the rent.
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