“Ah, once you get over the learning part, it’s as natural as walking. Believe it or not, you’re sitting in my very first car. To this day, she’s still my favorite.”

She gave me an incredulous look. “This was your first car? This is a classic! Did you fix it up yourself? It must have been so expensive.”

“It was, but I scrimped and saved for it. It wasn’t until I made it onto a professional rugby team that I could finally afford it, though.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “Well, all the scrimping and saving was definitely worth it. I’d love a car like this.” She leaned back as though luxuriating in the comfort of the seat and classic lines of the muscle car, and I had to admit, it was a bit of a turn-on. Like I needed to be any more sexed up around this woman.

A couple of minutes passed before I could speak again. “Hey, Annie.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“What did you mean back in the office when you said people might find you a sympathetic character because of your past?”

There were several beats of silence, like she was considering whether or not to answer me. Finally, she did. “You know how in movies sometimes, they’ll have this cliché where a parent leaves their baby on the steps of a church or a hospital or something?”

I nodded and glanced at her. She was smiling, but it was the most heartbreaking smile I’d ever seen.

“Well, that cliché is me.”

I frowned at her, dividing my attention between her and the road. “What do you mean?”

“My mom abandoned me at a fire station when I was six.”

Jesus. Fuck.

I blinked at her, stunned. “Christ….” I exhaled the word and refocused on the road.

I wanted to ask more but didn’t know how to proceed, so we sat quietly for a few minutes.

She surprised me by volunteering, “Then I was sent to a group home and…well, eventually, following that, I was in and out of foster homes. See, I know this business, and if people love anything, it’s a sob story. Why else would they continue to highlight the contestants with sad backgrounds on all those reality talent shows? It helps the audience to relate, to sympathize and, in turn, show support. So, when the press digs into my background, sees how I dragged myself up from low beginnings, it could work to our advantage.” She tilted her chin up, a stubborn tilt, like her professionalism was her armor.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to say. Instead I drove, thinking about what it must’ve been like for her, a beautiful little girl with big brown eyes, a little girl given more brains than affection, a little girl who no one loved.

When I considered her innate tendency toward introversion paired with her childhood, it really was a wonder her past hadn’t completely destroyed her, made her withdraw into herself completely.

She was brave, but it was buried deep under layers and years of neglect and loneliness. She had no one.

Honestly, her story and the bland tone she used when she related it made my stomach hurt like I’d been sucker-punched. I felt queasy. She spoke about her past like it had happened to someone else. It made me want to hit someone.

While I appreciated that she was doing this fake girlfriend act to help me, I couldn’t care less about all that. I cared about her, and I was struck by how much.

Oh, Christ.

I cared about her.

This was not supposed to happen. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get close again after being taken for a fool by Brona, and now Annie was already burrowing under my skin. I wanted to know all about her, and it unsettled me. I also had a feeling getting Annie to open up, really open up, wasn’t going to be an easy task, especially now that I knew the basics about her childhood.

She broke the silence. “With Brona’s story coming out, even though it’s all lies, you need to be prepared for people to turn against you. Having me as your girlfriend allows us to balance out some of that negativity.”

I realized that, unlike me, during the last few minutes she hadn’t been thinking about her childhood; she’d been thinking about how to exploit her childhood to help me, how her past was going to work to my advantage. I was used to other people using me, but I’d never had someone voluntarily offer to be used by me. My protective instinct flared, like a beast, fierce and strong. But still I said nothing.

She turned an introspective smile to me, one that I caught out of the corner of my eye. I glanced at her as she suggested, “I could plant a nickname for Brona around social media—The Harpy has a nice ring to it. No one would be able to trace it back to me.”

I let her attempt at humor lighten my black mood, and I gave her a half smile. “My mates call her The Hag.”

She chuckled softly and shook her head. “Name calling…it’s like we’re in elementary school.”

“She started it,” I said, hoping to make her laugh again. It worked.

Eventually, the silence lightened, grew oddly comfortable. About twenty minutes passed before we reached a town. I noticed a small, old-timey-looking ice cream parlor as we drove by, so I did a quick U-turn and parked outside. Annie looked out her window.

“We’re going in here?” she asked curiously.

“I figured it was about time you ate. You haven’t had anything since breakfast,” I told her, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She didn’t protest at my touching her, so I ran my knuckles along her neck for a second, savoring the silky feel of her skin. She trembled. Yeah, she wanted me just as badly as I wanted her. She was just better at hiding it, and now I knew why.