“A pretty woman who likes roulette,” the gentleman beside me spoke, a cigarette hanging from his lips. His gaze landed on Gaia next. “Two pretty women.” “Two pretty women who hate the smell of these cancer sticks you are smoking,” Gaia said, taking it from his lips and putting it out. “Light it up when we’re gone.” “You can’t—” “I can and did,” she told him, cutting into whatever he’d been about to say.
