Page 131 of Obsession

A home.

I can’t allow him to give me too many things or I may possibly lose myself.

“Well, regardless of where you purchased it, it’s a stunner on you.”

“That’s what I told her!” Naomi chimes in through the door of her bedroom.

Hunter emits a slight chuckle. I think he finds Naomi entertaining, although he only briefly interacts with her.

“Let’s go,” he announces. “We’ve got a dinner reservation.”

“Good night, Naomi,” I call from the living room.

“Good night, red,” she says back, and I can hear the smugness of her response.

In Paris, Hunter and I visited small cafes and out-of-the-way restaurants because those are the places that are popular in the city. However, in Los Angeles, I can see that Hunter likes to do things in a totally different way. Dinner was incredible. We dined on a rooftop with spectacular views of the city. While we weren’t the only people there, we clearly had the best seat in the house, which was somewhat isolated from the other diners.

“Have you been here before?” I ask the typical question a woman sleeping with a man will ask when she wants to know if she’s special or just more of the same.

“No, I’m a complete workaholic. I don’t usually make time for dinners out, but I heard this restaurant had a new chef cooking here who was talented. I thought you might like to try it.”

From appetizers to dessert, everything was top-notch, and, of course, the view of the Hollywood sign at sunset was the icing on the cake. I was pissed that I missed a great opportunity and didn’t think to bring my sketchbook so that I could capture the moment, so I did the next best thing and took a flick with my cell phone. I'll be sure to sketch it later.

After our meal, we stay a little longer and have another cocktail. I choose an apple martini, and Hunter orders a lowball of his favorite whiskey. Then he does something crazy and grabs my hand across the table as we sip on our respective drinks.

“What are you doing?” I ask, a bit shell-shocked.

“The same thing you’re doing.”

“I mean with my hand.”

“I’m holding it.”

I look around at the other tables. No one is holding hands.

“It’s weird.” I try pulling it back.

“Pull your hand away from me again, and you’ll be sitting on my lap the rest of this evening.”

“There you go with the threats again.”

“I can’t help it. You bring the worst out of me.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed?”

“You bring the worst out of me, too.”

“Then we’re a perfect match.”

I think about everything we’ve been through together since we met. Steve, Paris, the shooting at his apartment, and I am more convinced than ever that we’re probably the total opposite of being a perfect match. We’re bad luck for each other.

Yet here I am.

Holding hands with a man who makes the engine inside of my chest roar to life and makes me feel safer than I ever have in my entire life.

After he pays the bill, we head home. My plan is to peel off this dress, crawl into bed, and read another chapter of an angsty romance I’ve recently been into until I drift to sleep.

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