Page 28 of Wild Obsession

“You better get out of here,” he says.

He won’t look me in the eye anymore, and I can’t imagine what sin I could have committed between when we came and now.

“Okay,” I say.

I manage to pick myself up off the floor. I don’t know what this was, what lines we may or may not have crossed, what we healed or broke by doing this. But it seems I won’t find out tonight.

Chapter Fourteen

Keannen

WE FINALLY GET A chance to breathe when we reach Baltimore. It’s a long trek, especially with that night in the tour bus playing on repeat in my brain. I managed to clean the couch enough that no one noticed, but my bandmates definitely suspect something is up with me.

“It’s nothing,” I snarl when Jacob prods for what seems the hundredth time.

God, this break could not have come at a better time. I want little more than to get off the bus and away from my bandmates when we finally reach Baltimore.

Unfortunately, the very first time I venture out into the city, Jacob tags along, the sunny idiot.

The Ten Hours offer their security guy, the big one, Seth or whatever, but Jacob and I decline. We’re not on that levelyet. Part of me wonders if they only offered in order to rub that fact in our faces.

“I’d take him along, but not for my safety,” Jacob mutters when we slide into the rideshare carting us to Baltimore’s famous harbor area.

“Do not fuck the security guy,” I groan.

“Why not? He’s a tree worth climbing, that’s for damn sure.”

I roll my eyes. “Because he’s the security guy. You’re the pretty boy frontman. You can sleep with whoever you want.”

“And what if who I want is a big, stern, beefy security guy?” Jacob tosses back.

I roll my eyes again and watch Baltimore flash past the window. I’ve been to the harbor plenty and it’s always packed with tourists, so it isn’t my first choice for an outing, but when Jacob caught me trying to slink off to a dive bar, he roped me into joining him. Sometimes I wonder what weird magic this guy possesses to make everyone do what he wants the second he smiles at them.

The car drops us off, and we exit into a bustle of humanity. It’s a balmy night in Baltimore, the kind of humid, cricket-filled evening that sends me right back to my childhood. The water of the harbor stings my nose. Huge, useless, decorative ships bob in the water, thrilling tourists. A fountain area lies before us, kids scampering through the water, and stores wing out on either side of it.

“What should we do first?” Jacob says.

I shrug. My plan for the night was to find cheap booze and drink enough of it that I couldn’t think about Tim anymore. The kid is stuck to my brain like shit to a shoe. Sure, he’s been fun to mess with. He’s also been fun to get off with, but I need to cut him off before he gets all weird and attached. I haven’t forgotten our first breakup and how unceremoniously he dropped me back then. I’m not leaving myself open to that a second time.

Jacob picks a direction and leads the way, and, like everyone else in his life, I’m happy to follow in the wake of his enthusiasm. He soaks up the harbor with an almost childlike wonder, which even I can admit is part of the guy’s unnatural charm.

It’s not that different from Tim. No matter what I’ve thrown at him, he’s lit up with enthusiasm from every word, every touch, every kiss. Even when I was trying to be cruel, he didn’t seem to mind as much as he should. He always came back for more—and responded as enthusiastically as ever.

Christ, it’s hard not to get addicted to something like that. Not only do I get to vent all my pent up frustration, but I get the pure, genuine rush of watching Tim come apart while I do it.

Am I still trying to mess with him, part of me wonders,or do I actually want him?

I physically shake my head at that. Hell no, I am notgoing to be the one getting attached here, not to Tim of all people. I’ve been with lots of guys. Not a single one has gotten his hooks in me. I’m not starting with one I hate. What kind of messed up reverse psychology bullshit is that?

I nearly stumble into Jacob when he stops to gawk at something. I was so lost in my head I didn’t notice where he was leading us, but now he stands in front of one of the tourist trap stores lining the harbor, gaping at the trinkets inside.

“Let’s get souvenirs,” he says.

“Not until we’re famous,” I grumble.

“Oh, come on, we need to do something to commemorate our first tour.”

“How about we outplay The Ten Hours at every remaining stop? That’s the only souvenir I need from this.”

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