Page 23 of The Obsession

I nodded. “I’ve been to like, five of their concerts. I even have their T-shirts.”

Logan laughed. “You like the same band I do, you read the same books I do… Have you been stalking me?”

My cheeks burned. “I swear I haven’t.”

“I’m kidding. Ready to go?”

I met his eyes and I felt it then, the sensation you get right before you fall, the stomach-turning loss of gravity. Everything felt amplified—the leather scent of his car, the emotastic music, the olive green of his eyes. The moment seared itself into my memory; it felt so pivotal, the time I met someone who was truly my equal, someone whose heart mine could open up to. Was this what it was like to finally fall for someone? Could it happen so fast? The sky was clear and the breeze was just right and everything had worked out fine, and I might’ve been falling, falling, falling for this boy who looked like he’d walked off the cover of some fashion mag. We smiled at the same time, and I wondered if this was what it was like to feel truly happy.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

Chapter Eight

Logan

The days leading up to our date, I put together an itinerary based on everything I had learned about Delilah in the previous weeks. And I’d learned a lot.

We stopped by Lucy’s Deli, where we got subs bigger than my forearms and two bottles of locally made sodas, then I drove up to the national park. I parked at the foothill, stuffed our food into a prepared backpack, and held my hand out to her.

It seemed like a small, casual act, but anxiety prowled in the periphery, grinning with fangs, ready to pounce—please take my hand, take it, TAKE IT—shit, I was going to end up with sweaty palms.

Delilah only hesitated for a split second, smiling while biting her lip—god, she was flirting with me, she wanted me, too—and then she placed her hand in mine. The world exploded into a rainbow of bright colors and music. She was mine. I swallowed, tried to regulate my breathing. Gave her a relaxed smile and reminded myself not to squeeze her hand, to hold it casually, like any normal guy would. A normal guy, on a first date, with his dream girl.

* * *

We hiked up to Strawberry Point, and the greenery swallowed us into its irresistible magic. The air was as refreshing as river water and filled with showers of birds’ whistling. Gone was the city, the people, gone was Detective Jackson. In this moment, there was only me and Delilah in our own little fairy tale, and she’d dressed up just for me—a slightly off-the-shoulder green top that showed her collarbones, and her hair, usually straight, was in loose curls. Her cheeks were pink, and her lips were glossed up and begging to be kissed, and it was all for me. I could tell the magic had captured her too, because for a while, we walked without talking. We didn’t need to speak; it was enough to know we were together, our fingers laced through each other’s.

“This place is amazing,” she said. “You gotta tell me where we’re headed. The suspense is killing me.”

“Don’t spoil the surprise. Anyway, you wouldn’t be familiar with it, because the spot I’m taking you to only sprang up like a year ago.”

“Mkay. But I’m warning you, in case you’re up to no good, I know jujitsu.” She mimed a chop with her arms.

“Terrifying. It’s right up ahead, you dope.”

She grinned at me calling her a dope. She loved pet names; all of the pictures of her and her friends had been captioned with affectionate ones—dweeb, dork, dumbass. I knew calling her a dope would establish some sort of familiarity between us.

Her hand was rough and callused inside mine. As we walked, I memorized every line, every wrinkle of her palm. I was holding Delilah’s hand! And more than that, it wasn’t a pity handhold. Sophie used to do that, when she was in between boyfriends, when she was bored or lonely or felt my attention was wavering. She’d text me, ask me to meet at “our spot”—it was always “our” spot when she wanted me, “her” spot once she’d hooked up with the boyfriend du jour. And she’d let me hold her hand like she was the Pope and I was one of the unwashed masses who had traveled halfway around the world to touch the hem of his robes. And I didn’t mind. We never dated; even after my transformation, she still didn’t think I was good enough for her. But it was fine with me. Touching her, any part of her, lying next to her in our little copse, listening to her go on about her asshole exes, I knew every curve of her mind, the parts no one else did. “They’re table scraps, Logan!” Mom used to say to me. “That girl’s only leading you on.” And I used to rage and tell Mom she didn’t know anything, that Sophie secretly loved me, that it was only a matter of time before she realized it. Now, of course, I realized Mom was right all along. But that no longer mattered.

This—what Delilah and I had—was the opposite of scraps. This was the entrée and the dessert and everything else. I could feel her pulse next to mine, we were so in sync. She was pleased I’d kept the itinerary a secret, because no one had ever gone the extra mile to plan a surprise date for her.

A shrill peal I didn’t recognize sliced through the air, obliterating the magic. Delilah took out her phone. Her smile slipped, her expression becoming worried. She glanced up at me and widened her smile.

“Sorry, I gotta reply to this text. Hang on.” She pulled away and turned her back on me, rounding her shoulders like she didn’t want me to even catch a glimpse of the screen.

I gazed up at the trees, my hands in my pockets, trying not to appear as panicked as I felt.What is it?my mind screamed. I knew everything there was to know about Delilah, didn’t I? So why did I not have even the smallest clue about what was so obviously upsetting her? Any moment now, she was going to tell me she had to rush back, and our perfect date would be ruined, and I would—

“Okay, let’s go!” Delilah said in a voice that was determined to be cheerful.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just work. Anyway, shall we?”

I frowned. Delilah worked at the Draycott library. Why would work need her on a Saturday? I was dying to know all about it; her work was the only thing I hadn’t been able to look into, but Delilah was already walking.

It didn’t take long for the allure of the great outdoors to soothe Delilah back into a good mood. The farther we went, the smoother her forehead became.

“Hey, so what sort of work do you do at the library?” I said after some time. “Is it mostly shelving books, or…”

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