Page 87 of Shadowed Obsession

I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but he’s sillier tonight. I reach for the volume dial when my hand is swatted away.

“Don’t disrespect The Dutchess like that,” he says in a serious tone.

“Are you serious?” I ask amusedly.

“Veryserious.”

He turns the music up and continues his one-man show. Shimmying and rolling his hips from the driver’s seat, he’s now catching eyes at the stop light.

Kill me now. Please?

I stare down the traffic light, praying for it to turn green, and of course, it’s the longest red light I’ve ever been stuck at.

“Turn green now. Please?” I plead under my breath.

Moments later, the light changes, and he proceeds to tap the steering wheel, singing every millennial pop song that comes on, eventually settling down as we get closer to my place.

He reaches for my hand to hold, and I let him. He remains focused on the road, giving my hand a gentle squeeze every few minutes.

The sight of this man driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other in mine should be illegal for my ovaries.

As I study him with knotted brows, I try to piece together his behavior tonight.

No he didn’t.

“Are you…are you high right now?”

“Do you get nervous?” he asks, tossing a knowing look at me. “I say hell yeah fuc?—”

“Well, there’s my answer,” I say, cutting him off. “Frommystash?”

“Ourstash,” he corrects.

He turns onto my street, peering over at me as if he has something to say, but he doesn’t. It isn’t until he pulls up the driveway, stopping outside my garage, that he speaks.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“Yep,” I reply, staring forward, popping the P as yank my hand out of his and cross my arms.

I suppose Dad was onto something about the whole “acting like mom when I’m angry” thing. Her silent treatment and disapproving looks would make a mime break character to apologize.

“What I did back there was impulsive and stupid. I’m sorry I crashed your date and embarrassed you.”

I suppose I have inherited her apology demanding skills.

“I’m listening,” I say in a low voice, avoiding eye contact.

“You were settling for him. He wouldn’t give you what you need. And ifIscared him, imagine how he’d react to your family.”

He’s right. A stinging reminder of why I avoid dating now.

“So, what’s the plan? Are you supposed to be velcroed to me forever or is there an expiration date on this?” I ask.

“There doesn’t have to be an expiration on it. That’s up to you.” His words ebb out slowly, like he’s nervous.

“Why would that be up to me?”

“You’re always in control, Deirdre. Even when you think you’re not.”

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