Page 86 of Shadowed Obsession

“He won’t. Plus he left you here withme, the big scary man in a mask. A guy likethatwouldn’t tell a tale unless it makes him look good. So, fuck him,” he assures with a shrug.

“You have some fucking audacity. White man audacity,” I spit, my anger growing at the sight of him in that stupid-ass mask.

He gasps. “Well I never,” he says in a fake country accent. “Nobodyhas more audacity than white men. How dare you insult me like that?” he adds playfully.

I love seeing him loosen up like this, but I’m still annoyed.

“I’m just saying, you either need to shit or get off the pot,” I tell him, struggling to avoid eye contact as he encases me.

“I can’t,” he whispers, his breath hitting my cheek as I try to look around.

“Can’t what?” I finally glare up at him again.

“Can’t get off the pot because I’m shitting,” he answers, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

“Wanna go home?”

“No. I came to eat and that didn’t happen thanks toyou,” I argue, booping his nose.

“Lucky for you I cooked us dinner at home.”

Dinner at home. I like the way that sounds, but I’m still annoyed.

“Was this little stick up planned, too?”

“No. That was my first time. How’d I do?” he asks, humor in his tone.

“Not bad for your first armed robbery, I guess.”

As we exit the alley, he rests his hand on my lower back, leading me to the parking lot. He stops at a large navy pickup truck.

“C’mon, Doe. Get in. I want to take you somewhere.” he says, tilting his head toward the door he opened for me.

He holds his hand out for me to take as I climb onto the sidestep.

“Watch your head, mibeba,” he warns.

I try to ignore how my stomach flips when he calls me that. Mi beba.

To a passerby, I look like I’m being kidnapped by a masked man. If only they knew.

I settle in the passenger seat when we both reach for the seatbelt, and his large hand rests over mine. We stare at each other for a moment before he leans in closer.

“Allow me,” he says, breaking the silence.

He holds eye contact as he extends the seatbelt and drags it over me. My body heats under his gaze, and my heart races from the proximity.

I hope he can’t hear that.

The click of the buckle fastening breaks our trance, and he backs up to assess me before shutting the door. He rounds to the driver side and settles in, glances over at me and blows out a deep breath.

He turns on a ’00s pop playlist, and I am convinced he’s doing it to either annoy me or convince me to sing along.

“You can’t get this in an Uber,” he croons.

He proceeds to sing, replacing every word of “Fergalicious” with “Deirdre-licious,” blowing me kisses on everymwah.

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