Page 24 of Driving My Obsession

“Why else would you pull away like that?”

He pushes his hand toward my face, flipping it back and forth in front of my eyes. “Do you see these scars? Did you ever consider thatmaybeI don’t want you to see or feel them?”

“Did you ever consider thatmaybeI don’t fucking care about them?” I scoff and push his hand away. “Now who’s projecting?”

That shuts him up. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and goes back to grinding his teeth. If he isn’t careful, he’ll end up with dust for molars.

“How’d you get the scars, anyway?” I ask.

“Story time’s over. Take a nap or something.”

Fair enough. I guess we all have things we don’t want to share. I go back to staring out the window and wondering why his bad attitude hurts my feelings. It’s not like I like him or anything. Yeah, he’s attractive. Yeah, he’s brooding and mysterious.

Yeah, I might have a problem.

* * *

Ambrose

She doesn’t goto sleep, but at least she’s quiet now. It gives me a moment to finish mulling over what she said. It shouldn’t have changed anything, but it does. The two opposing sides of my mind grip the rope of indecision and dig in their heels.

She’s a whore, which makes her the perfect target.

No. She has dreams. She wants to make something more of her life.

She’s still a whore. Now she’s just a whore with dreams.

I steal a glance at her. Would this be easier if she wasn’t so beautiful? Maybe I should have picked a Tuesday-afternoon stripper. A girl who didn’t have such full lips or a perfect nose or a single dimple that pops onto her right cheek when she smiles. I should have picked a girl with the fake tits I can’t stand instead of full, natural breasts that make my mouth water.

I need to stop. Thinking about how seductive she is only makes things worse, and by things, I mean the ache in my balls. I need to kill her sooner rather than later, but I have to feel her around me one more time before I do. That’s all I’ll allow myself. Any more than that and I’ll be too tempted to keep her around.

“Oh, can we stop at the next exit?” she asks. “There’s a really good diner that makes the best burger I’ve ever had, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

I want to say no. We still have a ten-hour drive ahead of us, and I want to finish this play before the sun sets on tomorrow. But maybe it won’t hurt to let her have the last meal she wants. Granted, I doubt she’d pick a greasy burger from a roadside flytrap for her last meal if she knew she’d never eat anything again, but this is the best I can do. I ease the car onto the exit ramp and turn to her for directions.

She points and guides me down side streets with an excited gleam to her eyes. It’s almost endearing. When we pull up to the building, it’s not at all what I expected. From the animated way she directed me, I figured we’d end up somewhere nice, but this place is a dump. Save for the N in the massive DINER sign perched on the roof, the neon lights have abandoned their stations. The busted parking lot looks as if it was paved when asphalt was first invented, then never touched again. Trash tumbleweeds roll past.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I ask. We’re more likely to get a hefty dose of food poisoning than a good burger here.

She nods and opens her door, then leans back into the car when I don’t move. “Aren’t you coming?”

With raised eyebrows, I stare at her. She can’t be serious.

“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug.

Dirty windows line the diner, giving me a clear (enough) view as she waltzes inside and chooses a booth seat right in front of me. Without even sparing a second glance in my direction, she lifts a menu and runs her finger over it. A man at the bar turns on his stool and eyes her with a grin. He whispers something to his burly friend, and that’s enough to get me out of the Jeep. I head inside before they can descend on her like vultures.

Despite how decrepit the place looks, the interior has been kept clean. The tables would gleam if their varnish hadn’t been worn down to a dull finish. My feet don’t stick to the floor, which means they mop the checkered tiles on a regular basis. Maybe it won’t hurt to grab a bite.

I drop into the seat in front of her, and the men at the bar turn away, their smiles evaporating from their faces. Mission accomplished.

“So you decided to join me?” she says with a smile as she lowers the menu. Smug satisfaction lights her face and accentuates the dimple in her cheek.

“You said you were paying for the food, and I’m not one to turn down a free meal.”

“If you order the most expensive thing on the menu, it’s still cheaper than a bus ticket.”

“Is that why you picked this place?” I ask. “Because it’s cheap?”

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