Sweet Obsession
Page 32“You look beautiful, Brooke.”
I inhale a lungful of his cologne before he leans away.
Yum.
With the hand holding my clutch, I motion in front of me. “Thank you. I like this get-up you got going on. You clean up nice.”
His smile gentles. “Shall we?”
We move together across the sidewalk, his hand resting lightly on my lower back. He opens the door for me and I climb inside.
“What’s that?” he asks, poking a finger at the gift bag in my lap after he settles in his seat.
I look down at the top of the bag. A fuzzy ear peeks out between tissue paper.
Oh, my God. What am I doing? What grown man wants something like this?
I quickly stow it on the floor by my feet. “It’s stupid. Sorry. I . . . I was out, and I saw it and I wasn’t thinking and bought the damn thing. But now I’m realizing how dumb it is.”
“Can I have it?”
“What?” I turn my head. His hand is outstretched. Did he not hear me?
“Really, Mason, it’s stupid. You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Did you buy it for me?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t drop his hand. It hangs in the air between us as he moves his attention between my face and the bag he could very easily grab if he wanted. It’s within his reach.
But he waits for me to pick it up and pass it to him.
I look straight ahead at the busy street. No need to watch this humiliation unfold.
Tissue paper rustles as he digs into the bag.
My hands knot together in my lap. “I saw it and it made me laugh. You don’t have to keep it. Really. I think I still have the receipt somewhere in my room.”
A muffled, barely audible chuckle comes from my left.
“My nemesis. We meet again.”
I turn my head and watch Mason study the small stuffed koala with engrossed curiosity. He probably thinks I’m strange for giving him a children’s toy.
I am! He’s not a toddler. Why did I think this was a good idea?
I want to look away. I need to before I end up fleeing the vehicle, but I can’t stop watching him stare at this thing as if he’s actually charmed by it.
He runs his hand over the fur between the ears, chuckles again, then pats it gently on the head.
We lock eyes.
“It’s dumb,” I tell him.
“It’s not.”
“I’m going to keep it.”
He sets the bag and koala on the floor behind my seat, then captures my lips in a fleeting kiss. “Thank you,” he murmurs against my mouth before leaning back.
“Mm. Yeah, sure.”
My shoulders drop with a heavy sigh as we pull away from the curb. I didn’t realize how tense I was during that inspection.
Serves me right.
Mason stares straight ahead while he drives, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other on the console between us. “Do you like Italian food? I saw this spot the other day when I was driving around. Giovanni’s. You ever been?”
I search my memory. The name doesn’t sound familiar. “No, I don’t think so. But I like all food. You really can’t screw up here.”
He reaches for my hand, confidently holding it between us.
The conversation with Joey in my bedroom from minutes ago plays back in my mind. Him, accusing me of dating Mason. The underlying implication that he’s my boyfriend. The ridiculous ‘do you want to keep him’ question.
My stomach clenches.
I pull my hand away and go for the stereo, turning up the volume. A song I don’t recognize fills the car. The guy sings about love and wanting. I hate it immediately. I go through all of Mason’s pre-programmed stations, trying to find something I like, but also, keeping my hand busy and not idle in my lap.
“You all right?”
I give him a quick glance. His eyes are serious. “Yeah . . . yeah, I just wanted to listen to something. I like background noise. I always have music playing in my car when I drive. It’s comforting.”
He seems satisfied with that explanation and turns back to the road ahead.
If it’s more than a few blocks away, I’m totally screwed. I’ll look like I’m having a nervous breakdown if I scroll through stations for more than a minute. Maybe I can adjust his audio settings? The bass does seem a bit overpowering.
“Ten minutes,” he replies.
Shit.
I adjust the balance, the treble and base settings. I change the station again when a song by The Fray seeps through the speakers.
I do not need to hear their shit right now.
Mason’s hand circles my wrist after a few minutes of this madness. “Why do you keep fading the music to the front or rear speakers only? What are you doing?”
I hesitate responding. I’m a horrible liar.
“Um, just . . . I’m just trying to give you the best listening experience. Relax. I know what I’m doing.”
I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Brooke.”
We stop at a red light. I look over at Mason, and suddenly feel guilty for pulling away from him. He doesn’t look angry, or annoyed, or even like a person who just witnessed an act of insanity.
His eyes are tender, full of understanding.
I feel like I want to crawl under my seat and hide. I can’t remember the last time I felt this uneasy.