Page 117 of The Obsession
“Do you have a plan or not?” I growl. “Or are we just going to wing it when we get there?”
“We’re going to the club to make sure nobody touches our women. It’s not that deep.”
“It feels that deep,” I mutter. “And for the record, Emily is not my woman.”
Romeo barks out a laugh. “You’re unbelievable. You drag your kid across town in the middle of the night so you can stalk a woman you claim you don’t even want.”
“I’m not stalking her,” I protest, but the truth is, I’ve been doing just that for years now.
To amplify that thought, one of my hands drops from the steering wheel and into my pocket so I can roll her fucking Chapstick between my fingertips. I’ve been carrying this damn thing around with me all day. I gave up obsessing over it the moment I got Emily in my house, butnow that it feels like she’s slipping through my fingers, it’s become my lifeline again. I guess old habits die hard.
“You’re absolutely stalking her,” he counters.
I let out a disapproving grunt, reach over to turn up the radio, and press my foot harder on the accelerator, signalling that this conversation is over.
When I hear him chuckle beside me, I’m almost tempted to slam on the brakes and send him careening through the windscreen. He was smart enough to put on his seat belt when he got in, so that move would be fruitless.
My fists are balled and shoved deep in the pockets of my trousers, one hand wrapped around that damn Chapstick of hers.
There’s a scowl set on my face as I walk beside Romeo, nodding at the two men manning the front door of the Crimson Lounge. One I recognise from when I worked here; the other must be new.
I’ve never been a customer here before. Even when there were staff parties around the holidays, I skipped them. I wasn’t here to make friends, so I never saw the point of hanging around with my workmates.
Now I’m back, and it feels different. Louder, busier, and I don’t quite fit in the way everyone else seems to.
Romeo stands beside me, unfazed as always. “Try not to look like you’re about to start a fight.”
“I’m not,” I mutter.
“Hmm,” he hums unconvinced, but I don’t bother arguing. I’m not here to cause trouble. Not really. But if trouble finds me, that’s a different story. If I see some guy with his hands on Emily, I already know I’m not walking away from it.
I don’t like anyone playing with my things. I never haveand never will. And right now, sitting back and doing nothing while someone I care about is here unprotected, in the company of God knows fucking who, and possibly inebriated, leaves me with no option.
Romeo lightly elbows my side, and when my gaze snaps to him, he gestures with his chin towards the bar. “Let’s get a drink and see if alcohol can calm you down.”
“I don’t drink, remember?” Although for the first time in years, I’m starting to second-guess that decision. Maybe some liquid courage is exactly what I need.
He rolls his eyes like I’m the lamest enforcer he’s ever met, but I have my reasons for not drinking.
“Suit yourself. I’m getting a beer,” he says, striding away.
I don’t bother following. Instead, my eyes move around the club, seeing if I can spot the girls.
When I don’t see them in my immediate vicinity, I push further in, the music getting louder, the crowd thicker, and too many bodies brushing past me as lights flash overhead. My gaze drags over every face, every corner, every dark booth.
As soon as the dance floor comes into view, I spot her, dancing up a storm with Lucia.
She looks … different.
Lighter. Like whatever’s usually weighing her down isn’t with her tonight. Her head tips back as she laughs, her blue eyes bright, her long golden hair falling loose down her back as she moves without a care.
This is a side of her I’ve never seen before. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, just her letting go, like she’s forgotten the rest of the world exists.
This isn’t the poised and polished Emily dancing I see when she’s giving Lil’ Peach ballet lessons at home. This is something else entirely. She’s freer … real in a way that makes it hard to look away. She’s not performing for anyone, not even herself.
For a second, I stand watching her as my chest tightens. The heel of my palm comes up, pressing against my breastbone, as if it might ease the constraint. She’s so fucking beautiful. A damn vision. And even though I know I don’t deserve a woman like her, I still want her.
I’m so caught up in Emily that I don’t even notice Romeo beside me again until he speaks. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Is that a fucking smile on your face?”
