Page 15 of Burning Obsession

Jake

Isit there for five minutes after Victor leaves my line of sight, just staring out the window like a lunatic. A part of me was hoping he’d turn around, forget about his meeting, and say screw it, let’s have that date now.

But he doesn’t.

Standing up, I take my cup and muffin wrapper and toss them into the trash before walking out of the café with a grin on my face and a renewed pep in my step.

God, I sound like I’m ninety. What twenty-eight-year-old says pep in my step?

When I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, I’m still replaying my conversation with Victor. After turning the ignition, I just sit there and let it warm up as I open the contacts in my phone and look at his name.

It’s there. He wasn’t just a dream. Then I open the message thread. No reply. Yet.

I can’t help but laugh at the unoriginal text I sent him. This is Jake :).

Why the hell did I put a smiley face at the end like I’m some high school girl? I catch myself smiling in a way I haven’t in a long time. A date. I can’t believe it. Well, if he doesn’t ghost me, that is, it’ll be the first one I’ve been on in over a year.

That’s not actually true. It’ll be the first one since Dash and I broke up. We were together for two years, but he couldn’t handle my career. He couldn’t sit at home while I ran into danger every time I was on shift, not knowing if I was going to come home to him or not.

I wasn’t mad. If I was in his shoes, I’d probably feel the same way. But after we split, I just couldn’t put myself out there. He held too much of my heart in his grasp.

When I glance up, I see a car waiting with its turn signal on for me to move so they can take my prime spot. I drop my phone into the cupholder, shift into gear, and back up.

The entire drive home my thoughts are consumed with Victor.

Did he just give me his number to be polite? We did have chemistry, and the conversation was off the charts. Why else would he give it to me? For a moment, I think the number he gave me could’ve been fake, but it didn’t come back as undeliverable. He also did get a notification at the same time I sent it. Of course, my mind immediately goes to the negative—that it was just a coincidence.

Did I see the message? No. But I have faith.

Before I know it, I’m pulling into my parking space in front of my apartment. I don’t even know how I got here. Did I run a red light? Or two or three? Did I hit an elderly old lady pushing a cart while crossing the sidewalk?

I shake my head, freeing my head of all the crazy thoughts. If any of that had happened, I would know. Shifting into park, I turn off the ignition and open the door. I go to get out but remember to grab my phone from the cupholder before I head inside.

Opening my message thread, I check again to see if he’s replied, and nothing. What’s the protocol for contacting someone you’re interested in?

Is it one business day? Two or three? Would today seem too eager?

When I open my apartment door, I hang up the keys on the hook and turn back only to click over the deadbolt. I bite nervously on my lip, trying to decide what to do. Victor seems amazing, and I really want to get to know more about him.

Come on, Jake. You’re acting like you’ve never been on a date before. Like talking to the hottest man you’ve ever seen is rocket science or something.

I know he’s a stranger, but I could always invite him over for dinner, some wine or beer, and conversation. Really get to know him without the world going on around us.

Intimate.

I like that. And if he’s a serial killer, well at least I leave this life taking a chance. Positive note: my admirer won’t be sending me gifts any longer.

With my hangover long forgotten, replaced with giddiness, I spend the next hour cleaning my apartment. It’s not a mess, but it needs some dusting, mopping, and a good vacuum. I can’t help but sing and dance along to the music playing. I have it on a mashup playlist of the 2000’s best hits.

Two hours later, I’m sitting on the couch, a plate of quesadillas in one hand and a Cherry Pepsi in the other. I place them on the coffee table, my gaze drifting to where my phone sits. It hasn’t notified me of a message. Well, not from him, anyway. My cousin texted to tell me how she can’t wait to see me at her wedding next weekend. Something I’ve dreaded going to alone for a while now.

Picking up the remote, I turn on the television and scroll through my streaming apps, settling on Impractical Jokers. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine. I sit back, lifting my feet to rest them on the coffee table as I cradle the plate in my lap.

Between laughs, I take a bite and chew, having to work hard not to spew any food when they do something stupid. Which is literally the whole fucking show. I discovered it when I was out of work with a stomach bug once, and I’ve been working my way through all the seasons.

I’m about to start my second quesadilla when I hear my phone ring. My heart races, and my feet fly off the table as I sit up straight, nearly dropping my plate of cheesy goodness onto the floor. All I can think is that it’s Victor, who decided to forego the text and leap straight to a call.

My arm reaches forward, my hand trembling as I grasp the phone. But when I look, it’s not Victor.