Sweet Obsession(37)

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.”

“You don’t have to keep it.”

“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.

“Is the restaurant far from here?”

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.

“I don’t have to hold your hand,” he tells me, smiling ever so slightly. “I wanted to, but I don’t have to. You can go easy on my audio settings. It’s okay. Really.” He moves my hand back to my lap and releases me, only to rest his hand on my thigh. “But, I do want to touch you somehow while I drive. Just a little.” He gazes at my body. “God, you look incredible. I’m trying to be decent and not throw you in the back, but it’s bloody torture with you in this skirt.” He slides his hand a bit higher, inching it closer to the apex of my thighs.

Throw me in the back? Yes! I want that! Screw decency!

I suppress a moan, trapping it on my tongue. I don’t want to sound too anxious, even though I’m close to jerking the wheel and pulling us off the road, which will in turn free him up to focus solely on me.