Page 82 of Driftwood Daffodil

I spun around, skipped up beside him – which was not easy by the way. Gio had long legs that I needed to jog to keep up with. But that was okay. If anyone was going to walk away it would be me. Not him.

“Was the view not good enough from over there?”

Gio didn’t respond. He didn’t even glance my way, which pissed me off more. Ignoring was also my thing.

“I could charge you with stalking.”

He let out a snort/chuckle that pretty much said ‘good luck with that’. At least it was something. Besides, it wasn’t an impossibility. I had evidence. Like…

“You sat across the street for over an hour.” I knew this because I timed every dreadful second I spent picking up garbage.

“It’s a public road.” Gio didn’t slow down, but his eyes did slide my way. “I can sit there all day if I want.”

Not without getting a parking ticket he couldn’t.

“You’re following me.” Was his chest burning too, because sucking in a deep breath was really starting to hurt.

“Looks to me like you’re the one doing the following.”

Was he really trying to turn this around on me? Of course he was. This was Gio Mancini, king of the assholes.

“Is that why you keep showing up where I am?”

Let’s see him argue that.

Gio shrugged, “it’s a small city.”

A likely excuse.

“It’s a town,” I panted. “Not a city.”

It would also be great if he would stop walking through this town long enough for me to catch my breath.

“A town has a population of under five thousand,” this time Gio’s steps thankfully did slow when he looked my way. “Sorrie is over fifty thousand, hence, city.”

Technicality.“That doesn’t mean you’re not following me.”

“Yeah,” Gio stopped, turned to face me, and folded his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”

This mother…

I hunched over, held up my finger, and wheezed in a few breaths, “give me a second.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I’m dying you long legged bastard.

“I’m fine.” I coughed.

A deep arch tugged at Gio’s brow. “How out of shape are you?”

Hey, let’s see how well he could breathe after standing in the hot sun all afternoon.

“That doesn’t matter.” I forced another breath into my aching lungs and straightened up. “What matters is I can prove it.”

“Prove what?” Gio asked. “That you can’t jog for more than thirty seconds?”

“That was a lot longer than thirty seconds.” It was at least five minutes.

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