Page 92 of Pretty Obsessed

My phone began to ring.

No name.

Must be River.

“Hey, I told you, I’m just getting in the uber.”

“Who are you expecting?” Pat scoffed.

Just what I needed to kill the high of a great trip.

“What do you want, Pat?”

“I’m at your place. Where are you?”

“Why are you at my place?” I got into the back of my Uber and sighed. The last thing I needed was to have him there.

“Because we have things we need to discuss.”

“That’s what phones are for, Pat.” I gave my driver a tight smile and he took off towards my place on the north side.

“I have some stuff I forgot to grab last time I was here.”

“I’ve been trying to get you to come to get that stuff for weeks, Pat.”

“And here I am. You should be grateful.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to remember all the peace I felt over the last few weeks. I nearly offered him my code but decided it would be better not to allow him access to poke around for the next twenty minutes.

“When will you be home?”

“Maybe I won’t be home today.” Why hadn’t I stayed another day in Japan?

River tried to convince me to as well, but I’d thought if I overstayed my welcome, he’d get sick of me. The thought made my throat feel tight, like all the oxygen had left the room. The idea of not seeing him again— I didn’t want to think about it.

“Emory, you still there?”

“Sorry, what were you saying?” I held back a laugh. If he knew who I was thinking about, he wouldn’t be pleased, and it felt good after everything he’d put me through.

“When will you be here? For God's sake, it’s like you never listen to me.”

“In like—” I glanced at the driver's map. “Ten minutes.”

“Cool.” He hung up.

I squeezed my phone and exhaled slowly. He knew one of the things I hated the most was being hung up on. He’d loved to do it any time he was annoyed. That or turn off the read receipts on my messages which was the text equivalent of a hang-up.

But he wasn’t my issue anymore. He could get his last box of stuff and leave me alone.

He was leaning against the railing to my brownstone when the car pulled up. I opened the wrought iron gate making sure it latched behind me before walking straight past him, and up the front stairs without a word. Punching in the code I left the door open behind me, taking my luggage right to the laundry. I'd come home with a lot more than I’d brought, having run out of clothes since I only packed for a couple of days.

“Where were you?” Pat leaned against the door frame to the kitchen when I returned.

“Writing.”

“Not at the cabin.”

His questions were leading. He had to know. It had been all over the tabloids. There was no hiding it.

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