Page 20 of Stuffing My Obsession
Perfect.
I grab my binoculars from my duffel, hold them up to my face and sweep the yard, the roofline, every shadow that could hold a threat. My weapon sits ready at my side, my finger brushing the grip out of habit.
The night settles heavily around me, the cold biting through my jacket, but I barely feel it. My eyes are fixed on the living room window, the flicker of firelight casting shapes I know too well.
Paris.
She’s curled up on the armchair nearest the fireplace, knees pulled to her chest, a blanket draped carelessly around her shoulders. Her hair catches the light, silver strands glowing like spun glass. She looks soft, fragile.
And then there’s Danny Meyers, slouched on the sofa across from her, too close to the fire, too close to her. He leans in when he talks, like every word needs to invade her space, his hand gesturing just enough to show he’s comfortable. Too comfortable.
I’ve seen men like him before. On deployments. On city streets. In bars where the lighting hides their teeth. Slick charm covering rot underneath.
Danny’s clothes are sharp but careless, designer jacket with frayed cuffs, shoes scuffed like he doesn’t care. His hair is styled, but it’s the kind of styling that screams effort disguised as casual. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. That’s what sets me off the most. His eyes are restless. Scanning. Calculating. Like a man who’s always working an angle.
He laughs at something she says, and the sight makes my skin crawl. She laughs too, but it’s softer, polite. She doesn’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her a second too long, drops to her mouth, her legs under that blanket. But I do.
My fists clench, knuckles cracking against the bark at my back.
It isn’t jealousy—though Christ, I could tear the window apart with my bare hands just to get him away from her. It’s instinct. That crawling awareness I’ve carried since I was in the army. Danny Meyers is wrong. Too slick, too empty. A man without a core.
And Paris? She’s so soft. So unsuspecting.
The firelight paints her face in gold, and I swear I can see her shiver even from here. Not from the cold. From something else.
My grip tightens around the binoculars. If he so much as shifts too close, if he tries to touch her, I’ll end him before he knows what hit him.
Paris may not want me in that house. But she doesn’t get a choice in this.
Because the one thing my instincts are screaming is this: Danny Meyers is not safe.
And no one touches what’s mine.
Chapter Nine
Paris
I barely sleep a wink. Every time I close my eyes, I see him…those piercing blue eyes when I accused him, the pain in his face when I told him to leave. My chest feels raw, like I’ve been scraped out from the inside.
By the time dawn creeps in, I can’t take it anymore. I tug on leggings, an old sweatshirt, and sneakers, padding quietly down the stairs. Maybe a jog will clear my head. Maybe if I run hard enough, the ache in my chest will shut up for a while.
But when I step into the kitchen, the faint clatter of pans stops me short.
Mom’s already awake, standing at the stove in her robe, hair pinned back in a loose bun. She’s whisking eggs like it’s the most natural thing in the world at six in the morning. The smell of butter hangs in the air.
She looks up, startled but smiling. “Paris. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I mutter, going for the fridge. I grab a bottle of water, trying to look casual, but I can feel her eyes on me. She’s definitely not one to let things go.
Mom goes back to stirring, but her voice is gentle. “Was it…because of him?”
My chest tightens. I take a long drink of water just to avoid answering, but she doesn’t press. Not yet. She never does.
Finally, I set the bottle down, the plastic crinkling under my grip. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
She hums, sliding the pan off the burner. “Why don’t you tell me?”
So I do. I spill everything in a rush, words tumbling out faster than I can stop them. The roses, the texts, the night I woke up certain someone was in my room. And then finally finding out it was him. The same man who kissed me, touched me, made me feel safe…and then betrayed me in the same breath.
