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Doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant. Because Payton isn’t my fucking girlfriend.
My fingers reach out and turn off the ignition.
It’s hard to tell at this angle and distance, but Payton’s patio door looks closed. Not a surprise, considering the death glare she was trying to perfect on me earlier at the café. A light shining out from her windows catches my attention. She must be home.
I’m half tempted to break back into that empty apartment across the street from hers, so I can watch and take in her attitude. But there’s a chance she’ll try to go to that fucking concert tonight.
Gripping my door handle tighter than necessary, I wrench it open.
The nerve of that fucking guy. Asking for her number right in front of me. And her giving it to him.
Bad Payton.
Just as I swing a foot out onto the street, a car flies past my open door, with inches to spare, and for the second time today I’m tempted to pull my gun.
When the car’s brake lights illuminate the street, I notice it has one of those glowing neon lights on the dashboard signifying it as a rideshare vehicle. And something inside of me pauses.
While I stand there, half-in and half-out of my vehicle, the door to Payton’s building swings open; and the woman herself darts down the concrete steps, and across the sidewalk, before she practically dives into the back seat of the car.
The back seat of a car driven by a stranger.
By a motherfucking stranger.
I’m back inside my own car, turning it on, and shoving the shifter into drive before Payton’s car even starts to move.
My foot twitches toward the gas, but before I can roll forward more than a foot, I hit the brake.
I can’t just ram the car off the road and kidnap Payton.
I mean, I’d like to.
I want to.
But I won’t.
Easing out into the street, I keep a few car lengths between us.
Being that it’s a weeknight, there’s enough traffic heading downtown to hide myself in. The dark making me one of many headlights in their rearview mirror. But as we pull away from the main streets and move toward the edge of town, next to the quiet baseball stadium, I realize the error in my plan. And sure enough, the car ahead of me takes one more turn, then slows as it approaches a venue I’m not familiar with.
A venue with a line out the door and down the block. And nowhere to fucking park.
The car Payton’s in stops, and the second she stretches a leg out of the back seat, a jealous and possessive anger squeezes my ribs.
She’s in a fucking dress. Or a skirt. Whatever it is, is short enough that her skirt rides up when she bends to climb out, showing a flash of pale skin above thigh-high stockings.
Thigh. High. Stockings.
My cock is rock hard as I slowly roll past her.
I want to put an end to this bullshit right now. Jump out of my car, snatch her off the sidewalk, and throw her in my trunk. But I can see four cops outside the building helping with security and I’m pretty sure my actions wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Even though I’m sure I’d get away with it, it’s the exact sort of attention I’m trying to avoid with Payton.
Gripping the steering wheel so tight it creaks, I circle around the next block until I find a parking spot.
My anger grows when I jog up to the building and find that Payton’s already made it through the line. Then I eye up the nearly hundred people and decide there’s no way. Which means that little prick got her some sort of side entrance ticket.
Seething, I go to the back of the line and wait like the rest of these fucking mouth breathers. This is one of those times I wish regular people knew who I was, so I could intimidate them into letting me through.
