I wasn’t obsessed with her, like I am with Amanda.
“And you’re still interested,” Amanda says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“More like obsessed,” I mutter, immediately wishing I could take the words back.
But fuck it. If I can’t be my authentic self with this girl, then I have no chance of being authentic ever.
Obsessed.
The word has a bad reputation, am I right?
Stalkers are obsessed with the object of their so-called affection.
Psycho ex-girlfriends are obsessed with the one who wronged them.
Teenagers infatuated with the latest boy band are obsessed.
That amazing new book you just read with the swoony couple who should be together but aren’t? Yep, readers are definitely obsessed.
Being so completely focused on something until you can’t think of anything else is considered a bad thing. Unhealthy.
Wrong.
Yet I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way Jordan just said he’s obsessed with me.
In fact, I like that he just used that word. I like it a lot. Because guess what?
I’m freaking obsessed with him too.
“You think I’m insane,” he says about a minute after he dropped my new favorite word.
“What? No. I don’t think you’re insane.” I wrinkle my nose, confused. “Why would you say that?”
“Obsessed—maybe that wasn’t the right word choice for how I feel about you.” He’s staring straight ahead, which is a good thing since he’s driving. But I can see the tension in his jaw. The firm line of his lips. He’s stressed out because he just admitted he’s obsessed with me.
It’s taking everything I have not to start bouncing in my seat.
“So you’re not obsessed with me?” I ask innocently.
“I don’t want to scare you off.” The tension eases from his face a little, though his jaw is still tight.
“You can’t scare me off,” I tell him, sounding way more confident than I feel.
He snorts.
Literally snorts.
“Yeah, right,” he mumbles.
“What do you mean by that?” I’m vaguely offended.
“Trust me.” He flicks his gaze toward me for a too-brief moment. “I can definitely scare you off.”
Why do we always have these sorts of conversations? It’s like we talk in circles. It’s also like we’re kids again, trying to outdo each other. We’re sort of ridiculous.
Yet I fall right into his trap anyway.
“Just try me,” I dare him, the smugness in my voice so very obvious.