A secret smile stretches across his lips.
“Have you thought about moving to my place?”
“I don’t like the idea,” I say promptly.
He glances at me again.
“Why?”
“I love my place. And there is stuff I need to take care of when I get back.”
“That’s exactly why I asked you.”
“That’s not why you asked me. You thought it was safer to live there when you knew someone had already hacked your security system.”
I look away.
“I think it’s time to call the police, “ I say.
He doesn’t say a thing.
I move my eyes back to him when some random thought pops into my head.
“May I ask you something?”
He swerves the car into a parking lot in front of a boutique hotel.
“Yes,” he says calmly, putting his car in park while he turns off the engine.
A few moments pass.
He shifts his eyes to me.
“This might sound strange, but have you called my phone before we actually exchange numbers?”
His eyebrows tilt up.
He looks at me, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
He seems curious, too.
“Do you remember that first night when we met? When my car barely got me home…”
“Uh-huh.”
“We talked,” I say, smiling, remembering that moment and feeling good about it.
“Yes.”
“And then we went separate ways. And then, on Saturday––which was the next day––someone called my phone. And they didn’t talk to me.”
His expression changes.
“Okay…”
He suddenly seems tense.