Obsessive Compulsion by CE Kilgore Read Free Book Online Page A

asked. Sure, it means
putting up with Kyle’s crankiness, Victoria’s whip, Saul’s constant
floundering and Brandon’s demanding nature, but I wouldn’t trade my
family for anything. Especially now that it includes Emma and
Charlie.
    It’s why I’m sporting a Brandon-worthy,
goofy-ass grin on a Monday, holding a café mocha in one hand and
coffee in the other.
    While standing outside Charlie’s
apartment.
    At seven in the morning.
    No warning phone call, no text, no
invitation. Nothing. I just got it in my head, last night at around
midnight, that I was going to do this, and haven’t been able to let
it go (or sleep) since. So, here I am, wide-eyed, sleep-deprived
and twitchy, hoping this doesn’t appear as creepy to her as I think
it might be.
    I also haven’t spoken to her since I kissed
her lips raw and stole her painting on Saturday. I can still taste
her, though, and see her in the sunlight when I close my eyes. Feel
depressed when I open my eyes and she’s not there. Twitch like an
addict going through withdrawal.
    Charlie withdrawal. Yeah, I’ve got it, so
very bad.
    She let me kiss her twenty-four times on
Saturday. I tried to stop at sixteen, my standard stop-count, but
it didn’t feel right, so I went on to seventeen. Saturday is a six,
and I prefer multiples of four or six, so I kept going, my brain
absolutely refusing to stop on an ugly, dysfunctional prime number
like seventeen. Finally, I hit the penultimate number for my brain,
four-times-six, twenty-four, and it was perfect .
    Her lips were plump, probably swollen from
my attention, and soft. The angle of her chin was just so, and her
mouth was slightly parted. My tongue ventured to greet hers. She
kissed back then rewarded me with the sweetest smile wrapped up in
sunlight, strands of her fiery hair delicately framing a serene
face.
    That serenity had washed over me and carried
me into a place I seldom reach. Peaceful, anxiety-free bliss.
    And then I stole her painting. Not one of my
most suave maneuvers, not that I’ve had many of those to begin
with, but she didn’t call my cell demanding it back, either. I hope
she understands why I took it. I had to have it. The moment I saw
it, I knew .
    I stood there in her studio doorway,
watching her paint it, mesmerized by the way she transformed a
blank piece of watercolor canvas into something so… I don’t have
words suitable. It’s more than beautiful. That painting is alive -
two souls brought out into the open, captured by brush strokes and
tinted water.
    When she raised the glass of water and her
intention became clear, I blanked out. I don’t remember how I got
from the doorway to stand in front of her, blocking the destructive
water from reaching the canvas. I didn’t count steps, watch for
cracks or track sunbeams. One second I was leaning on the
doorframe, watching her paint, and the next I was covered in really
cold, orange-colored water.
    She never did answer my question on why she
was going to destroy the painting. Her defensive avoidance and
redirection of the conversation leads me to believe there’s a deep
story there. Despite my fear of landing, I want to jump off her
ledge and find out just how deep it goes.
    “Ian?”
    Charlie’s confused voice derails my thoughts
then the sight of her wind-blown red hair derails everything else.
I manage to hold out the café mocha to her with a mostly steady
hand. She’s wearing all denim, from jeans to jean jacket and even
her shirt is a soft blue. I’m kind of glad she’s over her
lime-avocado phase. This new color pallet she’s wearing highlights
her eyes and the coppery shine in her hair. It balances my world,
if even for just a much needed second.
    She pulls her jacket closed against the
Dallas December wind and takes the caffeinated hot chocolate. “Are
you my new enabler?”
    At least she doesn’t mention the
painting.
    “Or is this an apology bribe for sneaking
off with my painting?” she adds.
    Dammit. “I’ll give it