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Oh, hell no.

I start the car. Then remember the one-way sign.

“Shit.”

I can't go forward.

I check my mirrors. There’s nobody behind me.

I put the car in reverse and back up slowly toward the street.

Apparently, my advanced stalking education hasn’t covered traffic laws yet.

I reach the road. Roman's truck is nowhere in sight.

“Fuck.”

I turn toward where I last saw him.

For the first few blocks, there's nothing.

Then I spot his taillights in the distance.

“There you are.”

I ease off the gas, staying far back.

Roman turns.

Another car gets between us. I don't panic.

He continues toward the edge of town.

My irritation grows with every mile.

Where the hell is he going at eleven o'clock? To see a woman? One who apparently has something to do with his lips?

My hands tighten around the steering wheel.

I hate this hypothetical woman.

She better be eighty. And happily married to someone else. With six children.

Roman turns onto another street.

I follow from a distance.

His brake lights glow.

I slow.

He pulls along the curb several houses down from a dark house.

My stomach twists. “Oh, you motherfucker.”

I pull along the curb farther down the street and kill my headlights.

Roman remains in his truck.