Where is she?

Traffic was my mortal enemy.

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, my jaw clenched as I stared at the endless sea of red brake lights ahead of me.

The city had one job—to let me get home to Elena in peace—but, no, apparently every single driver in New York had decided to crawl at a snail's pace just to personally ruin my night.

I checked the time.

7:42 PM.

I should've been home by now, pressing Elena against the couch, making her pay for that taunting sushi picture she'd sent me.

But, instead, I was stuck between an indecisive taxi driver and some guy who was apparently deathly afraid of hitting the gas pedal.

I exhaled sharply and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel for a second. Stay calm. You'll get there soon.