"Please. No questions," Keith sternly addresses the reporters as he escorts me to the car, his hand firm on my lower back.
I'm fuming, though I don't show it.
I'm so mad, my eyes begin to water, so I put on my sunglasses to hide them as I get in the backseat of the SUV. He follows after me, shutting the door close, and telling the driver to head over to Queens.
Keith reaches for my hand with a broad smile on his face, appearing as though he's having the time of his life, thoroughly oblivious that I'm simmering with anger. Before he can touch me, though, I fold my arms across my chest and stare out the window.
"What—" He peers at me. I refuse to look at him. "Are you mad?"
"I don't know, Keith. Am I?"
"You are." He scoffs. "What could you possibly be mad for?"
EVERYTHING! I want to shout, but I clench my jaw tight instead.
